How Much of Yourself Are You Editing?

I used to think being yourself was pretty straightforward. You know who you are, you show up as that person and voilà. Authenticity.

If only.

I’ve realized I’m perfectly capable of being myself while simultaneously making tiny adjustments based on the room I’m in. Maybe I hold back an opinion. Tone down my enthusiasm. Say yes when I’d rather say no. Laugh at something I don’t find particularly funny. Or decide not to mention something because I’m already imagining what the other person might think.

It’s not necessarily dishonest. Most of us adjust somewhat depending on the situation. I behave differently at a business event than I do sitting at home with Joe. Frankly, that’s probably best for everyone involved.

But there’s a difference between reading the room and editing yourself so much that you’re more focused on being accepted than being known.

I know this one personally.

I’ve shared before that I was excluded and bullied when I was younger. Experiences like that don’t magically disappear because you grow up, move across the country and develop a much better haircut. For me, they created a sensitivity to being left out and a tendency, at times, to pay more attention than I’d like to whether other people approve of me.

The irony is that trying hard to be accepted can get in the way of the very thing we’re hoping for.

If I’m constantly deciding which parts of myself are safest to show you, you’re not really getting to know me. You’re getting the version I’ve decided is least likely to be rejected.

And where’s the fun in that?

This doesn’t mean I think we should say everything we’re thinking, share every private detail or behave exactly the same way with everyone. That’s not authenticity. That’s a potentially exhausting dinner guest.

For me, it’s more about noticing when I’m making choices primarily because I’m worried about someone else’s reaction.

Would I say what I think if I weren’t concerned about whether you agreed? Would I admit that I don’t want to do something? Would I let myself be excited about something even if you don’t understand why I love it? Would I make the same choice if nobody else were watching?

I don’t always love my answers.

But I’ve become much more interested in them.

Because the more comfortable I am with myself, the less energy I have to spend trying to anticipate who other people would prefer me to be. And that affects far more than my relationship with myself. It changes the kinds of relationships I’m able to build.

There’s something worth considering:

Where in your life do you feel most like yourself? And where do you notice yourself editing?

The difference between those two answers might tell you something.