The Authenticity Myth

Why Authenticity Felt Impossible

Authenticity has always been one of my core values—but it’s also the one I’ve wrestled with the most. For years I thought authenticity meant perfection: if one part of my life was struggling, then any joy elsewhere felt “fake.” Motherhood, my adult OCD diagnosis, and most recently K-Pop Demon Hunters have taught me that life is always “AND,” not “OR.”

The Scar I Tried to Hide

Like most families with young kids right now, I’m pretttty obsessed with K-Pop Demon Hunters. It’s not just fun and wildly creative—it’s also been surprisingly healing. Dare I say… spiritual?

Watching Rumi struggle with feeling like she could never be truly “good enough” because of her patterns resonated so deeply in me for so many reasons. One of which is quite literal — I have a pretty massive scar on my stomach from surgery I had in 8th grade to treat an ulcer in my stomach lining. This scar isn’t tucked away or aesthetic—it runs straight down the middle. For years it made me feel like a piggy bank, or some sort of science experiment (and honestly, sometimes it still does). I have skipped beach days, swimming pools many times or felt insanely self-conscious and uncomfortable in my swimsuit because for some goddamn reason, one-piece swimsuits weren’t cool at all when I was growing up. Now I thank my lucky stars because they’re now super chic, you could not pay me enough money to go back to a two-piece. Forget the scar, they’re just so much cuter imo.

My daughter asked me about it once and before I could say anything my son actually answered saying “that’s where we came out of her belly, duh!” I laughed and let that one be. Love how children fill in the gaps of their understanding with the funniest, sweetest and most confident of truths.

We all have parts of ourselves we want to change or ashamed of, right? And, for women & girls, it is tragically often something physical because society sucks, sorry I mean it tends to measure a woman’s worth by her looks, and a man’s worth is measured by his wealth.

Wishing away some physical part of our identity is such a futile and fruitless way to spend our energy and the way Rumi was hiding it in K-Pop Demon hunters really made me feel so much compassion for my younger self and inner child.

Hiding My Joy and My Culture

Another layer of healing for me as a Korean-American child of immigrants, sitting in a theater my non-Korean friend had rented out—surrounded by kids and adults of every background, rocking out to K-pop, asking what certain Korean words meant, talking about how they couldn’t wait to visit Korea. Surreal. Absolutely surreal. I used to listen to K-pop in private. If someone asked what was in my anti-skip DiscMan, I’d brush it off: “Oh, just some weird Korean CD my parents got me.”

As a Korean-American kid in the ‘90s, it wasn’t just music I was hiding or ashamed of. How could I forget the weird looks I got when I had seaweed in my lunch box growing up. Now, I shed a silent tear and smile every time I see Seaweed snacks at Trader Joe’s.

When Joy Felt Fake

Because I had so much I was hiding, I always felt weird when I was happy. I felt like it wasn’t real or I was afraid to be “found out.” Later, with an adult OCD diagnosis, I finally understood why. This wasn’t just about my culture or personality—it was contamination thinking: when one hard thing “spills over” and convinces you it ruins everything else. Like a conflict, flaw, or bad day suddenly making all your joy feel fake.

I remember this so clearly: in the middle of a two-year depressive episode, anytime I had fun—even briefly—I’d feel compelled to disclaim it: “This doesn’t mean I’m better, just so you know.” I was terrified people would expect me to stay happy, so I suppressed joy to avoid “lying.”

But here’s the truth I didn’t know then: life is always going to be “and,” not “or.”

Motherhood: Daily Exposure Therapy

Like so many things, motherhood has been the ultimate teacher for me in this truth. Motherhood cracked this wide open for me, as I realize again and again that I can be authentically heartbroken and authentically joyful at the same time.

It’s nothing short of daily, ongoing exposure therapy to this duality. I’m so proud and thrilled my kids are thriving AND I am absolutely devastated and destroyed they keep growing up so fast. I’m exhausted AF, wanting them to grow the F up already and I tear up even imagining them leaving the house for college.

Those constant “ands” gave me no choice but to accept and see that joy and struggle coexist—and both are real.

3 Small Practices that Make Room for Joy in the Mess

When I get stuck in rigid thinking about what I’m “allowed” to feel, here are three practical ways I keep choosing joy in the mess:

1. Say the “and” out loud. 
   When I catch myself spiraling, I literally say: “I’m sad about this and I’m grateful for that.” Naming both reminds me they can coexist.

2. Notice one tiny thing. 
   I’ll pause to take in the warmth of my coffee mug or laugh at something my kid says. Science shows noticing small moments helps joy “stick” to your brain.

3. Remind myself that perfection is a f*cking myth. 
   Stress will never fully disappear—waiting for the “perfect day” is a waste of my limited energy. I remind myself daily that joy has the right to live now, in the middle of the mess.

Before You Go

If we keep waiting until every box in our lives is checked before we let ourselves feel joy, life will pass us by.

Joy isn’t fake just because struggle is present. In fact, joy in the mess is often what makes it especially real.

Anything in the sun creates shadows—it’s never one or the other.

📣 Stop waiting for someone to rescue you someday.
Your ever after is yours and it is right now.

With so many feelings,
Diana 💖

🔑 ICYMI — last week I talked about how being vulnerable in your friendships are a huge unlock for self worth. I pulled it all into one YouTube video for easy reference. 

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