15 min read – Link to the audio on Spotify: Your Golden Buddha Podcast
Recently, I heard a story about a man attending his first therapy session. After a brief conversation, the therapist asked him, “Why are you here? You seem well-adjusted for someone who has never gone to therapy.”
He replied, “I’m a good husband, a good father. I’m a good friend and a good employee. But I want to be great at all of those things, and I feel if I could be great at them by myself, I would have been by now.”
The therapist paused before saying, “An employee is who you are for your job. A friend is who you are for your friends. A husband is who you are for your wife, and a father is who you are for your children. But who are you for yourself? Who are you for yourself?”
This question struck a chord with me. How often do we stop to ask ourselves who we truly are beneath the roles we play for others? We spend so much of our lives wearing masks to fit in, avoid conflict, or meet expectations that we lose sight of the very things that make us who we are. Yet, we know what it feels like to be around someone who is unapologetically authentic. Maybe they resonate with us, maybe they don’t—but we often respect them for their courage to show up as themselves.
Authenticity challenges us to remove the mask we’ve grown accustomed to wearing. For many of us, that mask served as a survival mechanism—a way to navigate social pressures, blend in, or protect ourselves from rejection. But over time, it becomes clear that no matter how well-crafted the mask is, it limits us. It disconnects us from our very being—the anchor of our love, passion, and purpose—and leaves us feeling hollow.
Living authentically anchors us amidst life’s storms. It brings clarity about who we are and who we aren’t. This clarity empowers us to treat ourselves with compassion, confidently set boundaries, and show up for others in ways that are genuine and sustainable. Authenticity is not just about self-expression; it’s about self-acceptance. It’s allowing every part of ourselves—flaws and all—to coexist without shame, and most importantly, letting others see these sides of us.
Ultimately, the journey to authenticity begins with one vital question: Who are you for yourself? It’s not an easy question to answer, but it is the foundation of a life built on integrity, freedom, and purpose.
Life is filled with ups and downs, moments of fear and uncertainty, and highs of success and joy. But in the end, what really matters is whether we are willing to lean into the challenges of life and face them on our terms. That willingness transforms everything we go through into something meaningful and fulfilling.
As 10-time national champion and legendary basketball coach John Wooden said: “It’s not what you do, but how you do it.”
JUDGEMENT
I think we’ve all had those moments after socializing when we come home and think, “That wasn’t my finest performance.” We can feel it in our bones when we’re not being ourselves. It’s like wearing a mask—playing a role we think others will enjoy.
And sometimes, it works. People laugh at our jokes, seem drawn to us, and we leave feeling like we nailed the act. But when the noise fades and we’re alone, a different story emerges. We wonder if they really liked us—or just the version we performed. Even in moments of “success,” the connection can feel hollow. It’s not real because it wasn’t actually us they were seeing.
Now think about the people in your life who are unapologetically themselves. You can tell when someone isn’t performing—they’re honest, expressive, and their presence feels safe. Around them, you don’t have to fill silences or try to impress; their authenticity invites you to be yourself.
I bet someone just popped into your head as I said this: a friend, family member, or a loved one. These are the people who, without saying a word, encourage us to lower our guard and let our true selves emerge.
The Root of the Mask
The answer lies in judgment—not just from others, but primarily from ourselves. Those critical voices often echo from childhood, when we were told we were too loud, too shy, or too different. Over time, we internalized those messages and decided that parts of us weren’t acceptable.
As a kid, I was curious, excitable, and eager to bring people together. But that energy didn’t always fit in. It wasn’t laid back and cool, and I was bullied for it—mocked, excluded, and at times, left feeling profoundly alone. I felt like I was on the outside looking in. So, like many of us, I adapted. I built a version of myself that felt safer.
I decided I would become someone others couldn’t reject. I trained relentlessly to excel in sports so that I’d always be picked at recess. Starting in high school, I ate thousands of calories a day and worked out obsessively to craft a physical version of myself I thought others would finally accept.
At times, it worked. But deep down, I still felt like that small kid who didn’t belong. My lack of authenticity didn’t just fail to bring me closer to others—it often made me act in ways I wasn’t proud of and pushed away the very friendships I’d hoped to deepen.
I lost sight of who I was. And when I finally wanted to be myself, I didn’t even know where to begin. Years of trying to meet the expectations of others had made me my own worst critic, locking me in a cycle of self-judgment and doubt.
