The authenticity misconception

And why it's holding people back from showing up.

Authenticity doesn’t mean being unfiltered or pulling the curtain back on every part of your life. It means being real about the things you choose to share.

Being unapologetically yourself about what you show up for. Not posting because it’s what you think others want to see, but because it’s what you want to say. Not second-guessing a piece of writing or having ‘post regret’ because what you wrote isn’t for everyone. It’s for you, and anyone else who resonates with it.

Showing up is step one. Step two is how.

The misconception is that we’re showing up, in our writing, the photos we share, the decisions we make, the jobs we pursue, for other people. When we start paying attention to what we want, and how we want to take up space, it stops being performative and starts being… authentic.

My three-year-old son is the perfect example of this. He is authentic in a way that feels almost instructional. He’s unapologetically himself because he doesn’t know any different yet. He hasn’t built the social awareness mechanisms required to fit in for our modern version of survival.

He likes what he likes and he’s proud of it.

Art but hates getting his hands dirty. The color pink. Baseball and hockey and playing David and Goliath. He’d watch Tumble Leaf all day if we let him and eat “chewy fish” while doing it. He talks himself into being brave, but it’s not his first instinct. His first instinct is observant, attentive, cautious.

And this doesn’t waver.

Pink. Baseball. Chewy fish. Clean hands.

As we get older that clarity of self starts to chip away.

I can point to moments in my own life when it happened. Girls giggling in the middle school locker room because I forgot to shave my armpits. Shrink. Being told I was too loud. Too bossy. Shrink. Naively sharing my views on faith, only to be met with a dagger comment back. Shrink.

Those tiny paper cut moments over time teach us to censor what we put out for the world. Because we don’t want to feel that feeling again. Picked on, judged, doubted. So instead of sharing honestly, we tailor our messaging. We bet on being well-received instead of betting on ourselves to have a voice that’s uniquely ours in the first place.

Those same instincts follow us offline and into real rooms, real conversations, and even real decisions.

source // charli anderson photography

At work, it exists in every position.

For example in leadership: when someone’s interviewing for an open role and you can tell, almost immediately, that they aren’t meant for the industry or role. They don’t have the intangibles. You can sense they don’t even really want the job.

Somewhere along the way, someone told them they should get into sales, and they believed it. So there they are, sitting across from you, interviewing for a tech sales role in the heart of San Francisco. And without trying to, they light up talking about the wine industry. They went to school for it even. And yet here they are.

This is where authentic leadership shows up.

Instead of continuing to pile on interview questions (or worse, hiring them) you get real. Not harsh or dismissive. Real in the way you’d talk to a nephew you care about. You explain what’s actually behind the door they’re knocking on, because you can actually see it. What entry-level tech sales really requires. How it can shape someone’s life, for better if they want it or for worse if they don’t.

You explain the intangibles, because you know them and he doesn’t. Decisiveness, resilience, comfort with volatility, being genuinely money-motivated. Then you gently reflect back what he said about himself and how those things don’t quite align.

You’re not telling them they’re wrong. You’re not telling them what to do. You’re simply helping them see something they can’t see yet, because you can.

That’s authenticity. Saying the true thing out loud.

It shows up in our personal lives, too. In smaller, quieter ways. Like how we bend.

Not voicing where we want to go to dinner. Allowing company to stay longer than we want. Saying yes to a weekend that doesn’t actually work for you.

Those micro-moments are all opportunities to show up honestly. And here’s the thing I’m still learning: they don’t require an explanation unless you want to give one.

“My vote’s Mexican!” (my son has zero hesitation here)
“We’d love to have you visit from X-to-X.”
“That weekend doesn’t work for me, but these do.”

Being honest isn’t being mean. It’s just being clear.

Mel Robbins talked about people pleasing in a way that really stuck with me. On the surface, it sounds like a nice trait: being considerate, easygoing, not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings. But when you look closer, it’s masked as a kind of manipulation. You’re changing your response to manage how someone else experiences you.

You’re not giving them the real version.

Reframing people pleasing this way helped me see it differently. It isn’t kind or generous. It keeps relationships slightly misaligned. And who wants to get to know, or build something with, someone they never fully meet?

Authenticity doesn’t mean we share everything.
It means we trust ourselves enough to share what’s true, and we let that be enough.

Thanks for sitting with me at the table. Cheers!
Meg