there's nothing scarier than being who you really are

how many people do you see when you look in the mirror?

it’s funny how people always talk about “being yourself” like it’s some ultimate life goal, something to aspire to. you hear it in songs, in self-help books, from well-meaning friends. "just be yourself," they say, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. but if you ask me, there’s nothing scarier than being who you really are. it’s terrifying. it’s walking a tightrope without a safety net, hoping the crowd won’t laugh if you fall.

i don’t know when it started, this fear of revealing too much, of showing the messy, complicated parts of me that i prefer to keep hidden. maybe it’s the countless years of learning how to behave in society, the unspoken rules about how to fit in. or maybe it’s just human nature to want to be liked, accepted, even admired. either way, somewhere along the line, we learn to build these walls. layers of persona, carefully crafted, keeping the real stuff inside.

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it feels safe, you know? being the version of me that people expect. i’ve mastered that version over the years—polite, agreeable, with just enough quirks to be interesting but not too weird. it’s easier to present this version to the world. people like him. people understand him. he doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable. but every now and then, when i’m alone, i feel a little pang in my chest, a kind of sadness i can’t quite explain. it’s like there’s a part of me that’s stuck, screaming to get out, but i keep him locked up because, let’s face it, the real me is unpredictable. he’s messy, he’s full of contradictions, and i’m not sure how the world would handle him.

but then i think—what’s the point of having these thoughts, these beliefs, if i’m too scared to share them? is it better to be liked for a version of myself that’s not entirely real, or to risk rejection by showing who i really am? this question keeps me up at night sometimes, tossing and turning, wondering if i’m living a lie.

it’s not just about opinions, though. it’s about everything. my interests, my passions, my quirks, even my flaws. the whole package. i can’t count the number of times i’ve watered myself down to fit in, to be more palatable. i used to think that this was just a necessary part of life, that everyone did it. but the older i get, the more i realize that i’m missing out on something. something real.

the truth is, being who you really are requires vulnerability. it requires showing the parts of yourself that you’re not sure others will accept. it’s standing in front of someone and saying, “this is me. all of me. the good, the bad, the awkward, the ugly.” and then hoping—no, praying—that they’ll still want to stick around after they’ve seen it all.

it’s easy to understand why most of us are afraid of this. because what if they don’t? what if they see the real you and decide they don’t like it? what if they laugh, or worse, walk away? that’s the scariest part. once you show your true self, you can’t take it back. you can’t undo it. it’s out there, for better or worse.

i envy people who seem to be unapologetically themselves. you know the type—they walk into a room and you just know they don’t care what anyone thinks. they say what they want, wear what they want, and live how they want. and sure, some people judge them, but they don’t seem to care. i wonder if they’re just better at hiding their fear than i am, or if they’ve actually found a way to let go of it. either way, i admire them. they make me want to be braver.

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the thing about fear is that the more you avoid it, the bigger it gets. it feeds on your insecurities, your doubts, and it grows until it becomes this massive thing that overshadows your entire life. at least that’s how it feels for me. every time i hold back, every time i choose to be the version of myself that i think others want, the fear gets a little stronger. and the real me, the one buried under all those layers, gets a little quieter.

i’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, about what it would mean to strip away those layers and just be. what it would feel like to stop worrying so much about what people think and start worrying more about how i feel. i don’t have all the answers yet, but i think it starts with small steps. little acts of courage, like speaking my mind even when i know it might cause a stir, or showing my weird sense of humor without worrying if people will find it funny.

maybe it’s about learning to be okay with the idea that not everyone will like me. i’ve spent so much of my life trying to avoid that reality, trying to be everything to everyone. but i’m starting to realize that it’s impossible. no matter how much i try to fit in, there will always be people who don’t get me, who don’t like me. and that’s okay. because at the end of the day, the only person i really need to please is myself.

i think the scariest part about being who you really are isn’t just the fear of rejection. it’s the fear of not being enough. what if i strip away all the layers, and the person underneath isn’t good enough? what if i don’t measure up to my own expectations? it’s a terrifying thought, but one that i’m slowly learning to face.

i’m learning that being who you really are isn’t about being perfect. it’s not about having everything figured out or being liked by everyone. it’s about being honest—with yourself and with others. it’s about embracing the messy, complicated parts of you that don’t always make sense. it’s about showing up, flaws and all, and trusting that the right people will love you anyway.

i’m not there yet. i’m still figuring it out, still fighting that fear every day. but i’m getting closer. and maybe, just maybe, one day i’ll look in the mirror and see not the version of myself that i’ve carefully curated for the world, but the real me. and when that day comes, i hope i’ll be brave enough to say, “this is who i am. and that’s enough.”

because in the end, that’s all we can really hope for, isn’t it? to be seen. to be known. to be loved for who we truly are, not just for the parts we think people want to see. it’s scary, yes, but i’m starting to believe that it’s worth the risk.

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