The Danger of Catering to Your Audience

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“I care too much about what other people think,” Gina confessed.

“How does that show up in your behavior?” I asked.

“It pretty much runs my life,” she replied.

A 40-something businesswoman with a track record of success and popularity, she still felt like an imposter. In a very real sense, she was just that. “So much of who I am is shaped by my need to play to my audience,” she explained.

“And who exactly is your audience?” I inquired.

“Colleagues, friends, acquaintances, even some of my family,” she answered.

Deeply Embedded Mental Script

Gina exhibited an overly developed sense of social awareness, which emerged as an intense sensitivity to the thoughts and feelings of others. This was challenging enough, but she also harbored a deeply imbedded mental script instructing her to be who others wanted her to be, rather than who she actually was. Not a good combination. 

“I find myself smiling when I would just as soon frown, or saying yes when I’m thinking no, or sounding upbeat when I’m actually bummed,” she elaborated. “Whatever mood or demeanor I sense people want from me, I give them.”

Psychologically, it worked pretty much like this: Gina read her audience, formulated a mental construct of who she surmised they wanted her to be, and she then attempted to fulfill that role. So, her characterization of her work and social groups as an “audience” was spot on. Like an actor on stage, she played the part she assumed they came to see, hoping this would gain their approval.

“Do you ever just be yourself around others?” I asked.

“Just with one very close friend, and if she thinks I’m playing a part for her, she calls me on it,” she replied.

Needing Permission

That was indicative of her problem. Gina needed someone else’s permission before she felt entitled to display her authentic self, and, even then, she was at risk of pandering to her audience. “I want to change this, but how do I start?” she asked.

“You start small with a few select folks. Conduct some low-risk experiments with being authentic, and then expand from there,” I offered. 

“You make it sound easy,” she said.

“It’s not. But the hard part isn’t changing your behavior. You’re already good at that, given how you play different roles for various audiences anyway. No, the tough thing is finding the courage to be who you are regardless of what others might think,” I continued.

At its core, Gina’s conundrum was based on fear—of disappointing others, causing conflict, or being seen in an unfavorable light. Consequently, what she required was more than behavioral engineering or cognitive reframing. To master her fears, rather than allowing them to reign over her life, she needed to face them. We shrinks call this “exposure therapy.” Basically, it means intentionally recreating the situation that frightens you, enduring it, recalibrating your emotional and behavioral response, and coming out in one mental piece. When we conjure what might happen if we do what we fear (for Gina, being herself around others), the imagined consequences are usually far worse than the actual ones.

“You don’t lack the smarts or flexibility to make this change,” I told her. “This isn’t about the way to do it. It’s about the will to do it.”

Being inauthentic creates expectations in others. They expect us to continue displaying the masquerade they’ve grown accustomed to. After all, we have trained them to rely on the whole made-up countenance—pasted on smile, pleasant exchanges, feigned interest and the rest. When one removes the contrived social mask and frees the real person inside, it almost always causes concern and pushback from one’s social, collegial or family circle. Most folks don’t like change. It messes with their comfort zone.

The need to be accepted by others and the accompanying fear of social rejection are powerful forces shaping human behavior, meaning, at times, most of us cater to the expectations of one or more social audiences. But when we consistently stifle who we are in deference to others, we are saying that our real self is unworthy or unacceptable. Then, we violate the Shakespearean adage, “To thine own self be true.”   

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