This morning, I walked into a quaint little brunch spot in Victoria. I was alone and asked if I could sit by the window to catch what remained of the sunrise. The hostess smiled and led me to a table by the window. I felt a quiet happiness settle in. I had just finished a peaceful walk along the harbour, taking in the sights and sounds of the city waking up. I was in a reflective mood, my thoughts swirling then passing through me like the butterflies I saw dancing around the tulips as I walked by them.

“They”—why do we call our thoughts “they”? Maybe because we treat them like judges and jurors—weren’t positive or negative. They simply flowed at their own pace, giving me the space to notice them, not analyze, each one as it passed through. Time felt slower. I was in an authentic space, and it felt good.

As often happens when we’re tapped into an authentic space, the universe nudged me. On my table sat a small box. Inside were tiny square cards, one of which was facing up. It read: “When do you feel most authentically yourself?” I literally sat up straighter and looked around the café, half expecting to catch someone in on the cosmic joke. The timing was uncanny.

As I sipped my latte, I found myself diving deeper into the question. When do I feel most like myself?

Although I am an extrovert, being alone would be at the top of the list. I was already traveling solo to a conference (having arrived a day early to explore Victoria), and no one here knew me. That anonymity gave me the freedom to just be. Sure, I was exchanging a few words with people, but because there was no pressure, no expectation, I can be myself.

Side note: I almost changed “can be myself” to “am myself,” but kept it. It reminded me that permission is often part of authenticity.

I would describe myself as kind, empathetic, and social—truths I feel deeply. Because of that, I don’t feel the need to perform or prove that. I feel okay with how people see me, and even more importantly, how I see myself in those interactions.

But I know this isn’t the case for everyone. Many people struggle to feel good about who they are. They suppress their uniqueness, trying instead to mold themselves into someone else. For some, that may lead to wealth or social success, but I doubt it brings lasting satisfaction. Disconnection from our true selves often leads to anxiety, depression, or deep exhaustion.

We live in a world obsessed with external validation. Social media has only intensified that need to be seen, liked, and approved. From a young age, we absorb messages about who we’re supposed to be—messages can hurt or conflict with the truth of who we really are. To fit in, we build armor. That armor becomes our behavior. We carry it like a second skin, trying to protect ourselves from rejection, humiliation, and judgment. But it’s heavy. It wears us down. Eventually, we isolate ourselves not to be alone, but to feel safe.

Still, we can’t live like that forever. We must find ways to express ourselves—authentically, daily. When we do, the armor softens. We get to feel free again.

For me, creativity—especially writing—is one of those ways. Yes, sharing writing publicly opens me to judgment. Being vulnerable is hard and scary but it also allows me to connect with others from a place of truth. And maybe, just maybe, someone out there reads this and thinks, “Me too.”

Being true to yourself sounds like a cliché, but it’s far more difficult—and powerful—than we often admit. When I am authentic, I can feel it. It’s a unique energy, different even from love. When I’m not, I feel off and clunky. And I imagine others sense that, too. It’s awkward. Disconnected is how I would best describe it.

Now in my mid-fifties, with years of practice behind me, I lean into authenticity far more than I did in my 20s or 30s. It doesn’t mean imposing my thoughts and opinions unfiltered. It means being real. It means being vulnerable. People are drawn to real and I certainly don’t pretend to be perfect. I try to show my humanness. Maybe that’s why people often say to me, “You make me feel normal.”

If that ends up on my gravestone—“She made people feel normal”—I’ll take it.

Another place I feel truly myself is in nature. Whether I’m hiking or just sitting on a park bench by a river, nature invites me to set down my armor. Surrounded by greens and blues, my mind and body find their natural rhythm. Nature doesn’t judge. It simply exists. Just, please—don’t litter.

Having one or two people in your life who fully see and accept your authentic self is a gift. With my best friend and my husband, I can be silly, goofy, and completely unfiltered. We laugh until we cry. We share dumb and embarrassing stories we wouldn’t dare tell anyone else. And even when we mess up, there’s love but most importantly there is acceptance. There’s that sacred space where we get to be fully human. I am so grateful for that.

Authenticity brings meaning. It unlocks doors we didn’t even know were closed. In fact, this morning, my hour of self-connection gave me just enough confidence to ask for the specific table I wanted by the window. A small thing, maybe, but normally I would’ve waited to be seated wherever the hostess decided. That one moment of authenticity brought me something I needed—light, space, stillness.

Maybe that’s the secret: when we step into the world with our real selves, we become clearer about what we want, braver in asking for it, and more resilient in facing whatever comes next.

So—when do you feel most authentically yourself?

Remember to be kind to yourself. Embrace your uniqueness, your strengths, and even the quirks that make you you.

Please let me know if this connects with you.