Who Are You Performing For?

This year has been heavy. It has tested everything I thought I was and forced me, time and time again, to keep showing up when most would graciously give me permission to fall apart. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t. I sang through heartbreak as if I was giving the final performance of a broadway career. I fell to my knees in the shower while the running water stifled the sound of my sobs. I stared blankly at the ceiling as I lost myself in my own thoughts for longer than I care to admit. But each time has been a brief catharsis, not an irreparable break. I have come apart the way a puzzle slips off a table and frustratingly needs to be rebuilt. I am not a delicate vase that shatters. 

And I know that I’m not alone in that strength. I know the resilience of every woman who pushes through the exhaustion of back-to-back meetings only to spend the afternoon carefully listening to the latest third-grade drama and encouraging kindness. Who then has her evenings consumed by grocery lists, emails, and a carefully curated skin routine to hide any sign of distress. 

The irony is that we tend to be the most worried about whether we are doing enough, while simultaneously accomplishing an ungodly amount throughout our days. We constantly worry about the impact we are having on our children and relentlessly examine all the ways we are failing them. We strategize constantly so that our business can be profitable, but ethical; expanding but not consuming; and aligned, but not micromanaged. We curate our lives with the mentality that we can do it all on our own while secretly (or maybe not so secretly) feeling overwhelmed and unsupported. I make these observations, not out of judgement of others, but with acknowledgment and self-awareness. 

Something shifted in me these past few months that had been such a core part of how I showed up in the world up to that point. I wanted the medal. The medal that doesn’t exist yet every woman seems to simultaneously be in the running for. The one for the most tired mom, the most hours worked, the busiest,  the most selfless. The shift wasn’t that I stopped showing up in these ways, it was recognizing that nobody cared. I don’t mean that in a self-pity or mean-spirited way. I mean that no one is giving out those medals because everyone is too busy chasing their own. No one is acknowledging your exhaustion because they are too tired to notice. And yes, it would be nice if we were all a little more in tune with those around us, but what if it didn’t matter? 

What if we stopped performing for an audience of no one? 

When my mindset changed around this, I began moving through the world expecting nothing in return. I thought this would feel lonely, but it was actually empowering. Without an audience, you get to become the person you truly are, not just the one you think you should be. Instead of trying to build a business I thought others wanted, I focused on building one that was a reflection of who I am. Instead of trying to be strong for others, I embraced my real strength. In a journey of authenticity, there is no failure or success, only the next thing. The mistake teaches you a lesson. The win is simply information that this is a good path for now.

I stopped asking myself, is this what I should be doing and started asking, am I showing up in a way I’m proud of? Turns out, the applause I’d been chasing was my own.