3 Ways to Be Authentic Online Without Exposing Your Entire Life

According to a bestselling memoirist and mental health writer

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Photo by John Schnobrich on Unsplash

When I started writing in 2020 (and subsequently shifted my Instagram content from filtered travel pics to tips for managing mental illness), my mission was to help one person feel less alone.

For 15 years I had struggled with an eating disorder, suicidal depression, anxiety, and trauma, and when I started writing I was in the process of navigating a divorce. 

Growing up in the 2000s we didn’t have social media (ok, we had Myspace and Tumblr, and god bless Livejournal for royally messing up my self-image). Nobody was talking about mental health, let alone basic stress. 

I felt utterly alone, broken, and bad. I longed for stories from people who had been through what I was experiencing so that at least I could feel a little less “other.”

Eventually, I wrote my own story. Read it in my memoir, “Where the River Flows.”

Writing about my experiences with mental illness became a way to mend that wound, and hopefully, heal a wound for someone after me. 

Perhaps, if people started talking more openly about what they were going through, and publicly, there wouldn’t be so much shame and stigma. And maybe, just maybe, people could feel safe to get the help they need.

I was right. 

Four years later, social media is decorated with advocates, professionals, and artists whose mission it is to change the landscape of mental health care, prevention, and awareness.

This is huge.

I’m grateful we have voices.

I’m grateful mental health actually matters.

I’m grateful that in such a short time, I’ve witnessed the change in people’s responses when I tell them I write about mental health for a living: what was once “What does that mean?” with a scowl is now, “Wow that’s incredible and so important” with a familiar smile.

I’m grateful.

And, I’m noticing (as happens when anything becomes popularized, or god forbid I use this word about mental health, but “trendy”) that somewhere along the way, our stories of pain have become gateways to popularity.

If you’re a content creator, mental health influencer, memoirist, or personal storyteller you’ll know the line between authenticity and exposition is thin.

A word that once meant “genuine” and “real” is now shrouded with a façade and fueled by performance.

Somehow, “authentic,” now translates to: storytelling or self-representation that is based on re-enactments of one’s darkest times. What was once an invitation to take off our masks, break the fourth wall, and connect with the audience, is now a lavishly costumed and scripted performance.

(I’m guilty of this too — please know this is not meant to be an accusation, but rather a reflection of my own process and observations of social media and mental health spaces online).

“Authenticity” online is now an exposition of pain: by divulging every bad thing that’s happened to us, we can engineer relatability.

The result is a conditional construct around “being real.” That to “be real,” we have to be “falling apart.” That unless we are displaying our dark times for all to see, we’re “fake.”

And still, sharing our pain does create spaces for us to heal.

The line is thin.

Shared pain is absolutely a means of connection.

Look at therapeutic groups and support circles. Sitting with others who deeply understand our suffering creates connection and feels much more meaningful than sharing our favorite ice cream flavors.

Social media offers people a place to experience shared pain when they might not have access to in-person or real-time healing spaces. There is certainly power (and relief) in re-enacting, sharing, and discussing our darkest times with those who might feel alone.

And while I have spent many years working to destigmatize mental health by doing exactly that, I have started to wonder: if the stories I’m telling are performances of the past, are they really authentic? 

What constitutes “authenticity” online when everything online is contrived?

And how can I be authentic online without accidentally subscribing to the belief that pain and exposition are mutual conditions of authenticity?

Photo by Pauline Loroy on Unsplash

Yes, I used to be one of those mental health creators who shared my entire morning routine.

I talked about the pain I was experiencing on a day-to-day basis, shared my wins of the week, and divulged my emotional state throughout each day.

I genuinely believed that the more often I shared, the more authentic I was being. That the deeper and more detailed my shares became, the more vulnerable I was. That unless I was wickedly transparent both in the moment and about my past, I would be somehow fake, ingenuine, or like all those “other influencers.” 

I wanted to stand out as someone who was a person, rather than a caricature of myself. 

After seeing so many filtered, posed, and what I deemed “fake” versions of life online, I wanted to dismantle some of the constant comparison and not-enoughness I felt. I wanted people to see someone online that represented them: human, messy, and imperfect. 

And in doing so, I exposed a lot of myself.

I exposed the inner workings of my neuroses, self-talk, and pathology. I exposed the complexities of my mind when struck by the symptoms of my eating disorder. I exposed the detailed moments in which I thought about ending my life and the desperation I felt at the end of my marriage.

When I started to get feedback that my content or my writing was “brave” and “vulnerable,” I felt a dissonance. Because while it was honest and true, it wasn’t true vulnerability. 

True vulnerability is the courage to share ourselves with others, and to be present with them in the exchange of that bravery.

I know what I’ve shared online has helped others (and myself) navigate the dark. But sharing online hasn’t deepened my connections with the people in my life. Because while I have shared dozens of stories of my pain and suffering online, I have only shared a sliver of them with my family and friends in my physical life.

I can write whatever I want behind the safety of a platform, knowing that I can close the screen when I’m done. I can turn off my phone, shut down an app, and walk away. I don’t have to face a response or a facial expression in the moment. I don’t have to converse or exchange dialogue or perhaps, experience true rejection from someone in my life. 

I can simply share my thoughts and feelings into the void, hit send, and walk away.

Vulnerability online is incomplete. For vulnerability to be complete, it has to have somewhere to land, and it has to have the chance to be reflected. Connection is required. Without the presence of another, vulnerability has nowhere to go. 

