Dear darling friend,
Authenticity isn’t just a value for me—it’s a necessity. It’s oxygen. And yet, I’ve spent much of my life mastering the art of adaptation. I’m a chameleon, in the most skilled and nuanced sense of the word. Whether I’m in the smallest of small towns or the bustling heart of a big city, whether I’m working with CEOs or warehouse crews, I can blend in, mirror the energy, speak the language. It’s a gift—but also a tension.
For a long time, I thought blending in might help me feel like I belonged. In my family, I was the one who saw things differently—the “alien” child with a love for sci-fi and a quiet yearning to reunite with my galactic brothers and sisters. Adapting became a survival tool, a bridge between my inner world and the external realities around me. If I could make myself fit, maybe I wouldn’t feel so separate.
But here’s the truth: Even when I’ve looked like I belonged, I’ve rarely felt it. That’s the core contradiction. I can show up in almost any environment and function like I fit—but the part of me that hungers for authentic connection often stays hidden beneath the surface, unsatisfied.
And that’s the tension I’m wrestling with: the dual truth that I am a chameleon and someone who fiercely values authenticity. The label “chameleon” used to feel like a betrayal of who I really am—as though shape-shifting made me less real. But I’m starting to see it differently.
Maybe being a chameleon isn’t about faking it. Maybe it’s about being able to sense what’s needed in a moment and choosing consciously how to show up. Not to gain approval. Not to self-abandon. But to stay in integrity while navigating complexity.
What I’m learning is that adaptability doesn’t have to cancel out authenticity. I can adjust and still stay rooted. I can flex and still be real. The trick is staying aware—of my motives, my needs, and whether I'm showing up from fear or from truth.
I don’t have to pick one: chameleon or true self. I can be both. Because the most authentic version of me includes my adaptability. It’s part of what makes me who I am—not a mask I wear, but a muscle I’ve developed.
So now, I’m working on honoring all of me—the part that moves fluidly between worlds and the part that stands firmly in truth. I’m not either/or. I’m all/and. And I think that’s where real power—and real belonging—lives.
I’ll leave you with this:
Where in your life are you blending in?
And are you doing it from fear… or from truth?
What would it look like to honor all of who you are—even the parts that seem to contradict each other?
Where are you holding back?
And what part of your truth is ready to come forward—no matter the room you're in?
Honoring you and honoring me,
Deb
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