Evolving Authenticity
The Never-Ending Journey to Your Truest Self
Authenticity isn't a destination we reach at any particular point in our lives, where we are once and for all stamped as… AUTHENTIC! It’s a continuous rhythm, like the phases of the moon, times of strength and confidence, secure in the path forward, and times of challenge, fear, and doubt. What is authentic at one stage of life may not fit in another.
I have shifted in and out of that centered feeling I have now, that groundedness, throughout my life. As a child, I couldn't wait to grow up. I was the youngest and was always watching everyone else go first. I took steps, took risks, and felt confident. I couldn’t wait for what was next and didn’t worry about what others thought. Then, in my late teens and twenties, I lost my way, struggled to be something, someone others would invite in, but I wasn’t me, and I knew it. Then I turned thirty and suddenly felt grown up, mature, respectable for the first time in my life. It was a switch on my birthday. I remember waking up excited that I would finally be taken seriously. Here I am at 61, understanding that those feelings of "finally arriving" were just another phase in the constant evolution of becoming who we're meant to be. And that the journey is far from over.
My father died when I was 37. I was shocked at how rudderless I became for several years. He had been my protector, my cheerleader. He got me. Understood me. Celebrated me being me. I always felt safe taking risks, moving away, and trying new things when he was alive. He had my six, as they say. When he died, that all went with him. I felt exposed and fearful. At 44, I was laid off and for the first time, found my true professional self as a solopreneur. What felt a little unsteady at first was one of the best times of my life, creating and running my own business, being my own boss. I love it today! Then I watched my mother fade away through strokes and lost her when I was fifty.
There is something profound in losing your mother as a daughter, something inexplicable. When she died, I felt like I lost not just her, but a part of my own identity, the daughter part of myself. No one would ever know me the way she did, from the very beginning. No one would remember my childhood fears, my early dreams, the little girl I used to be.
Research validates this experience: when a daughter loses her mother, she loses the ally who helped her navigate the developmental challenges of life. The witness to her forming a sense of herself and her place in the world. She loses the witness who helped mark her journey. Hope Edelman's groundbreaking research with hundreds of mother-loss survivors reveals how "the absence of a nurturing hand shapes a woman's identity throughout her lifespan" and how "present-day relationships are defined by past losses."
There's a unique orphaning that happens when you're no longer anyone's daughter, even as an adult. As grief counselors note, you may suddenly have trouble relating to yourself as someone who is intimately known and loved. Overnight, you may go from what feels like a normal person with somewhere to land to a "motherless daughter," adrift and ungrounded. It forced me to redefine who I was without that fundamental relationship that had shaped me for five decades.
Then there is the baggage we carry that hinders our authenticity. It’s heavy, and most of it belongs to others. It weighs us down. Experts will tell you that once you realize this baggage exists, you can let it go. That's absolutely true, but it's far easier said than done. Some things in my life have been part of my story for so long, decades, that they’ve become habits, friends, safety, and comfort. It's a scary world out there to move beyond what is familiar, even when the “comfort zone” is hurting us. What has served to protect us in some ways over the years is scary to let go of.
The Cost of Growing Up Authentic
I've written before about what happens between that uninhibited five-year-old and the adult who hesitates before speaking up: "Life. Experience. The accumulation of moments when we learned that not everyone celebrates our authentic expression. The first time someone laughed at our ideas. The first rejection. The first time we realized that being ourselves might cost us belonging."
Dr. Brené Brown explains that shame is the fear of disconnection, the belief that something we've done or failed to do makes us unworthy of belonging. Sometimes we don’t even know what that is. My third-grade teacher mocked me in front of the class. To this day, I don’t know what it was about me that set her off. I do know this, though, if I really stop to think: it wasn’t me, it was her.
Over time, we learn to dim our light, to modify our truth, to make ourselves more palatable to others. We develop what psychologists call "adaptive strategies" or ways of being that help us survive emotionally but may no longer serve our authentic selves.
