Discovering Authenticity
We all wear masks, but what’s underneath? Authenticity isn’t something you find—it’s something you practice.
Have you ever felt like you’re playing a role? Like you’re following a script someone else handed you—trying to meet the expectations of your parents, your peers, or even your own internalized standards of what you “should” be?
I’ve been there too.
Authenticity is magnetic because it’s so rare. When we encounter someone who’s unapologetically themselves—flaws, strengths, vulnerabilities, and all—it’s like a breath of fresh air. Their presence reminds us of what’s possible: freedom, connection, and the courage to show up as who we truly are.
But here’s the thing: living authentically isn’t easy. It’s not always clear where the masks we wear end and where our true selves begin. For many of us, myself included, authenticity feels like an ongoing journey—a practice we return to again and again.
Growing Up Between Cultures: The Masks I Wore
As the only child of a Brazilian diplomat and a Finnish mother, I grew up across five continents. By the time I was 11, I had lived in cities as diverse as Paris, Algiers, Accra, Tehran, Moscow, Rio de Janeiro, and Miami. Every two or three years, I’d land in a brand-new culture with its own language, customs, music, and ways of being.
At first, I saw this adaptability as a gift. I became fluent in multiple languages, learned how to read social cues across different cultures, and discovered how to navigate unfamiliar environments with ease. Whether I was in the bustling beaches of Rio or the snowy streets of Moscow, I knew how to blend in.
But this constant adaptation came with a cost. I started to wonder: Who am I when I’m not trying to fit in? My ability to code-switch—changing how I spoke, behaved, or even appeared depending on the situation—became so automatic that I lost touch with the parts of myself that didn’t need to adapt.
Does this sound familiar to you? Maybe you’ve found yourself adjusting who you are depending on the situation—putting on a mask to avoid judgment, to fit in, or to meet others’ expectations. Perhaps you’ve stayed silent when you wanted to speak up or hidden parts of yourself out of fear they wouldn’t be accepted. If so, you’re not alone. We’ve all experienced the tension between who we are and who we think we’re supposed to be.
The Pull Between Masks and Authenticity
In my own life, I’ve noticed how easy it is to fall back on familiar masks. Sometimes, these masks feel intentional—like when I adjust how I speak or behave to fit into a specific environment, walking on eggshells to protect a relationship, or people-pleasing to avoid conflict.
But other times, the masks aren’t something I choose; they’re something I feel trapped inside.
For example, I’ve experienced impostor syndrome in professional settings, where I felt like I was pretending to be competent or qualified, even when my accomplishments said otherwise. It’s as if I were wearing a mask of confidence, but instead of feeling in control of it, I feared it could crack at any moment—exposing what I worried were my shortcomings.
Over time, I’ve learned that overcoming impostor syndrome isn’t about proving my worth to others—it’s about staying true to myself. Speaking my truth, setting clear boundaries, and letting go of the need to carry others’ burdens have been transformative. Adopting the principles of the Four Agreements—being impeccable with my word, not taking things personally, avoiding assumptions, and always doing my best—has also helped me drop the unwarranted mask of performance and perfectionism.
These practices have shown me that I don’t need to strive for perfection to belong. Instead, I can focus on showing up as my authentic self, flaws and all.
This is another layer of the masks we wear. Sometimes we intentionally put on a persona to navigate the world, and other times we feel disconnected from the mask itself—trapped by a narrative that we don’t belong or that we’re not enough. Both experiences can leave us feeling disconnected from our true selves.
But what about the masks we don’t choose, the ones we’re forced to wear?
For some, the obligation to hide a family secret, trauma, or shame can create a mask that becomes indistinguishable from the self. Maybe you’ve been the keeper of someone else’s misbehavior, feeling responsible for protecting their image while silencing your own truth. Maybe you’ve been burdened by shame that wasn’t even yours to carry.
Can we show up authentically when we’re carrying these kinds of hidden burdens?
The answer isn’t simple, but here’s what I’ve learned: authenticity doesn’t mean revealing every vulnerable part of ourselves to the world. Instead, it’s about creating spaces where we feel safe to be real—whether that’s with a trusted friend, a therapist, or even in our own private reflections. Starting with honesty toward ourselves, we acknowledge what we’re carrying and how it affects us, even if we don’t share it outwardly.
The work of authenticity, for me, has been about recognizing these patterns. When am I intentionally wearing a mask, and when am I doubting the version of myself others see? When am I carrying a mask that doesn’t even belong to me? In all cases, the solution isn’t to tear down the mask recklessly, but to reconnect with what’s underneath—to embrace the parts of myself I’ve been doubting or hiding.
