Why You Don’t Feel Like Yourself Anymore

The mask is the problem

May 15, 2025

Hey friends,

In my work, or any healing modality, things go better when you’re as honest as possible. You get better results, you learn more about yourself, things move more quickly, you evolve, you notice patterns, you confront your shadow, etc.

The problem is that so many people don’t realize they aren’t being honest and don’t know where to begin.

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What this looks like

There’s a version of you that people see.

And then there’s the version you carry.

The one who smiles while quietly scanning for the exit.

The one who says, “I’m just tired,” instead of “I feel numb.”

The one who cancels dinner plans last-minute, not because you’re busy, but because the idea of pretending to be okay feels like too much.

You’re doing your best.

You show up.

You answer emails.

You keep your calendar full enough to avoid sinking.

But inside, there’s friction.

A tightness. A fidget.

The vague sensation that something’s out of tune. And it’s been that way long enough that you’ve started to wonder if this is just who you are now.

You tell yourself it’s fine.

Other people have it worse.

You’re probably just burnt out.

Or hormonal.

Or sensitive.

You rationalize your way out of your own body.

But the truth, the one you’ve been tiptoeing around, is louder than you think.

It shows up in how you people-please.

In how you make jokes instead of setting boundaries.

In how you say “It’s all good” when something very much is not good.

And even though you might not say it out loud, deep down, you know:

You’ve been lying to yourself.

Not in a malicious way.

Not in a pathological way.

But in that socially acceptable, slowly-eroding, everyday way.

The kind that tells you:

“It’s not worth bringing up.”
“They didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I should be grateful.”
“This is just what life is.”
“I’m just being dramatic.”

The lies that keep things neat.

The lies that help you survive.

But also the lies that keep you from really living.

And when those lies go unexamined long enough, they stop feeling like lies.

They start to sound like your voice.

The Emotional Cost of Lying to Yourself

Let’s be honest: most people don’t wake up one day and say,

“I’m going to build an entire life that’s slightly off.”

It happens slowly.

You avoid the tough conversation with your partner.

You stay one more year in a job you outgrew four years ago.

You interact with people on social media because you perceive them to be on the “right” side of things, not because they deeply resonate with you.

You tell yourself you’re “over it,” even though your body keeps tightening every time their name comes up.

This dissonance builds.

And eventually, you don’t feel quite like you anymore.

You forget what your actual yes feels like.

You start performing your personality.

You make choices from anxiety instead of clarity.

And then you wonder why you feel so far away from yourself.

In Relationships

Lying to yourself in relationships often looks like:

Saying “I’m not mad” when you’re clearly flooded.
Staying connected out of guilt or obligation.
Downplaying needs you’ve never felt safe enough to voice.

It’s easy to think you’re being mature. Or generous. Or spiritual.

But what you’re actually doing is sacrificing connection for politeness.

True intimacy requires reality.

And if you can’t tell yourself the truth, you’ll never be able to bring it into your relationships.

At Work

Maybe you’re the dependable one.

The one who never complains.

The one who says yes to deadlines that destroy your weekends.

You tell yourself this is “just how it is.”

That you’re lucky to have a job.

That this kind of pressure means you’re successful.

But if you pause long enough to actually feel your gut?

You’d hear a quiet scream.

Sometimes the lies sound like ambition.

Sometimes they sound like professionalism.

Sometimes they sound like your father. Or mother.

But they all lead to the same place:

Resentment. Disconnection. Burnout masked as achievement.

In Your Body + Habits

You put your phone down and pick it back up 45 seconds later.

You open your fridge with zero hunger.

You scroll past the article about anxiety and think, “That’s not me.”

But it might be.

Your nervous system is trying to talk to you.

Your discomfort is not the enemy.

It’s a message.

But when you tell yourself, “I’m fine, I’m just tired,” you turn down the volume on your own truth.

And over time, that turns into self-abandonment.

Why This Matters

When you don’t tell yourself the truth:

You build relationships on false peace (ever wonder why you haven’t “found your people yet?”)
You make choices from fear instead of freedom.
You become unrecognizable to yourself.

And here’s the kicker:

Most people will never call you on it.

They’ll love your mask.

They’ll reward your performance.

They’ll admire your adaptability.

Which makes it even harder to come home to yourself.

But deep down, you know.

You can feel the weight of the unsaid.

You can feel the ache of an unchosen life.

And part of you is tired of carrying it.

What If You Let the Truth In?

What if it wasn’t dangerous to name what’s real? Or, what if it IS dangerous and that’s a GOOD thing?

What if you could tell the truth… and not unravel?

What if truth wasn’t a threat, but a map?

To yourself.

To relief.

To resonance.

To deep, meaningful relationships.

To a life you don’t have to dissociate from.

Because truth doesn’t mean drama.

It doesn’t mean breakdown.

It doesn’t mean “ruin everything.”

It just means: this is what’s real.

And real is the only place you can build from.

You don’t need another habit tracker.

You don’t need to manifest clarity.

You just need five honest minutes with yourself.

Let it be messy.

Let it be loud.

Let it say the thing you’ve been avoiding.

You don’t need to change everything overnight.

But you do need to stop pretending this isn’t hurting you.

Because you deserve to feel like you.

And self-trust begins with TELLING YOURSELF THE TRUTH.

xo,

Natalie

Don’t know where to start?

Start with a blank page.

CouncilWork is a quiet place to begin. It’s a beautiful entry point into this practice.

It will change you.

Be kind to yourself. I know there’s so much to “fix” and it feels too overwhelming to try. Take one step. Then again. Do that for a week and see where you land.

Let the page meet you where you are.

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