You Can’t Be Authentic When You’re Drowning in Laundry and Guilt

We love to talk about authenticity.

"Be yourself."

"Live your truth."

"Find your voice."

Cute.

Except… what if you don’t know who that even is anymore?

I was raised in a multi-generational bohemian family. My grandmother was a flapper. My grandfather was a bootlegger. My parents? Straight-up hippies. Freedom, fluidity, and wild creativity were our family values, but I grew up in a small, conservative city in Northern Colorado—the land of modesty, obedience, and keeping up appearances.

So while I inherited a free spirit, I also absorbed a survival instinct: fit in.

Tone it down.

Be nice.

Blend.

Then Came Corporate America

I was the first in my father's family to graduate from a four-year university. I joined corporate America as a total fish out of water. So, I adapted. I changed the way I spoke. The way I dressed. The way I moved through rooms.

And I got rewarded for it.

I was praised for being professional, polished, "not like the other women."

I made the six figures. I wore the heels. I had the resume that screamed, she made it.

But here’s the twist: I didn’t trust who I really was anymore.

Because for so long, I’d been told I was too much.

Too loud. Too emotional. Too creative. Too demanding.

So I made myself small. Palatable. And slowly… I disappeared.

Authenticity Isn’t a Mantra. It’s Excavation.

Finding my way back to myself wasn’t a yoga retreat or a TED Talk. It was brutal, slow, and deeply uncomfortable. I had to scrape away years of performance. I had to sit with my own abandonment—the version of me I shoved into a closet when adulthood came knocking.

I had to meet the younger version of myself—the wild, unfiltered, curious girl—and nurse her back to life.

And you know what I found underneath the burnout and the blazers?

Me.

The girl who liked movement. Who loved teaching. Who lived for creative freedom.

Not the corporate stooge with the fake smile and platinum reward status.

But Here's the Real Kick: I Didn’t Trust Her

Even after I started to feel like myself again, I didn’t trust her.

Could she pay the bills?

Could she raise a family?

Could she exist in this adult world of taxes, spreadsheets, and school drop-offs?

I had to unlearn the lie that performing was safer than living.

I had to get brave enough to be seen—not as someone's wife, mom, or employee… but as me.

Let's Stop Lying to People About Adulthood

Let’s stop telling people it’s all house hunting and wedding hashtags.

Let’s talk about the middle school chaos.

The relentless schedule.

The fact that there is no such thing as a 40-hour workweek anymore. That kids will literally text you from inside school all day long like they’re your emotionally needy middle manager.

Let’s stop pretending that parenting is one long Pampers commercial. Yes, it’s beautiful. But it's also a job you don’t clock out of.

And we wonder why people can’t figure out who they are.

How can you be authentic when your entire life is managing logistics?

Laundry. Groceries. Tournaments on Mother’s Day. CDL shortages so the bus doesn’t come. You're lucky if you remember your own last name, let alone your inner truth.

So What Do We Do?

We get honest.

We stop sugar-coating it.

We stop rewarding people for fitting in, and start celebrating those clawing their way back to themselves.

Because authenticity isn’t just about self-expression.

It’s about sovereignty—the courage to take up space as who you truly are, even when it makes others uncomfortable.

It’s not a vibe. It’s a war.

And every time I walk into a room and teach movement, I’m not just leading a class—I’m calling people back to themselves.

That’s what we need more of.

Not curated feeds. Not productivity hacks. Not performance parenting.

We need truth.

We need softness.

We need each other.

And we need permission to be human again.

And maybe… just maybe… we need to tell the next generation:

The goal isn’t to “make it.”

The goal is to make it back to yourself.