As people who've chosen unconventional paths, many of us have faced this internal conflict repeatedly. We've been told to be smaller, quieter, and more traditional. We've learned to question our instincts, to second-guess our desires, to apologize for taking up space. The journey back to authenticity requires unlearning these patterns, intricate piece by intricate piece.
The Seasons of Identity
Authenticity isn't static—it evolves as we do. Just as the moon waxes and wanes, our sense of self moves through seasons. What felt authentic at 30 may feel constraining at 45. What we fought for at 50 may feel irrelevant at 65. This isn't inconsistency; it's growth. The messier we are, the better!
Dr. Erik Erikson's stages of psychosocial development remind us that each life phase brings new challenges and opportunities for authenticity. In midlife and beyond, we're often called to what he termed "generativity," a desire to nurture and guide the next generation while also becoming more fully ourselves.
This concept resonated deeply with me when I first read about it. I think that's why I was driven to start "Fearless Authenticity" in the first place, nearly a year ago now. I wanted to give a hand up to the next girl who is told there is something wrong with her for not wanting what other girls want. I want to connect, arm-in-arm, to other women like me, moving in and out of authenticity, learning to listen to our hearts and trust our intuitions.
The Wisdom That Comes with Time
I've noticed that as I've grown older, some things have become easier, in part because I no longer care as much about what others think. I won't say "not at all," but certainly not as much. Some of the people who whispered discouragement in my ears are gone, and they have taken that piece of my story with them.
I read once about how we lose parts of our story when someone dies. Those parts are irretrievable. It was an article about the holes people leave in our lives when they die. That the holes are okay, they may never close up or be filled but then again, we may not want them to be filled. But I've come to understand something deeper: death can also be a time to let go of the hurts that a person represented in our story. The shame they made us feel, the limitations they placed on us, the voice that said we weren't enough. Those are holes, too. Holes we can close, sew shut. Those particular wounds can fade away for good as we journey further into our true selves, to that core of our being we were always meant to be.
This isn't about celebrating anyone's death or dismissing the complexity of our relationships with them. It's about recognizing that when the person who told you that you were "too much" or "not enough" is no longer here to reinforce that narrative, you have the opportunity to rewrite it.
The Freedom in Letting Go
This opportunity to rewrite our narrative is important. The shame that kept us small, the voices that told us we weren't enough, some of that can begin to lose its grip when the person who reinforced those messages is no longer there to whisper them in our ears. The narrative that said you were too much, too little, too different —that narrative can finally change.
Psychologist Dr. Dan McAdams writes about the "redemptive self,” our ability to transform negative experiences into sources of strength and wisdom. The baggage we carry doesn't have to define us forever. We can choose to examine it, understand its purpose, and decide what still serves us and what we're ready to release.
This process requires a lot of courage. It means sitting with discomfort, questioning long-held beliefs about ourselves, and sometimes disappointing people who preferred the smaller version of us. But the alternative, staying trapped in an inauthentic life, is far more costly.
Finding Your Center
I feel more centered today than I have ever felt. It feels good—really good. But I need to say loud and clear, this centeredness isn't about having life figured out; it's about being comfortable with the questions, trusting the process, and honoring where I am in this moment.
The path to becoming our truest selves is never-ending, and I hope that isn't discouraging. For me, it's not. I see it to mean we are forever learning, growing, changing, and becoming. Each season brings new opportunities to shed what no longer fits and embrace what does. Each challenge offers a chance to respond from our truest self rather than our wounded self.
But here's where I want to leave you: throughout our lives, we experience things that shift us in and out of authenticity, and that is okay. It's more than okay, it's human. My story shows periods of confidence followed by years of feeling lost, times of professional clarity interrupted by personal upheaval, moments of groundedness shattered by grief. This isn't failure; this is life.
