How Brené Brown helped me solidify my self-esteem

She asked the questions. Four days later, I felt more confident than I ever had.

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Back in 2017, Brené Brown reached out to me via email to ask if I’d be willing to do an interview with her in prep for her upcoming book, Braving the Wilderness. (Um, what? Yes? IMMEDIATELY YES.) This Q&A wasn’t published in the book itself, but I was happy to contribute anything to her work. The questions she posed were thought-provoking and helped me even more than they presumably helped her.

In her email, Brené wrote, “You’re so brave as a leader. You do what you think is right. You lead from love not fear. You praise leaders within your community rather than working hard to cultivate followers. It takes a SHIT TON of courage to lead that way” (I briefly considered tattooing the entire paragraph somewhere on my body for posterity.)

I recently came across the questions she asked—and my responses—while scanning through my Dropbox account. Though this was 9 years ago, the questions she posed are timeless, and apply just as much to my personal growth today.

I’m sharing part one of our “interview” here, on the subject of fitting in and belonging to oneself.

BB: Has “fitting in” ever been a struggle for you? If so, how have you struggled with it?

MU: As far back as I can remember, fitting in was both vitally important and a huge struggle. I remember going to elementary school wearing a red polo shirt and purple corduroys (my favorite color combination to this day) and hoping I would stand out just enough to blend in with the cool kids. I was always on the periphery; never quite “in” but not really “out.” Thank god I was smart enough to effortlessly get good grades, because the thing I really studied in junior high and high school was how the popular kids behaved and interacted. I reinvented myself constantly—new haircuts, hobbies, mannerisms, speech patterns. I had no idea who I was, but there was this constant feeling of being not quite “right” for whatever situation I was in.

When I reflect back on “fitting in” as a young adult, I think about my reaction when a beautiful woman walked into a room. Most women give her a quick glance, maybe a look of appreciation, and then return to whatever they were doing. I’d give her what I have come to recognize in other women as “the twice-over.” I’d give her lingering glances at her out of the corner of my eye, evaluating her from head to toe (her hair, her shoes, the way she stood or talked) and wondering if there was some behavior or trait in her that I could adopt to be prettier/cooler/more noteworthy. By standing out so much, she fit in better than I ever did, and I wanted that.

Later in life, when I started Whole30 and began presenting nutrition seminars, those I socialized with were all pretty science-minded, well-researched, and into discussing the implications of the literature. At the time, that was not my strong suit, but I was afraid if I wasn’t smart in the same way, I wouldn’t be credible. So I faked it as best as I could in my writing and presentations, taking questions I didn’t quite know the answer to, in order to “prove” I was worthy of being up there. I felt like an imposter. It also prevented me from developing the talents I did have—building community, motivating change, and strengthening Whole30’s voice.

BB: What was the self-talk that fueled fitting in?

MU: It was centered around being “not enough” or “not right.” I wasn’t _____ enough to fit in with any one group in school. I was always slightly off-balance at parties or social occasions. I wasn’t enough or right when I first started leading people through the Whole30. If I could only do/say/find that one thing I was missing, something would click and I would finally fit in. I spent an exhausting amount of time and energy trying on and discarding various mannerisms, personality traits, and styles to see if that would be the thing that worked for me.

BB: What do you think is happening in the world today that makes “fitting in” so seductive?

MU: Because I spend so much time on social media, I can’t help but view the concept of “fitting in” through the lens of Instagram and Facebook. When I was growing up, the only people I had to compare myself to were people I knew in real life: my school friends, the neighborhood kids, or my extended family. I thought that level of competition and pressure was fierce, but that’s nothing compared to evaluating where you fit in with the whole world as presented on social media.

To make things worse, you’re also mostly seeing people’s highlight reels, and highly edited photos and videos. At best, you’re comparing your norm to the best of the best moments in their life. At worst, you’re trying to fit into highly unrealistic scenarios meticulously crafted specifically for public consumption. If we had social media when I was a kid, I would have been way more f***ed up than I already was, in terms of self-esteem, self-worth, and the desperate need for external validation.

Because you have so many frames of reference, it raises the “fitting in” bar in your own mind. Pretty isn’t just “girl-next-door pretty,” it’s “Instagram model/influencer in Miami” pretty. But it also makes you want to fit in somewhere even more, mostly so you can show others that you really do belong, HERE’S PROOF LOOK AT MY PHOTOS. And maybe if everyone else tells you often enough through likes, comments, and shares that you really are “enough” or “right,” you’ll start to believe it too.

“True Belonging is the spiritual practice of belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacred both being a part of something and standing alone.” —Brené Brown, PhD, Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone

BB: What does belonging to yourself mean to you?