Rediscovering the Authentic Self
Rediscovering the authentic self requires trial and error, a lot of introspection, and a few hard lessons. But this journey taught me something important:
Authenticity isn’t something you find. It’s something you practice.
I want to shine a light on the fear-based patterns that hold us back: people-pleasing, code-switching, walking on eggshells, and even impostor syndrome. These habits can make us feel like we’re constantly adjusting ourselves to fit in, but they come at a cost: losing sight of who we really are.
Recognizing these patterns isn’t comfortable, but it’s necessary. When we stop hiding behind masks, layer by layer, we create more freedom, honesty, and connection.
Shadow Work, Self-Awareness, and Boundaries
If fear-based patterns like people-pleasing and masking are driven by what we’re trying to avoid, shadow work is about facing what’s underneath. It’s about meeting the parts of ourselves we’ve pushed into the dark—our anger, shame, fear, or unmet desires—and bringing them into the light.
At first, shadow work sounded intimidating to me. I thought it was about digging up everything “wrong” with me. But I’ve come to see it differently, going from judgment to curiosity.
What are the parts of myself I had been avoiding? And what might happen if I approached them with compassion instead of fear?
When I let myself get curious about the parts of me I’d rather ignore, I stop letting them silently drive my decisions. Instead of reacting to old triggers, I can respond with intention.
For me, one of the hardest shadows to face was my tendency to people-please. I realized that underneath it was a fear of rejection—a fear I’d carried since childhood. Once I acknowledged that fear with curiosity instead of judgment, it started to lose its grip on me.
This kind of self-awareness takes practice. It means paying attention to my thoughts, emotions, and even how my body reacts in different situations. And it pairs perfectly with boundaries, which are an essential part of living authentically. Boundaries protect my energy and values, creating the space for me to show up as my true self.
Setting boundaries has been one of the hardest lessons for me to learn, but also the most liberating. Whether it’s saying no to something that drains me or stepping back from a toxic dynamic, boundaries are how I honor my energy and integrity. They remind me that it’s not my job to sacrifice my well-being to make others comfortable.
Mindful Communication and Authentic Expression
One of the most important parts of untangling fear-based habits is learning how to speak my truth. For years, I avoided hard conversations out of fear—fear of conflict, fear of being misunderstood, fear of being “too much.” I’d sugarcoat my words, tiptoe around issues, or keep my thoughts to myself entirely.
But here’s what I’ve learned: speaking your truth doesn’t have to be harsh. It’s not about confrontation—it’s about clarity. Mindful communication means sharing what’s on your heart with both honesty and empathy. It means being brave enough to say, This is what I need, or, This is what I feel, while also being open to the other person’s perspective.
At first, authentic expression can feel shaky. Vulnerability always does. But over time, it becomes freeing. The more I practice mindful communication, the more I realize how much easier life feels when I’m not hiding behind polite half-truths.
Authenticity isn’t just a personal goal; it’s a profound act of self-liberation.
The Courage to Be Disliked
For years, I carried the fear of disappointing people like a heavy backpack. A disapproving glance or a critical comment could unravel me for days. I thought that if I could just keep everyone happy, I’d finally feel safe. But then I encountered this life-changing idea: I’m not responsible for how others feel about me.
Alfred Adler, a pioneering psychologist, taught that trying to manage other people’s reactions is a needless burden. And he was right. Their opinions of me often have more to do with their own experiences than with anything I’ve done.
Letting go of the need for universal approval has been one of the hardest—and most liberating—lessons I’ve learned.
Choosing to be disliked doesn’t mean being rude or disregarding others. It means giving myself permission to live my truth, even if it’s not what others want. Some people might misunderstand me or judge me, and that’s okay. When I stopped trying to control how I was perceived, I finally felt free to just be myself.
Your Uniqueness is Your Superpower
There’s a quote I once dismissed as cliché: “No one is you, and that is your superpower.” It sounded like a Hallmark card at first, but the more I’ve come to understand myself, the more I see how true it is.
For much of my life, though, I didn’t see my uniqueness as a strength—I saw it as a problem to solve. With each new country I moved to, I felt more and more like an outsider. By the time I was 11, I had lived in cities on five continents, spoke several languages, and experienced life through the lens of many different cultures. You’d think this would make me feel enriched, but instead, it often left me feeling isolated.
