Manchester.

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Authentic you.

“You need to be your authentic you”, my therapist told me.

I thought, rather naively, that she meant that I needed to be honest. I can do honesty; I’m pretty much always honest to others.

I’m very rarely honest to myself.

Honesty is weird because I expect it from other people and I give it to other people but I rarely give it to myself.

For some reason being honest to myself is scary. It’s confronting those 3am thoughts and it’s listening to that little voice that wants those suppressed feelings to be neutralised. It’s looking at that face in the mirror and making sure there isn’t any disharmony.

I see so much fucking disharmony.

That’s the annoying thing about being authentic; it isn’t just about honesty. It’s about harmony.

For me, I try to guess how people perceive me but then I don’t always show people who I am. This leads to crossed wires, unrealistic expectations and pain.

In order to be authentic everything needs to be real. How I feel needs to match what I tell others about how I feel. Being transparent is hard. It leaves me vulnerable.

Turns out being honest isn’t so easy after all.