When the therapist asked their patient, “Who are you outside of your roles? Who are you for yourself?” his answer was painfully honest: “I’m not sure there’s much of me left beyond all that.”
That answer stuck with me because I knew the feeling all too well. When you finally admit that you might not truly know yourself, it can feel like staring into a vast, empty void. And without the tools to navigate it, stepping forward—toward yourself—can be terrifying. What if I look inward and don’t like what I find? What if there’s nothing redeemable? What if there’s nothing there at all?
Confronting how little we know about ourselves can feel overwhelming. Letting others see us at our worst feels unbearably vulnerable. But when we sit with that fear—when we stop running from it—something begins to shift. Slowly, we realize that fear doesn’t define us. We start to catch glimpses of the parts of ourselves we buried, and those little glimmers grow bigger and stronger with time. It’s like our eyes adjusting to a dark room, slowly noticing cracks of light seeping in. The same is true as we discover previously hidden parts of ourselves.
The Shift
The only way to let more light seep into our internal room, is to sit with discomfort, to stop resisting, and let ourselves be fully seen. The more we practice this, the more we realize that our flaws, mistakes, and missteps were never something to fear. They don’t define us—they teach us. Each one holds a lesson that helps us understand ourselves more deeply, guiding us toward who we truly are and who we want to become.
And when we stop judging ourselves for being imperfect, something unexpected happens: we become more confident.
Confidence isn’t about getting everything right. It comes from showing up—fully and honestly—knowing that our value isn’t measured by how others see us. It’s built in the moments when we stop trying to prove ourselves. True confidence isn’t the absence of flaws; it’s the trust that we are enough, even when we are riddled with them.
For a long time, I thought vulnerability was a risk—not just of rejection, but of losing control. I kept my fears, insecurities, and imperfections hidden, believing that if I didn’t reveal them, no one could use them against me. But looking back, I see that I was the one keeping myself at a distance. My relationships weren’t shallow because others held me at arm’s length—they were shallow because I did.
Something shifted when I finally let people in. I stopped performing. I let myself be seen, even in my uncertainty, even in my imperfection. And what I discovered was this: vulnerability doesn’t push people away—it draws the right ones closer.
Now, the relationships in my life feel deeper, more real. The people I have around me are the ones who see me, not just for what I do, but for who I am. And I trust that as long as I continue to show up authentically, the right people—the ones meant for me—will always find their way into my life.
Authenticity isn’t a destination; it’s the foundation. It’s what makes everything else possible. Because when we stop hiding, when we allow ourselves to be seen, vulnerability becomes the bridge—the one that leads us to the relationships, the opportunities, and the life that was always meant for us.
THE POWER OF VULNERABILITY
Weirdly enough, the path to discovering who we are often begins by figuring out who we are not. We can feel when we’re wearing a mask for others—when we’re disingenuous, faking it, or trying to fit into someone else’s narrative. So why do we keep putting these masks on when it feels so much worse to do so?
We think we need to—whether to belong, avoid judgment, or protect ourselves. But as I’ve learned, the more we accept ourselves for who we are, the less we fear the judgment of others—or even our own. And often, we discover our authentic selves not by adding more, but by removing what doesn’t belong. By letting go of who we’re not, we begin to see who we can be.
Michelangelo famously said that when he carved the statue of David, he wasn’t creating something new—he was simply removing everything that wasn’t David.
Life works the same way. The moments when we feel out of sync with ourselves—when we make mistakes, feel awkward, or cringe at past actions—aren’t signs that we’ve failed. They’re signals, pointing us toward growth. Discomfort—whether it’s embarrassment, frustration, or uncertainty—can be a powerful teacher if we let it. We can resist it, push it down, or run from it, but real change happens when we lean in and let it shape us.
Letting go of self-judgment is part of the process, but the real turning point is vulnerability. True vulnerability isn’t about sharing when we feel strong or put-together—it’s about showing up when we’re struggling, when we’re lost, when things aren’t going our way. That’s when it’s hardest, but that’s also the times it matters most for others to see us.
Confidence Isn’t Perfection—It’s Vulnerability in Action
Last summer, I began a series of treatments that left me with severe brain fog. I forgot how to do something I’d done millions of times—swing a golf club. This hit hardest during a tournament I had won the year before. For the first time, I had a small crowd of friends and family cheering me on, complete with signs and everything.
