Unlearning Who I Thought I Had to Be

We spend so much of our lives becoming.

Becoming who we’re told we should be.

Becoming what’s applauded, rewarded, or expected.

Becoming palatable, productive, pleasing.

Until one day, we wake up in a life that feels foreign—even though we built it.

That’s what happened to me.

I had checked all the boxes. I looked like I was thriving. I smiled in the photos, made plans, chased goals. But under the surface, something was unraveling. I wasn’t unhappy—I was disconnected. Not from others, but from myself.

I had spent years building an identity based on approval. On survival. On staying safe. But the more I grew, the more that identity began to crack. And eventually, I had to face a difficult truth:

The person I thought I had to be wasn’t who I really was.

The Subtle Weight of Becoming “Acceptable”

No one directly told me who to be. But the messages were everywhere.

Be agreeable. Be accommodating. Be successful but humble. Be ambitious—but don’t intimidate anyone. Be emotional, but not too emotional. Be soft, but strong. Be a helper, a fixer, a good one.

Like many people, especially women and people raised to prioritize others, I became fluent in shapeshifting. I became what each room needed. I anticipated others' needs before they asked. I swallowed my opinions to keep the peace.

I thought this made me kind. Adaptable. Wise. And in some ways, it did. But it also made me vanish.

Because in all that becoming, I never stopped to ask:

What do I want? Who am I when no one’s watching?

The Identity That Was Never Mine

The version of me that thrived on praise? She was tired.

The version of me that always said yes? She was burnt out.

The version of me that never took up too much space? She was aching to be seen.

It was never just about one moment or decision—it was the accumulation of tiny choices made from fear instead of freedom.

Unlearning who I thought I had to be meant grieving the roles I had played so well.

When the Performance No Longer Fits

At first, the unlearning felt like failure.

When I stopped overextending myself, people noticed—and not always kindly. When I stopped chasing titles or external validation, I felt exposed. When I started saying “no,” I feared being called selfish.

But slowly, I realized: the discomfort wasn’t a sign I was doing something wrong. It was proof that I was shedding what wasn’t mine to carry.

The performance had served me once. It helped me belong. It helped me survive. But now, I didn’t want to just survive—I wanted to live.

The Process of Unlearning

Unlearning isn’t as clean or fast as growth culture makes it look. It’s not a straight line. It’s messy, non-linear, and deeply emotional. It means peeling back layer after layer until you find what’s true.

Here’s what that process looked like for me:

Getting quiet enough to hear myself. I had spent so long listening to everyone else’s voices that I forgot the sound of my own.

Noticing when I was performing. Sometimes I caught myself smiling when I wanted to cry, or offering help when I needed rest. Those were clues.

Letting myself be “too much” or “not enough.” I practiced being unfiltered—even if it made me vulnerable. Especially then.

Redefining what success looks like. Not in numbers, status, or applause—but in peace, alignment, and honesty.

Learning that boundaries are not rejection—they are reclamation.

Each moment of unlearning was a return. A quiet, radical homecoming.

Who I Found Underneath the Shoulds

When I started letting go of who I thought I had to be, I didn’t find a polished, perfect self underneath. I found someone real.

Someone messier, softer, more opinionated, more emotional.

Someone who laughed louder, cried easier, rested more.

Someone who didn’t always know what came next—but trusted herself to figure it out.

And for the first time, I felt like me.

Loving the Version of Me That’s Still Becoming

Even now, I’m still unlearning.

It doesn’t happen all at once. It happens in moments:

When I catch myself shrinking, and choose to speak.

When I feel guilt for resting, and let myself rest anyway.

When I feel unworthy, and still show up with love.

Unlearning is not a destination. It’s a lifelong practice of checking in and asking, Is this really me? Or is this who I thought I had to be to be loved?

Final Thoughts: Becoming, Again—but Freely

There’s nothing wrong with who you were taught to be. That version of you did the best they could with what they knew. They protected you. Got you through. But now, you get to choose.

You get to outgrow what no longer fits—even if it once felt safe.

You get to rewrite your definition of enough.

You get to make room for your real self—even if she’s louder, quieter, messier, or bolder than others expect.

And that’s not selfish. That’s sacred.