We put so much pressure on ourselves to be consistently authentic, as if it's a test we can pass or fail. But authenticity isn't a permanent state we achieve. It's a dynamic process we live in. At times, we feel deeply connected to who we are; at other times, we're rebuilding our sense of self from the ground up. Both are necessary. Both are valid.
Research by Dr. Patricia Linville on "self-complexity" reveals that individuals with more varied and nuanced self-concepts are more resilient and better equipped to adapt to life's challenges. The woman who defines herself only as a mother struggles when children leave home. The woman who sees herself as mother, artist, friend, learner, and adventurer has multiple sources of meaning and identity.
A Deeper Dive: Your Daily Authenticity Integration Plan
✨ Bonus Resource Just for You! ✨
This week’s Deeper Dive: Future Self Visioning offers a step-by-step reflection journey designed to help you recognize, trust, and act on your intuitive wisdom. Each day builds on the last, creating a foundation for lifelong authenticity.
I’m providing this as a separate, downloadable and fillable resource so you can easily save it, print it, or return to it anytime — no scrolling back through the article required. Additionally, paid subscribers can access all the worksheets in one place by clicking the “Fearless Authenticity Toolkit” tab on my Homepage. This is my small thank-you to you, my fellow travelers, for being part of this journey.
Daily Mantra
"I am not who I was yesterday, nor who I will be tomorrow. I am authentically, courageously becoming who I am meant to be today."
Embracing the Journey
As you continue to navigate social expectations and personal choices, remember that your path is uniquely yours. Embrace the journey, celebrate your accomplishments, and surround yourself with people who support and uplift you.
Join me each Sunday at 10:10 a.m. ET for inspiration, encouragement, and community. Why 1010? In numerology, 1010 symbolizes new beginnings, spiritual awakening, and the realization of our potential.
Additional Resources for Deeper Exploration
Top 3 Books:
"Untamed" by Glennon Doyle - A raw, empowering memoir about breaking free from societal expectations and living authentically
"Daring Greatly" by Brené Brown - Explores vulnerability as the pathway to courage, creativity, and authentic change
"Big Magic" by Elizabeth Gilbert - Inspires creativity and authentic living by overcoming fears and embracing curiosity
Top 3 Podcasts:
"Unlocking Us" with Brené Brown - Deep conversations about vulnerability, courage, and authentic living
"The Life Coach School Podcast" with Brooke Castillo - Practical tools for personal growth and overcoming self-limiting beliefs
"Creating Confidence" with Heather Monahan - Focused on building authentic confidence and stepping into your power
Top 3 YouTube Channels/Videos:
"Meet Your Future Self Guided Visualization" by Kate Peabody - 15-minute guided visualization for future self connection
"TEDx Talks: Glennon Doyle - Lessons from the Mental Hospital" - Powerful talk about authenticity and untaming yourself
"The Art of Being You" Channel - Self-development content focused on authentic living and personal growth
Bonus Resources:
Vision Board Creation: Use Pinterest or physical magazines to create visual representations of your future self
Journaling Apps: Day One, Journey, or simple Notes app for ongoing reflection
Meditation Apps: Insight Timer or Headspace for mindfulness practices to support your visioning work
This resonated: "I read once about how we lose parts of our story when someone dies. Those parts are irretrievable. It was an article about the holes people leave in our lives when they die. That the holes are okay, they may never close up or be filled but then again, we may not want them to be filled. But I've come to understand something deeper: death can also be a time to let go of the hurts that a person represented in our story. The shame they made us feel, the limitations they placed on us, the voice that said we weren't enough. Those are holes, too. Holes we can close, sew shut."
I wish this were true for me. I have lost people (not a parent - yet, but my dad just turned 89; Mom's 86), including my first husband. We'd been long parted when I learned of his death, but things about our relationship, that only I know, still live within me, and not all are pleasant to recall. Ditto with a boss I had who refused to defend me in the face of a bullying supervisor. He died of cancer, but I hold the feelings. None of it is shame. But it can be disturbing. I dunno. Maybe really it's about perspective....