Vulnerability online is simply sharing into the void.

This is not to downplay the courage it takes to share our stories publicly.

It is still brave to share ourselves in any capacity, for whatever reason. And, I am realizing that when authenticity and vulnerability mean sharing only with strangers or sharing only our pain, we rob ourselves of the opportunity to have intimacy, privacy, and safety in some of our most important relationships.

In the last five months, I’ve remained incredibly private online (at least in comparison to how I used to share). My goal has been to cultivate meaningful experiences with my friends and family and practice vulnerability in person. This, I’ve learned, is far more difficult.

Still, I believe in shared storytelling. 

So I’ve constructed methods of “being authentic” online while honoring my private world, and without putting every moment of my life on public display.

While navigating the newness of holding my privacy tenderly, telling stories truthfully, and letting go of needing everyone to relate to me, I’ve asked myself questions like these: 

• How do I show up authentically and share stories that connect us, be real, and still maintain privacy? 

• What does shared vulnerability and courageous storytelling look like with boundaries? 

• And what does it look like in a digital space when we have the safety of a screen to protect us, and the possibility of our stories looming online forever?

Here is what I’ve come up with.

Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

Ways to be authentic online (without exposing your entire life)

I’ve been a mental health writer, advocate, and content creator for 4+ years and here is what I’ve learned about how to be genuine, true to yourself, and maintain privacy while still honoring your mission and connecting to your community.

1. Establish Digital Boundaries

This will look different for everyone. About 8 months into sharing my story online, I started getting DMs and comments from people asking for help, advice, or guidance. 

I’m not a licensed professional, and, I felt compassion for these people who felt brave enough to reach out. I started sharing disclosures in my stories and in my Instagram highlights stating I wasn’t a medical professional, and that if people sent me DMs, I would reply with kindness and try to direct them to resources that might help.

Later on, I decided to take weekends off from posting and consuming content. 

This allowed me to establish clear lines between using social media for work vs. my personal life: weekends were my private time to play, engage with friends, and be in my physical world without wondering if what I was doing was “post-worthy” or needed to be documented.

In the last 5 months, I have chosen not to photograph, film, or write about people in my personal life without their explicit consent. 

While this might seem more about their privacy than mine, it naturally results in me narrowing down what I’m writing about. Love stories between me and my partners are just for us. Hospital scares and family deaths are for me and my loved ones to mourn privately. My personal life remains personal, and my public-facing life becomes more attuned.

People create digital boundaries in myriad ways, so do what feels best for you. Some ideas include discerning the following:

• Times of day you don’t engage with content creation

• Certain topics you don’t write/film/create about

• People in your life that you don’t include in your content (visually or by name)

• Types of comments you don’t respond to (for ethical reasons or personal)

• Checklists you go through to determine if something is safe to share

2. Share wisdom learned, not pain endured

A simple way to create privacy while connecting and inspiring is to talk about what you’ve learned because of a hardship. This doesn’t mean we start reverting to a silver-linings approach, it means we reflect on what has happened and offer encouragement, wisdom, and lessons to those who might be in the middle of what we’ve already traversed.

This can still allow for meaningful transparency without feeling raw. Some ideas include:

• Lessons learned from therapy

• What you wish you’d known before your eating disorder started

• Things family members should know about what it’s like to manage [insert mental illness here]

• Managing symptoms of [xyz] while being a student

3. Try a Different Medium

After years of raw exposition, I decided to try shorter-form scripture. Writing poems, mantras, and even fables allowed me to express myself and offer inspiration without pouring my life onto the page.

If you’re accustomed to sharing short-form content or videos, try your hand at writing. Take a stab at doodling, sketching, or another form of visual art. Sometimes it’s not a matter of shifting the content, it’s a matter of shifting the medium.

This might not always result in a long-lasting change and you might find yourself back to exposition. That’s ok. But in the process, you might gain a new perspective and get enough time away from your habitual way of storytelling to discover new possibilities.

Some ways of altering your medium include:

• Painting, doodling, or sketching

• Changing the length or format of your writing

• Moving from video content to written content

• Moving from written content to video content

• Shifting from “talking style” videos to “vlog” style videos

• Using your personal story to write fiction

Photo by Maegan Martin on Unsplash

Last but not least, don’t worry so much about being “authentic.” 

As is true with any other human trait, the harder we try to be something, the more likely we won’t be that thing. Listen to your intuition when it comes to what you create. 

What feels good to you? What feels right? Safe? Important? What do you care about? 

If we are constantly fixated on what others think of us, it doesn’t matter whether our goal is authenticity or to be the most charismatic person in a room. What matters is who you are when all the lights are out, and what you want to create for when the lights turn on.

Because ultimately, the only person who can measure your authenticity, is you.

Happy Writing,
Rachel

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Rachel Havekost is the bestselling author of “Where the River Flows,” “Write to Heal,” and “The Inner Child Journal.” Rachel has single-handedly built an online social media presence with a combined 300k+ individuals devoted to de-stigmatizing mental health. She uses her writing and social platforms to share her wisdom and experience from 19 years of therapy for her eating disorder recovery, suicidal depression, anxiety, trauma, and divorce.

To read the full story of my eating disorder and experience with depression and suicide, read my memoir “Where the River Flows.”

For more written work, guided journals, and education, head to www.rachelhavekost.com

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