It was a balmy Thursday morning in LA, and I’d just settled into my usual nook at Alfred Coffee. The sunlight was coming through the giant glass windows just right—warm enough to feel zen, but not so blinding that it’d force me into ten minutes of chair musical-chairs. I opened my laptop, sipped my overpriced latte, and told myself, This one will be fun. Famous last words. You never know, staring at a blinking cursor, that you’re about to write the piece that’ll wring your brain out like a wet sponge—but I know now.
Let me back up. My editor had asked me for an article on “authenticity in relationships.” Seems simple enough, right? It’s practically a buzzword these days—toss it in with some avocado toast, and voilà, hashtag content. But as I typed out sentence after sentence, eventually crossing out all of them with the ferocity of a Beverly Hills housewife defending herself at a reunion show, I realized what was tripping me up: authenticity is easy to preach and hard to live. Writing about it? Even harder.
When ‘Authenticity’ Feels Like a Trap
The problem with the whole “Be your authentic self” advice—whether in relationships or in life—is that it sounds as straightforward as:
1. Wake up.
2. Be honest about who you are.
3. Have someone love you for it.
Except, step two is about as easy as reproducing your barista’s latte art at home (spoiler: it’s not). Because who exactly is your authentic self? The version of you that loves rom-com marathons or the one that low-key hates them because the plots feel unrealistically tidy? The part of you that wants to impress people with your big career dreams, or the part that secretly loves nothing more than laying on the couch in ratty sweats, drowning in TikToks? Personally, I’m a weird all-you-can-eat buffet of contradictions, Jewish guilt, and inherited Hollywood sparkle that makes trying to write—and live—as “authentically” as possible feel about as simple as walking a tightrope in a pair of Louboutins.
But here’s the kicker: authenticity isn’t about neatly packaging your “true self” into some perfect little box to present to the world. Spoiler alert, no one has it that figured out. Instead, it’s about being honest with yourself—even when what you find there doesn’t look like the Pinterest board version of your life. It’s messy, uncomfortable, and sometimes downright embarrassing. And yet, digging into this mess taught me more about relationships (and writing) than any swipe-right success story ever could.
Lessons From the One Who Keeps It Messy
The hardest part of writing that piece wasn’t just grappling with my complicated cocktail of insecurities and self-doubt—oh no, my overthinking brain and I are besties. It was realizing, in the process, that some of my past relationship hiccups weren’t just about people not “getting” me. They were about me holding back the ugly truths—the kind that feel so vulnerable, they practically have a neon sign flashing KEEP OUT. Writing this article forced me to crack that open, and wow, talk about self-improvement mixed with emotional chaos. Here’s what I learned.
1. You Can’t Outsource Vulnerability (I Know, I’ve Tried)
For years, I operated like an emotional Airbnb host—offering up curated versions of myself for others without really letting anyone live in the parts of me that weren’t picture-perfect. I’d test the waters with, “Oh, you like indie films? Me too! I definitely haven’t seen 10 Things I Hate About You 47 times instead of The Seventh Seal.” But what hit me mid-article-writing-spiral was that my connections—platonic or romantic—always fizzled the moment I stopped being “on.” The moment they got a peek at my messy side, I’d panic. Wasn’t the magical chain of events supposed to go: charm, connect, live happily ever after? But no matter how cutesy the initial spark seemed, relationships can’t thrive on the emotional equivalent of Airbnb photos. You’ve got to actually show up for the messy stuff: your doubts, fears, and—dare I say it—quirky pillow habits.
2. Self-Reflection Isn’t Just for Therapy (Though Therapy Helps)
When relationships didn’t pan out, I’d used to play the “Let me analyze everything they said and did” game like a full-time sleuth. My greatest hits included:
- “They asked if I wanted to grab coffee instead of get lunch! Are they keeping it casual because they’re unsure about me?!”
- “Why did they double-like my Instagram post but not leave a comment? Suspicious.”
But writing that piece forced me to turn the magnifying glass inward. What if part of the problem wasn’t just them? What if I hadn’t really let anyone in—not fully? That realization knocked me flatter than a bad first date story. Sure, it kind of hurt to sit with, but it also gave me a new mantra: Connection Needs Clarity. If you’re confused about what (and who) you want, how can you expect anyone else to know?
3. Take Off the Hollywood Filter
I’ll admit it: growing up in LA, I spent more of my formative years than I care to admit imagining first dates as movie montages. The outfits, the walks through Secret Los Angeles Hotspots™️, the meaningful, laughter-filled conversations with just the right touch of eye contact—ugh, the drama! But one particularly cringe date (think: we sat in awkward silence for so long I started cracking dad jokes unironically just to fill the air) taught me an important lesson: real relationships are inherently unglamorous at times. You don’t need perfect lighting and a killer monologue to fall in love. You just need someone who sees you—a complicated, sometimes awkward human—and says, “Yeah, cool. Let’s figure this out.”
Why the Hardest Pieces Are Also the Best
When I submitted that authenticity article to my editor, my palms were so sweaty you’d have thought I was preparing for open-heart surgery. But the response? Apparently, I’d managed to say something meaningful, even if it felt like stumbling through a fogbank at the time. I heard from people who shared their own stories about struggling to be real in love, and it felt like we’d all discovered some major universal truth together: showing up with your imperfect, messy self is terrifying, but it’s also the only way to start building something real.
And weirdly enough, that’s what relationships and writing are all about—sitting with uncertainty, telling the unvarnished truth, and hoping someone else connects with it. It’s not easy—nothing worth having ever is—but what’s the alternative? Another date (or article) trying to be something you’re not? No, thanks. Here’s to the mess—and to finding people who love you for it.
