Here is the hidden face of “fake it till you make it.”
We’ve all been told that if we act confident, confidence will eventually come, right?
Smile. Speak clearly. Stand tall. Wear the blazer.
Project power, even when you don’t feel it.
Maybe you’ve done this for years. And maybe it even worked.
You became the woman who gets things done. Who looks like she’s got it all together.
Who knows. Who leads. Who inspires.
You became the one who always lands on her feet.
The one who seems like she doesn’t need anyone.
But here is the hard part:
You’ve forgotten how to be anything else.
Even with yourself.
And on a hard day, you don’t just feel pain or exhaustion.
You feel shame.
Shame for feeling.
Shame for struggling.
Shame for not being able to hold the role together.
Because the mask of confidence may bring success, but it also builds walls.
It convinces others that you’ve got this.
Always.
That you don’t need empathy.
That no one has to ask, “Are you okay?”
And when life hits you hard, you feel like a little girl who tricked the world.
Too small. Too unsure. Too tired. But never shown how to be that.
That is the hidden face of “fake it till you make it.”
It works for a while.
But if it’s not grounded in something real, it becomes a cage.
Real confidence isn’t about proving.
It’s not about convincing others you’re worthy.
It’s not about building an image strong enough to hide the emptiness inside.
It’s knowing, quietly, that you are enough.
Even when you shake.
Even when you cry.
The women who always seem capable are the least likely to be asked if they need help.
People give them responsibility.
Expect strength.
Demand resilience.
But rarely offer space to fall.
Or support when they do.
And that’s a heavy burden, to be seen only through your power,
Never through your humanity.
Maybe you wore the confidence mask to be accepted.
But what if behind it was always a deeper longing?
To be seen fully.
Even in your doubts. Even in your tenderness.
If you’re looking for a new way to define confidence, maybe it starts like this:
Today, I don’t have to perform.
Today, I give myself permission to just be.
I know, it sounds vague.
Especially for the woman who’s only ever known how to be strong.
To do.
To fix.
To stay in control.
Being means no outcome to chase.
No proof to give.
It means pausing to feel, without rushing through it.
Without turning your pain into a checklist of solutions.
And that might be the hardest thing for the strong woman:
To simply sit with herself.
To stop proving.
To breathe.
To gently ask:
What am I feeling right now?
And stay there.
No mask.
No role.
No shame.
Because true strength isn’t just the ability to keep going.
It’s also the courage to stop.
To say: Today, I can’t.
To let yourself be seen without needing to explain.
To not hide that it hurts.
You don’t lose who you are by admitting you need help.
In fact,
That’s when the truest part of you finally comes forward.
The one who no longer performs.
She just lives.
Fully. Authentically. And free.