I’d watch my peers fit neatly into their cultural norms while I hovered on the edges, trying to figure out which version of myself I needed to be to blend in. So, I began to suppress the qualities that made me stand out. My quirks, my perspectives, even my Finnish name—they all felt like liabilities in my efforts to belong.
It wasn’t until much later that I came across Marianne Williamson’s words:
"It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us."
That quote struck me because it revealed a truth I hadn’t wanted to face. I wasn’t afraid of my limitations—I was afraid of my brilliance. Of what it might mean to fully own my uniqueness, without apology or dilution. And more importantly, I began to see that my uniqueness isn’t just a personal quirk—it’s a responsibility.
As an individuated instance of universal consciousness, it’s my role to embody the specific form that life has taken in me. To hide that would be to dim a light that isn’t even mine to extinguish.
The more I’ve embraced this idea, the more I’ve come to see my differences as gifts. My third-culture background, my perspectives, my accents—they all come together to make me who I am.
What makes you different from others? And how can you lean into those differences with pride? Your uniqueness isn’t just something to tolerate—it’s something to celebrate. It’s not a flaw; it’s a gift.
Breaking Free from “the Matrix”
Growing up, I was handed an invisible rulebook: This is what success looks like. This is what beauty means. This is how a good person behaves. These beliefs shaped the way I saw myself and the world around me, and for a long time, I didn’t question them—it just felt like the way things were.
But as I got older, I started to notice cracks in that rulebook. How many of these ideas were truly mine? And how many had I inherited from society, family, or culture without realizing it?
Breaking free from these inherited scripts is what I call “deprogramming.” It’s about questioning the everyday beliefs and habits we absorb from the world around us—what we think we need to achieve, how we think we should behave, even how we define success or happiness.
This process isn’t about rejecting everything you’ve learned. Instead, it’s about pausing to ask: Does this belief serve me? Is it aligned with who I want to be?
Some beliefs, like the idea that my worth is tied to my productivity, felt so ingrained that questioning them was uncomfortable. But little by little, I started peeling back the layers. I let go of the belief that my worth was tied to productivity—a narrative I’d absorbed without question—and replaced it with the understanding that my value comes from simply being myself.
What beliefs are you carrying right now that might not actually be yours? And what might it feel like to release them?
Decolonizing the Mind
If deprogramming is about questioning personal beliefs, decolonization is about looking at the bigger picture. It’s about recognizing the deeper, often invisible forces that shape our worldview—forces tied to history, power, and systemic control.
While deprogramming might lead me to question why I equate my value with my job title, decolonization asks: Where does this belief come from? For example, how much of this idea is rooted in capitalist systems that prioritize productivity over well-being?
Decolonization also invites me to examine larger paradigms, like patriarchy, domination over nature, or eschatological views of progress. These aren’t just individual beliefs—they’re woven into the fabric of our societies, shaping how we relate to ourselves, others, and the world.
This process can feel humbling, even unsettling. When I began to question the ideals I’d internalized—like the belief that humans are separate from nature or that power always flows top-down—I had to confront how much of my thinking wasn’t entirely mine. But it was also deeply freeing. It reminded me that I’m not just a product of these systems; I have the power to question and choose how I live and think.
Decolonization clears space for something truer—for ways of being that are more just, compassionate, and connected.
What parts of your worldview might be shaped by these deeper systems? And how might questioning them help you live with more freedom and intention?
A Deeper Connection
At the heart of authenticity is something even greater than self-discovery: connection.
When I explored a spiritual or nondual perspective, I realized how interconnected we all are. I’m not a separate being fighting against the world—I’m part of the same awareness that runs through everyone and everything.
This shift in perspective has been profound. It’s helped me approach others with more compassion and reminded me that authenticity isn’t about standing apart; it’s about aligning with the universal essence within us all while preserving our individuality and uniqueness.
Authenticity doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s part of a greater harmony, and the more I tune into that, the more authentic and free my life feels.
It’s the kind of freedom that comes from knowing I don’t have to prove anything. I don’t have to wear masks, walk on eggshells, or fear judgment. I can simply be.
A Practice, Not a Destination
Authenticity isn’t a place you arrive at—it’s a practice. It’s about showing up—messy, vulnerable, and real—and trusting that who you are is enough.
When you do that, you don’t just free yourself; you give others permission to do the same. The world doesn’t need a perfect version of you. It needs the real you—exactly as you are.
Let’s keep practicing, together.