That day, everything unraveled. I couldn’t think clearly, and my muscle memory failed me. I was tied for the lead, but I was losing my ability to swing a club. Shot by shot, it just kept getting worse, until I was shaking every time I approached the ball. Imagine forgetting how to drive a car while you’re on the highway—that’s what it felt like. Fear consumed me—not just fear of losing, but fear of embarrassing myself in front of the people who had come to support me.
Every moment felt like a disaster waiting to happen. I wanted to withdraw, to escape the pain, to retreat to my bed and pretend none of it had happened. But then I stopped. I realized I would regret walking away more than I feared staying. I saw that fleeing wasn’t who I wanted to be. So I stayed. I leaned into the discomfort.
Even now, I can step back into that version of me—terrified, vulnerable, exposed. But in that moment of fear, I also saw something else: courage. Courage to face embarrassment, to keep going even when I wanted to give up. I told myself, “This is the game I have today. It’s certainly not my best, but let’s see what I can learn.”
By leaning into the experience, I began to understand that if I could stop judging myself in a moment like this, I could begin to stop the stories, and let go of the judgment of others that I was crafting in my own head. This small step mattered more than I knew at the time.
In the end, I didn’t win. I finished four strokes behind the leader, feeling embarrassed, exhausted, and ready to go home. But I was proud. Proud that I stayed, that I faced it, that I chose vulnerability over letting the fear consume me. Proud that I let others see me as I was going through this.
That tournament taught me two things: First, staying open to my experiences—even the painful ones—helps me find my way out of the dark. And second, those low moments are some of the best teachers I could ask for.
Over the weeks that followed, I spent countless hours on the range and putting green, rebuilding what I had lost. But I wasn’t just improving my swing—I was building a new kind of confidence. By facing embarrassment head-on, I began to realize it had no control over me. Each time I leaned in, I chipped away at the fears, judgments, and conditioning I’d carried for so long.
And what remained was me.
Had I not had the courage to be vulnerable that day—to feel like I had fully embarrassed myself and kept going anyway—I wouldn’t have learned the lesson I needed. After the round, my dad came up to me and told me he was proud of me. In that moment, I realized that even in the midst of failure, I was okay. The people who mattered most still supported me. What could have felt like a setback became the very thing that gave me peace and freedom to be me.
From that day forward, true confidence started to build—not because I was perfect or never made mistakes, but because I knew that when I did, I had the support I needed. I could trust that I’d be okay no matter what.
“Remove the ‘I want you to like me’ sticker from your forehead and place it on the mirror where it belongs.” – Susan Jeffers
Many of us hold back from being vulnerable because we fear it gives others power over us—the power to judge, hurt, or bring up our weakest moments in ways that leave us feeling exposed. And yes, some people may do this. But those individuals aren’t meant to hold meaningful space in our lives. When we allow ourselves to be fully seen, even at our most unguarded, we discover who loves and accepts us for who we are—not for what we can do for them. And isn’t that what we all want? To be seen, loved, and accepted, flaws and all?
So I challenge you today: let yourself be fully seen—not just in your strength, but in your struggle. Let yourself be uncomfortable. Tell others how you feel. Take risks. Be vulnerable and put it all out there.
As I’ve leaned into this practice, my relationships have grown in ways I never expected. It’s not about how often we talk but about the depth of connection that’s been built. Whether we check in regularly or only once in a while, there’s a trust and understanding that wasn’t always there before. I know the people in my life would show up for me, just as I would for them.
I’ve found places and opportunities that energize me instead of drain me. My path keeps unfolding in ways I never could have predicted, leading me to people and experiences I didn’t even know I needed. And through it all, I’ve come to understand myself—and where I truly belong—more than ever before.
The beautiful thing I’ve learned about authenticity is that it isn’t about becoming someone new—it’s about reconnecting with the person you’ve always been. It’s not what you do, but how you do it, and who you become in the process, that really matters.
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This is excellent, Nicholas. Our vulnerability is our strength as well as the scariest option at any given moment. The most terrifying aspects of ourselves, the rooms we avoid going into, the deep and frightening abysses we feel like tip-toeing away from, the conversations we would rather not have….ah, the X that marks the spot! I have found that this is where the jewels and riches of my life are buried. And the way we speak with ourselves is vitally important. As someone once told me: “Be careful what you think because you’re always listening.” Thanks for another great post, friend. I’ll keep digging if you will.