Authenticity is a word I hear often. While I know it’s important, I sometimes wonder if we’ve lost some of its meaning through overuse. At its core, authenticity is about embracing and accepting myself, even when the world tries to tell me otherwise. It’s the relentless pursuit of self-acceptance, even when that journey is fraught with fear, rejection, or loss.
For me, and I assume for many others, the quest for authenticity isn’t just about self-discovery—it’s about survival. Ever since I was a small child, there was something inside me that demanded to grow. It lay dormant for a long time, buried beneath circumstances beyond my control. But it was there—hovering deep within me, waiting for the right time to emerge.
This search for authenticity and healing is at the heart of existential psychology. James Bugental, a renowned existential psychologist, believed that mental health problems arise from suppressing our authentic selves. He once shared a story from his adolescence when he worked for a road crew. He recalled how they would pave roads, laying down thick layers of concrete. The following year, when he returned to paving, he would always see a blade of grass pushing its way through the cracks in the concrete, reaching for the sunlight. He saw humanity the same way—that no matter what obstacles stand in our path, we are hardwired to grow and thrive. That, no matter how thick the concrete, we will find a way through to bloom and flourish.
I’ve held onto that image for years. Because I, too, have felt like that blade of grass—struggling to push through, to be seen, to exist fully as myself.
The Battle Between Authenticity and Belonging
One of the hardest tensions I have faced is the pull between authenticity and belonging. I believe we are wired for connection. As humans, we are social creatures—we need each other to survive. From childhood, we seek validation, approval, and a place where we feel we are enough just as we are. But what happens when our truth threatens that belonging?
As a child, I knew I was different. I think my mother did too. But she was so threatened by that reality that her response was to shame and ridicule me. My survival depended on staying attached to her, so I did what many children do—I believed her. I internalized her shame because it kept me close to her.
The consequence of this has been lifelong, as I’m sure many of you understand. That early lesson led me into relationships and institutions that reinforced the same shame. So, I did what I had always done—I complied. I played the part. I became who I thought I needed to be. I sacrificed my authentic self for the sake of belonging…for the sake of survival.
But at some point, the cost of pretending became too high. The exhaustion of keeping up appearances, of swallowing my truth, of making myself smaller just to be accepted—it became unbearable. And that led me to one of the hardest decisions of my life.
The Cost of Authenticity
Authenticity comes at a cost. That’s the truth. Some relationships won’t survive it. My marriage didn’t. The choice to re-centre my life around who I truly am meant losing the acceptance of certain spaces I had once belonged to. It meant sitting in the grief of letting go of what was to step into what could be.
But what is the cost of not being authentic? What do we lose when we silence ourselves? When we trade in our freedom for the illusion of acceptance?
The reality is, the people who truly love us for who we are will remain. And those who leave? Maybe they were never meant to walk this part of the journey with us.
Authenticity as Liberation
To be authentic is to be free. Not free from struggle, but free from the weight of living a life that isn’t truly mine. It is acknowledging that I am worthy of love and acceptance, not despite who I am, but because of it.
Authenticity requires deep courage. It has asked me to sit with my pain, to confront my fears, and to grieve the losses that came with stepping into who I truly am. It has forced me to dismantle the shame placed upon me by others and to recognize that I do not have to carry it anymore.
But more than anything, authenticity has been about reclaiming my power. It has been about recognizing that my worth is not up for debate. That I am not defined by the judgments of others, the rejection of institutions, or the fear of losing what once felt safe.
Choosing to Stand in My Truth
More and more, I have become aware that being authentic isn’t a one-time decision—it’s a lifelong practice. It is choosing, day after day, to show up as myself, even when it is difficult. The difficulty is we drift. I have moments of clarity where I understand and re-centre myself in my authentic self, and then…life strikes. The mundane, daily activities that we carry out like grocery shopping, getting kids to soccer practice, or answering emails for work. Amid that activity, there is a slow erosion that can happen to our authenticity and before we know it, we feel lost. This is what I have been meditating on recently. How I have eroded my sense of personal power and agency over time that I no longer feel in control of my own life.
Living authentically means reclaiming myself, every day. Choosing to accept myself, honour myself, even celebrate myself when others do not, and surrounding myself with people who see me, who celebrate me, and who remind me that I am enough.
My journey is my own, and no one else can dictate what authenticity looks like for me. But if you are struggling with the weight of expectations, with the fear of rejection, or with the uncertainty of what comes next, I want you to know this:
Your truth is valid.
Your authenticity is a gift.
And your life, lived fully and honestly, is worth fighting for.
Let me know what you think? What has your journey taught you?