Are you one of those people who spends forever getting a post ready before you finally push the button to publish?
Raising my hand here too. 🙋🏼♀️
I’d write the caption, change it, read it again, check the photo, make sure the colors worked with everything else I’d been posting. You know the drill. I knew who I was talking to and what I was supposed to be talking about. By the time I finally hit publish, I checked every box I knew to check.
Perfectionism at its worst.
And then I’d read the whole thing again after posting!
Why?!
I already read it twelve times. There was nothing left to fix. The post looked good. It sounded professional. It fit my brand. It said what I meant to say.
Seriously. Nothing was wrong with it.
But every once in a while, I’d sit there staring at something I just created and feel...
weird.
That’s really the only word I have for it.
Not embarrassed or even regretful. I wasn’t worried people wouldn’t like it. If anything, I knew it probably would work.
It just didn’t quite feel like me.
And that was confusing because technically, it was.
I wrote it. I believed what I said. Nothing about it was fake.
So what exactly felt off?
Naturally, I assumed something about the post needed fixing.
Maybe my messaging was off. Maybe I hadn’t nailed down my brand yet. Maybe I needed to rethink what I was talking about or who I was talking to.
Which was great news for me because those were all things I could work on.
And I did.
A lot.
I could change the colors, tighten the message, rethink the content, clarify the audience and still occasionally end up with that same weird feeling afterward.
Eventually I started wondering if maybe the thing that felt off wasn’t the post at all.
Maybe it was me.
Not in a something is wrong with me kind of way.
More like... what was I doing between having the thought and deciding which version of it everyone else got to see?
That question made me notice things I wasn’t really paying attention to before.
There were things I believed that I softened because I wasn’t sure how they would land. Parts of my personality showed up less because they didn’t seem professional enough. Things I genuinely cared about stayed out because they didn’t fit neatly into the lane I thought I was supposed to stay in.
None of it was fake.
I think that’s what made it so hard to recognize.
I wasn’t pretending to be somebody else. I was just making a whole bunch of tiny decisions about which parts of me made the final cut.
Read the room.
Say it a little differently.
Leave that part out.
This version will probably work better here.
And to some extent, that’s normal. We all adjust depending on where we are and who we’re with. There’s a difference between being yourself and behaving like every room is your living room. Discernment matters.
But somewhere along the way I started wondering: when does adapting become editing?
And once I saw it in my posts, I started seeing it in other places too.
Maybe yours isn’t a post.
Maybe it’s the meeting where you know exactly what you think, but say the version you know will go over better.
Maybe someone asks how you’re doing and “Good!” comes out before you’ve even considered whether it’s true.
Maybe you’re the easygoing friend who really does have an opinion about where everyone goes to dinner, but “whatever you guys want” is easier.
Maybe you’re the capable mom who can handle one more thing, so you do. Again.
Or maybe there’s a version of you that works really well in your family, your job, your friendships or your marriage. Everyone knows her. They know what to expect from her.
And you know how to be her.
None of those versions of you are necessarily fake either.
That’s what makes this so hard to notice.
You can become very good at being the competent one, the agreeable one, the professional one, the faithful one, the mom who handles it, the friend who doesn’t need much.
Those really can be parts of who you are.
But sometimes one part gets so practiced that the rest of you barely gets any airtime.
I think that’s how someone can tell you how well you’re doing and, for some reason, it doesn’t feel as good as you think it should.
They aren’t wrong about you. They’re seeing something real.
You just know there’s more.
For a long time, I thought being known meant people knew enough about me. But I’m starting to think you can tell people a lot about yourself and still not feel fully known if you’ve gotten really good at showing them only the parts you already know how to make acceptable.
And maybe that’s why those little weird moments matter.
The post that sounds like you but somehow doesn’t.
The yes you hear yourself give when you wanted to say no.
The laugh when something actually hurt.
The opinion you softened.
The thing you care about but rarely talk about.
The version of yourself you automatically become when you walk into a certain room.
I used to think alignment mostly meant making sure what I was building matched what I believed. Does my work reflect my values? Does what I put into the world actually represent what matters to me?
I still think those questions matter.
I just think alignment has gotten a lot more personal for me.
Does the way I’m living leave room for the person I actually am?
Can my faith come with me without turning it into a performance? Can I change my mind when something doesn’t fit anymore? Can I want something other people don’t understand? Can I be capable and still need help? Can I be grateful for my life and still admit there are parts of it I want to change?
And maybe the harder question for me: can I walk into a room without immediately figuring out which version of me will be easiest for everyone else?
I’m still working on that one.
Because when you’ve gotten good at reading a room, you notice what people respond to. You know what creates connection and what creates tension. You learn what works.
And without ever consciously deciding to, you can start letting that feedback decide what gets shown and what stays tucked away.
Sometimes that’s wisdom.
But I don’t want other people’s comfort to become the architect of my life.
And I don’t want this version works to be the only reason I keep being her.
So now I’m trying to pay more attention when that weird feeling shows up.
Not immediately fix it. Not assume something is wrong. Just get curious about it.
Did I actually choose how I wanted to show up here?
Did I leave something true out because it didn’t belong in this moment, or because I wasn’t sure how it would be received?
Am I adjusting to the room?
Or am I editing myself for it?
Maybe you’ve felt some version of this too.
Nothing is obviously wrong. You’re functioning. You’re showing up. You’re doing what’s expected of you, and maybe you’re even doing it really well.
But every once in a while, something feels a little...
weird.
Maybe you don’t need to dismiss that feeling.
And you definitely don’t need to blow up your whole life because of it.
Maybe you just notice it.
Because sometimes the first clue that something no longer fits isn’t that everything falls apart.
Sometimes everything still works.
It just doesn’t quite feel like you anymore.
Want to keep going with this conversation?
🎧 Listen to Episode 12: How to Align Your Brand with Your Faith, Values, and Purpose→