The lie they told me about being myself. Here's the harsh truth - you can't really be yourself when you've got bills to pay.

Be yourself . Oh I know. Therapists said it. Friends said it. Even strangers on the internet, bless their hopeful little hearts. It’s such a well-meaning line - empowering, clean, deceptively simple.

What they didn’t tell me was this:
You can’t actually afford to be yourself… not when you have bills to pay.

To Be Myself Means Trouble

Uh oh… speaking of... here comes trouble.

Being myself means ignoring people, most people. Especially the ones I know I’ll never vibe with: the fakers, the flakers, the drama queens, the energy vampires, the wolves in sheep's’ clothing, the narcs in suits - all of them.

They sniff you out like bloodhounds, these types. The moment something’s “off” - a hesitation in your tone, a hint of quirkiness, your neuro-stimming going off the charts, a flicker of self-awareness, a crack in the mask - they diagnose you first like a pro. Not your therapist. Not your parents. Not your own careful self-reflection. It’s them if I'm being honest.

You can probably say that I now fell for these incessant reminders “Don’t ignore the red flags.” Or this whole “Protect your peace.” But guess what I’ve been avoiding most people since the whole social distancing era, the rise of the narcs, and these self-help blurbs started flooding our feeds. At some point, it stopped being distancing - and started feeling like a symptom. Or, a trauma response.

And because survival demands it, I walk among them. I look the part, talk the part, dress the part. I become the version of me that is easiest to digest. It works yes until it doesn’t. Until burnout sets in and I collapse under the weight of the act.

But what if you don’t like that Self?

Years ago, I posted a feel-good blurb about being true to yourself. My late best friend - honest, unfiltered, always allowed to call me out - messaged me bluntly:

“But what if I don’t like myself?”

That one stuck.

What if the self we’re told to embrace is a version shaped by trauma, or fear, or rage? What if it’s a shadow lurking in the basement - best left locked behind the door?

The Unspoken Rules

What no one told me is this: you can only truly truly truly “be yourself” if you’re one of the following:

1.Rich 2. Famous 3. Beautiful 4. At the top of the social or corporate hierarchy.

If you’re one (or more) of those, you can get away with being diabolical, weird, loud, eccentric, or delightfully “unfiltered.” You can be seen as artsy, enigmatic, charming. Forgiven, celebrated even.

I mean never mind if you’re smart. I’ve seen plenty of smart people fall apart - some too mentally unwell, others lacking the social polish needed to climb the ladder. Unless you’re Nikola Tesla sure, but genius alone doesn’t cut it.

And the rest of us? We mask all the way just for a chance to maybe get there...But where does it end? When do we get to take the mask off?

There must be a place...

I know this all sounds grim - and some days, it is. That's just me.

But the truth is, I can be myself. Just not at work. Not in this small town. Not among people whose worlds revolve around surface-level conformity.

But here, in the quiet coziness of my space - with Diablo flicking his tail and judging humanity with me - I am completely, unapologetically myself. Quirky. Annoying. A little too much, and just enough.

If you haven’t found your people yet, I get it. Sometimes “your people” starts with one black cat who doesn’t need you to pretend. 🐈‍⬛

So after a long day of masking, let’s retreat into our weird little corners. Let’s build those sanctuaries - tiny safe zones where we recharge. Where we gather the strength to face the normies again tomorrow. 🤭