I don’t understand why we feel the need to be two different people. And if we’re honest, most of us do it.

I’ve made a conscious decision to stop.

I am who I am, and I’m not ashamed of about 90% of that. It’s the other 10% I’m still figuring out—the part that hides the struggles, the bad habits, the uncomfortable thoughts, the envy, the loneliness. The parts we tuck away because they don’t photograph well, and they certainly don’t belong in a caption.

We all hide the things we think are embarrassing. The habits we pretend we don’t have. The beliefs we’re afraid to admit because they don’t fit the majority. Society has quietly handed us a script for what is “normal,” and social media has amplified it to the point where we doubt every little thing we do. We feel like we must always be doing something “post-worthy.” We scroll past a beautiful memory with friends and focus instead on the zit on our chin, deciding the whole moment is unfit for public consumption.

Why?

Because somewhere along the way, we learned that being presentable is more important than being real.

Lately, I’ve been trying to push past the fear of judgment. I know that no matter how embarrassing something feels or how ashamed I might be, someone else is going through the same thing. My hope is that by being more open, it will give others permission to be a little more honest, too.

I don’t mean telling every stranger you meet the details of your finances, digestion problems, or private habits. I mean being real with the people who matter. Being honest with “your people.”

And that leads to something else I’ve been learning: choosing the people in your life.

It may sound callous, but I no longer believe in giving parts of myself to people out of obligation or habit. Over the last few years, I’ve become far more selective about where I give my time and energy. Quality over quantity. Never out of guilt.

Do these people light me up or drain me?
Do I feel better after spending time with them, or mentally exhausted?
Do our interactions align with my current values?
Do they encourage growth, or quietly make me feel foolish for trying something new?

I first learned about “quality friends” when I quit drinking.

Someone asked me a simple question: “Are they coffee friends or whiskey friends?”

At the time, I didn’t even understand the difference. I grew up in a small town where socializing revolved around sneaking alcohol into slushies and finding creative ways to drink without adults noticing. Later, as a young adult in a city, I met people the same way many do—at bars. Those “whiskey friends” were all I knew.

When I stopped drinking, something changed. People became uncomfortable. Conversations felt different. And I realized many of those relationships couldn’t exist without alcohol as the glue. They weren’t the people I could call for a coffee, a meaningful conversation, or growth beyond retelling old stories we’d laugh about to make them feel normal.

I needed coffee friends.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is this: do they invest as much into the relationship as I do?

Relationships aren’t always 50/50, but over time, they should be close. If you find yourself giving 80% for months or years while the other person can’t spare two minutes to return a message, it’s not personal—but it is information. It tells you how they value the relationship compared to how you do.

That realization can hurt, but it’s far better to adjust expectations than to quietly build resentment.

Protecting your time and energy takes practice. It can feel like you’re trying to please everyone and do everything until, halfway through the week, you’re completely drained. Or you feel guilty for saying “no,” as if protecting yourself is somehow disrespectful.

It’s not.

Step back. Identify who and what truly matter. Then look at how you’re spending your time.

I know my battery runs low when I overbook myself and ignore my own well-being. That awareness has forced me to rethink my habits, my commitments, and even my relationships.

Do I want to go out to eat multiple times a week with my husband? Of course. But what I value more is quality time and financial discipline, so a night cooking and visiting at home serves us better.

Do I want to volunteer? Yes. But not for just anything. It must align with what I believe in.

Do I want to see friends constantly? Absolutely. But not if I show up depleted and unable to be my best self for them.

Another important consideration is this: do the people in your life inspire you?

I want my circle to be emotionally safe, but I also want them to push me. I want to be around people who challenge themselves, who are curious, who strive for more—not because what they have isn’t enough, but because growth matters to them.

In the past, I surrounded myself with people who felt comfortable. People who lived in a way that was familiar to me. There is nothing wrong with that lifestyle. But I’ve realized - they live a life that I do not prefer.

We all choose different roads. We all picture our futures differently. And that’s okay.

What I’ve learned through my own challenges is that I can overcome difficult things. In fact, when someone doubts me, it makes me want to prove—more to myself, than to others—that I can. I need people in my life who think the same way. People who don’t use the past as an excuse but see the future as possibility. People who step outside their comfort zones, who get curious, who push just a little further simply because they can.

Because I don’t want to live comfortably. I want to live intentionally.

The moral of all of this is simple: you have to protect yourself.

Your peace. Your health. Your relationships. Your time.

Balance is not selfish—it’s necessary. Without it, peace disappears. And when peace disappears, everything else begins to suffer.

Take the time to evaluate who lifts you up and which habits or commitments you keep out of routine rather than benefit. It may be uncomfortable. It may even hurt a little.

But your inner peace is worth it.