Ever try to convince yourself you’re not hungry, only to find your hand three knuckles deep in a bag of sea salt chips within five minutes? Same. That’s the thing about pretending to be something you’re not: It never really lasts. Eventually, your real self shows up, crumbs and all. That little truth bomb applies to life, love, and yes, the nerve-wracking world of relationships. I’ve learned this firsthand, not just through my own slip-ups, but by growing up around people who could spot a fake a mile away.

Let me explain. I grew up in northern Idaho, surrounded by pine trees, tourists, and the kind of small-town candor that doesn’t let you hide who you are for long. My family worked in the resort business, so I spent summers at our lakeside property meeting people from all walks of life. City slickers with big dreams, retired couples who had been married longer than my parents had been alive, gaggles of hormonal teenagers throwing caution (and sunscreen) to the wind—they all landed at our dock eventually. Watching those fleeting interactions taught me something invaluable: authenticity transcends everything. Whether you’re a venture capitalist or a kid saving nickels for ice cream, people can sense when you’re being honest. And, more importantly, when you’re not.

The Problem With Pretending

We all do it at some point. Call it self-preservation, call it fear of rejection. You meet someone new, and out comes the “polished” version of yourself: the one who pretends to know the difference between a Bordeaux and a Cabernet Sauvignon (spoiler: I don’t) or claims to “absolutely love” marathon running when, in reality, your cardio maxes out at chasing your dog around the yard. It’s not that we set out to lie—it’s just easier to say the “right” thing than risk being accepted—or rejected—for who we actually are.

But let me ask you this: How long can you keep that up? A month? A year? A lifetime? More importantly, what does it cost you? I’ll tell you what it’s cost me. I once spent an entire summer trying to like kayaking because the guy I was dating owned three of them, plus the world’s most aggressive enthusiasm for all things paddle-related. To clarify, I’m not anti-kayak. It’s just that most of my paddling ended in face-plants into Lake Coeur d’Alene while he shouted from a safe distance, “It’s all about balance!” Our breakup wasn’t dramatic, but it was inevitable. He wanted someone who vibed with the Great Outdoors 24/7, and I—while a devoted nature gal—also like indoor things, like books, couches, and dry socks.

This isn’t just about romantic relationships, though. Pretending to be something you’re not—whether to impress a crush, fit in at work, or blend into a friend group—pulls you further and further from the person you really are. And if you’re not showing up as yourself, how will the people who truly see you ever find you?

The Power of Showing Up As Yourself

So, what does it actually look like to lead with authenticity? For me, it means embracing the contradictions that make me, well, me. I’m a nature-loving introvert who grew up around motorboats and tourists but now spends hours tramping through quiet woods. I’m a book nerd who packs poetry and snacks for road trips. I’m also someone who’ll choose a campfire and s’mores over fine dining any day of the week. And it’s in the moments when I’ve leaned unapologetically into those quirks that I’ve built the deepest connections.

When I started dating my now-partner, one of our first conversations involved me forgetting to play it cool entirely. He mentioned a mutual love for hiking, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Do you think squirrels feel awkward when we stare at them for too long?” To his credit, he laughed—hard. That exchange set the tone for everything that came next because we both knew from the jump that there was no point in turning ourselves into Pinterest-perfect versions of people we weren’t.

This doesn’t mean you need to trot out every oddball trait or personal insecurity when you’re first getting to know someone, but it does mean letting the most essential parts of you breathe. If someone doesn’t like the idea of sharing trail mix on top of a mountain while you wonder aloud about squirrel etiquette? They’re not your person, and that’s okay. In fact, it’s great—you’re now one step closer to finding someone who is.

How To Stand Firm In Who You Are

Easier said than done, right? If being authentic were as simple as flipping a switch, the self-help section would be a lot smaller. But here’s what I’ve found works:

  • Know What Matters To You. Make a mental mood board of your must-haves in relationships. Does intellectual curiosity light your fire? Are lazy Sunday mornings playing Uno and drinking coffee non-negotiable? Define your dealbreakers and your delights. That way, when a red flag or a green light comes along, you recognize it.

  • Get Comfortable With Discomfort. There’s a risk to being yourself, no getting around it. You might get hurt; you might not “win” someone over. But short-term discomfort beats the slow-burn frustration of compromising who you are just to please others.

  • Trust the Timing. Growing up around a resort, I saw countless failed fishing expeditions, moments where full-grown adults swore at rods, reels, and the unfairness of life itself. And yet, year after year, someone in the group would catch “The Big One.” That’s because patience isn’t just a virtue in fishing—it’s your best friend when waiting for the right connection. You don’t have to rush love. It’ll find you when it’s meant to.

  • Surround Yourself With “Your People.” Authenticity thrives in safe spaces. Seek out friendships and communities that encourage honesty—places where being yourself isn’t just tolerated but celebrated.

Why It’s Worth It

You know that moment at the end of a long day when you ditch the jeans and slip into sweatpants? That’s what being authentically you feels like—effortless, freeing, and infinitely better than faking your way through life. When you connect with someone who laughs at your bad jokes, embraces your quirks, and doesn’t mind that you sometimes burn the toast, that’s where the magic happens. It’s not perfection. It’s something better: connection built on honesty.

So, the next time you’re tempted to repackage yourself into what you think someone else wants, resist. Your real self—the one who wonders about squirrels and sometimes falls out of kayaks—is already enough. More than enough. And the people who matter? They’ll see it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some sea salt chips with my name on them. Crumbs and all.