Hey my friend,
The most powerful lessons don’t arrive in the big, dramatic moments.
They sneak in quietly, through the smallest ones.
Like when you step into a conversation and think: wow, this feels uncomfortable.
When fear rises the second you try something new.
When you watch someone speak beautifully and whisper inside: they’re better than me.
These tiny moments are invitations—not to judge yourself, but to ask: how do I meet this?
I love this quote from Peter Crone: “Life will present you with people and circumstances to show you where you are not free.”
Isn’t in marvellous this life, haha :).
For years, I met those moments with comparison and self-deprecation.
Smile, say yes, stay agreeable. Keep the peace, and everyone will like you.
And yes—they did.
But here’s the truth I didn’t see: they weren’t connecting with me.
They were connecting with the mask.
That’s the paradox of people-pleasing: it looks like connection, but it’s actually disconnection.
Because no one can meet the real you if you’re not really there.
Coaching and self-inquiry taught me a different way.
When I stayed with myself instead of adjusting, instead of hiding behind a role, I began to feel what authenticity actually is.
Risky? Yes.
Awkward? Sometimes.
Raw? Always.
But authenticity is the only doorway to real connection, and the only place where your energy actually grows.
The hidden cost of people-pleasing
When you don’t trust yourself in those micro-moments, you turn outward.
You bend to keep others happy.
You perform a version of yourself that feels “acceptable.”
You hide what’s real and give what’s expected.
Not because you’re weak, but because it feels safer.
If I just keep the peace, I’ll be okay.
But here’s the cost I didn’t see for a long time: every mask takes energy to hold.
Every smile that isn’t true.
Every “yes” when you mean “no.”
Every silence when your heart wants to speak.
It’s draining, not because it’s hard work, but because it splits you in two:
one part playing the role, the other waiting underneath.
That inner split is what exhausts you.
Authenticity, on the other hand, gives energy back.
Because when you trust yourself enough to be real, you stop performing.
You stop needing approval.
And the moment you drop the mask—you feel lighter.
How coaching and self-inquiry show the way
This is why life has always been my teacher.
Because when you step into practice, there’s nowhere to hide.
Your body tells the truth immediately:
The hesitation in your step.
The tension in your shoulders.
The breath you didn’t realise you were holding.
If you stay with those micro-moments instead of escaping, something shifts.
You begin to trust yourself.
For me, it often looks like this:
I try a new exercise or record a video, and my mind instantly compares me to a polished version from someone else.
Judgment sneaks in: they’re better; maybe I should just copy them.
But when I stay—when I don’t run away—the shift comes.
Wait. This isn’t impossible. I just need more patience. More practice. More trust.
That’s the gift of expansion.
It’s not about perfection—it’s about building trust in the unknown.
And the moment you trust your body, you start trusting your life.
The more you trust yourself, the less you need to please others.
Because when you know your own power, you don’t need theirs to keep you safe.
When you know your own truth, it’s okay if someone disagrees.
And when you’re at home in your own body, you don’t need masks to feel safe.
Trust builds authenticity—by bringing you back to yourself.
My invitation
In the coming days, watch the moments you slip into people-pleasing.
That quick “yes” you didn’t mean.
The silence when you had something real to say.
The weight of holding up a role that isn’t yours.
And then—choose one small shift.
Stay with yourself.
Say the “no.”
Move the way you want.
Speak your truth, kindly but clearly.
Honour your needs. Leave when you’re ready.
Then notice what happens.
Because people-pleasing drains energy.
Authenticity restores it.
And every time you choose trust in those micro-moments, you step closer to yourself.
With love,
Tatyana
P.S. If you are looking for more guidance on this, you know where to find me.