MU: It means living in my integrity, 100% of the time. It’s acting in a way that aligns with what serves Future Me best, even if it’s not what my reward-driven brain wants to do. It means showing myself grace and compassion when I step outside of my integrity, and owning up to that (to others or to myself) in whatever way necessary to make it right. It means loving myself so fiercely that no matter what happens in my life, no matter how chaotic or messy things get, I feel secure, safe, and solid. It means paying myself first, in part because if I’m not happy and rested and full in my soul, I am of no service to anyone else—but also because the Universe wants me to live my life happy, rested, and full in my soul.

My purpose in life is to serve my community; to guide and lead people through physical and emotional transformation. I can’t step outside of myself to connect with them unless I belong to myself so firmly, so strongly, that I have enough strength and conviction to hold both of us up as they go through that process.

Aside: That sounds, perhaps, overly dramatic—but it’s not, at least not to me. Working so closely with people with so many issues (emotional, spiritual, past trauma, so much negative self-talk and thoughts) is hard. First, the kinds of things people ask me to help them through—like sexual abuse shame, marriage issues, drug or alcohol recovery—are way outside of food and diet. This is big stuff, and for some reason, they feel drawn to open up to me. I take this responsibility seriously. They are brave enough to DM a total stranger on the internet to ask for help, and I respond to as many as I can. I’m incredibly intuitive, and feel other people’s stuff deeply. This means I have to ground and root strongly in myself to really be able to authentically connect. Otherwise, their energy would quickly suck me dry, or toss me around like a tiny boat in stormy seas. I know this from experience.

BB: How did you get to a place of belonging to yourself?

It was a long, slow process. Though I had mostly worked through some big issues (sexual abuse, drug addiction) with an incredibly talented therapist, the real process of belonging to myself didn’t start until I hit a new “bottom”: a deeply traumatic experience that was the beginning of the end of my marriage.

It was at that point that I found the two counselors who would guide me the most, and The Work of Byron Katie. Through questioning the stories I had been telling about myself and my self-worth (and realizing I could simply let those go), I began to love myself again. Fiercely, obsessively almost, because I don’t do anything halfway. I began putting my happiness first. I began actively working to be happy. I decided that anytime a situation made me uncomfortable, anxious, or hurt, I’d sit in those feelings quietly until I could accept things and move through it with compassion. I stopped swallowing my feelings and negative emotions, and gathered them in instead.

Everyone noticed. EVERYONE. My family, my friends, total strangers on the internet would comment that I seemed softer, happier, brighter. I felt softer, but I also felt stronger than I have ever felt before. Not brittle-strong, like a single well-placed comment or kindness might crack me open. Grounded. Solid. So strong I could afford to be as soft, gentle, and graceful as I wanted to be with myself and others. So I started to do that, which was totally new for me… and it turns out that only made me love myself more. Holy shit.

BB: What got/gets in the way? What helps?

MU: At this point, nothing gets in the way. I have momentary lapses that I call “echoes” of old traumas, stories, thought patterns, and negative self-talk. But I’m in and out of them quickly, because I recognize they’re just echoes of the past. This is not that. I don’t feel/think/behave like that anymore, so I allow them to pass.

These echoes were the only thing that ever got in the way, and that’s only because it took me a while to see them for what they were. I’d hear an echo and immediately buy into it, as if it were happening now all over again. They felt so familiar, and I had been conditioned to respond to so many situations with fear, anxiety, and armor.

Once I started belonging to myself, suiting up with armor and showing up in the world like that hurt. It didn’t feel good anymore. It didn’t feel protective. It felt stifling. Heavy. Wrong. It felt like I was somehow outside of my integrity, in a way I couldn’t quite identify. The first time this happened—that I suited up and it felt wrong—was the most confusing experience. This had always worked for me. Why wasn’t it working now? But it was also the cue I needed to discover the echo, see it for what it was, and be able to let it go. I got better at this with time, and now the whole process often happens in a matter of seconds.

Coming in Part 2: The Wilderness

As I read these responses back, I’m stunned at how relevant they remain today. (Just replace “Facebook” with “TikTok” and the rest still stands.) I still feel these echoes. I still struggle with “fitting in” and “standing out.” I’m still refining what it means to live in my integrity and belong to myself.

What do these questions bring up for you? Which parts are relatable, and what are you working toward? The comments are open to all today.

In Part 2, I’ll share the rest of our interview. I once again extend a heartfelt thank you to Brené for prompting this level of introspection, and sharing her gifts with all of us. I have benefited tremendously from her work, and relished the opportunity to contribute to it in this small way.

XO, MU