I really want to gently remove the idea that you have to keep performing for an audience you were never even created for. And before you think I’m preaching—please, I’m guilty too. You too. All of us.
From when we were small girls, we were taught in quiet ways to perform. Not always directly, but you could feel it. Speak like this. Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too forward. Be likable. Be desirable. Be “good.” Most of the time, it was so that we could be picked.
Picked as the good girl. Picked as the wife. Picked as the cool girl. Picked as the favorite. Picked as the one that is “not too much.”
But let me ask you something—who are you when nobody is watching? What do you actually believe in? What kind of life do you really want for yourself, not the one that gets applause?
Because performing is not always obvious. It doesn’t mean you don’t have values or boundaries. It just means that somewhere along the way, you started editing yourself. Softening certain parts, shrinking others, amplifying the ones that make you easier to accept.
And the truth is, this performance doesn’t end.
It shows up in school—how you talk, how you behave, how you present yourself.
It follows you to work—suddenly you are asking yourself if you are too loud, too bossy, or if you should be softer, calmer, nicer. Even the way you dress can start to feel strategic.
Then in relationships, it becomes even more subtle. What does he want? How should you look? How should you behave?
Let me gist you.
I met this guy I was really attracted to, and as we spoke, he started describing the kind of woman he wanted. A housewife. A stay-at-home mum. Someone who would be available for him at any time.
Now, let’s be honest—being a stay-at-home mum is not small work. It is real work, and it deserves respect.
But then he says maybe she can just stay at home, write a book, paint… the way he said it, it sounded like those are just small things to pass the time, not real work.
And I’m there thinking—wait, since when did writing and painting stop being actual professions?
Then he even made a comment about ambition. About women working in corporate, building careers, and how that puts them in their “masculine energy.” I just had to laugh, because what does that even mean? Is thinking for yourself and wanting more for your life now a problem?
Everything he was saying might work for him, but it didn’t sit right with me.
Because me, I want to build things. I want to create solutions. I want to do work that impacts people on different levels.
But what really caught my attention was not even what he said—it was my reaction.
I caught myself trying to adjust.
I started thinking, “Maybe I can do all of this from home,” “Maybe it can still work.” Not because that was what I truly wanted, but because a part of me was trying to fit into a version of a woman he would accept.
And that’s how the performance continues.
Another small example. I once posted a picture, and you could see my hand with a ring on my wedding finger. It honestly didn’t mean anything to me.
One of my male friends saw it and asked if I was married. I said no, and he laughed and said, “I was wondering… who will marry a feminist?”
He said it like a joke, but you know when something is said as a joke but there is truth inside it.
I laughed too, but I had to say it—people marry feminists.
Still, that moment stays with you. Because in subtle ways, you’re reminded that there is a version of you that is more acceptable. Less opinionated. Less strong. Less… you.
And it’s not even just about women who want to get married. It’s in friendships, in family expectations, in workspaces, even in how we present ourselves to the world.
And these moments happen all the time. Small, quiet situations where you start to question yourself, adjust yourself, perform a little, just to fit into what is easier for people to accept.
So I keep asking myself, should we just accept it? Should we own the performance and play the game well?
Or what happens if we stop?
Will we still be chosen? Or is it only the girls who perform that get picked?
I don’t have all the answers. But I know this—I don’t want a life where I have to audition to be loved or accepted.
And I don’t think you want that either.
So maybe this is where we start.
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