You’ve probably been there.
Cursor blinking. Draft number six. You’re staring at a post you’re about to share — something about your latest project, a talk you gave, a small win that felt big.
And yet, it all feels off. Too polished. Too eager. Too much like the version of you that sounds like everyone else on the internet.
You delete half the sentence. Then all of it.
No one wants to sound like they’re trying too hard. But you also don’t want to disappear.
Here’s the tension: You want people to see what you do. But you don’t want to turn yourself into a walking pitch deck.
You want to share your story, your voice, your work — but not at the cost of sounding like you’ve been reading too many marketing playbooks.
This isn’t just a you problem. It’s something a lot of thoughtful, brilliant people wrestle with: How do I show up without selling out?
How do I market what I do without feeling like I’m constantly pushing a version of myself that doesn’t feel true?
That’s what this piece is about. Not personal branding in the shiny, startup-y way. Not tricks or tactics.
Just a real conversation about what it looks like to own your story, share your work, and build trust —
without twisting yourself into something you’re not.
Where we got it twisted: why marketing yourself feels gross
Somewhere along the way, “marketing yourself” got tangled up with pretending to be someone else.
It became about building a personal brand instead of being a person.
Every social media profile turned into a highlight reel. Every caption needed a hook. Every “authentic” post felt like it was chasing metrics instead of meaning.
And honestly? It got weird.
People started referring to themselves in third person on LinkedIn. Designers started sounding like thought leaders. Freelancers started sounding like Fortune 500 companies. Somewhere in the pressure to stand out, we lost the plot.
No wonder it feels gross.
The idea of turning yourself into a product — one that’s polished, packaged, and perfectly consistent — strips away the messy, human, in-progress parts of who you really are.
And the worst part? It makes a lot of people go quiet. Smart, talented people end up saying nothing at all because they don’t want to play the game.
But maybe it’s not the sharing that’s the problem. Maybe it’s the way we’ve been taught to do it.
Because when the goal is always “positioning” and “value propositions,” it’s easy to forget that people respond to people — not personas.
What it actually means to be the product
It’s not about pretending you’re perfect. It’s about being clear on what you bring to the table.
Being the product doesn’t mean slapping a logo on your personality or turning every opinion into a content strategy. It just means owning the value of your perspective, your skills, your way of doing things — and not apologizing for it.
People aren’t buying a curated version of you. They’re buying into how you think, how you show up, how you solve problems, how you handle the messy in-between.
That’s the product. That’s what people remember.
Think of the writer who doesn’t pitch their services in every post, but keeps showing up with ideas that challenge people.
Or the coach who doesn’t parade testimonials but shares stories of actual growth. Or the designer who shares their process, not just their portfolio.
None of them are selling themselves.
They’re showing up in a way that makes it easy to trust them. That’s the difference.
You’re not a product because you polished your image. You’re a product when people understand what working with you actually feels like.
Your story is the strategy (even if you don’t think it’s special)
The most common lie people tell themselves when trying to show up is this:
“I don’t have a story worth telling.”
Maybe you didn’t overcome some wild adversity. Maybe you didn’t drop out of college and build a million-dollar company in a garage. Maybe you’re just someone who got good at what they do the slow, steady way…
Now THAT’S a story.
You don’t need fireworks to be memorable. You need honesty. You need reflection.
You need to notice the moments that shaped how you think, how you work, and how you treat people.
The best stories aren’t always the biggest. They’re the ones that feel lived-in.
A failed pitch that taught you to listen better. A client you almost lost but didn’t. A lesson that came late but stuck hard.
People connect with that.
Because when someone sees you sharing what you’ve actually learned — not just what you want them to see — it creates a different kind of trust. Not the shiny, aspirational kind. The grounded, “I’d work with this person” kind.
So if you’re sitting there waiting for your story to be dramatic enough, stop. It already counts.
Authenticity without oversharing
There’s a fine line between being real and putting your soul on display for clout.
Somewhere in the rush to “be authentic,” a lot of people started bleeding all over the timeline.
Every post became a therapy session. Every caption needed a personal crisis. And somehow, vulnerability got repackaged as a performance.
You don’t owe the internet your trauma to be seen as trustworthy.
You can be honest without being exposed. You can be open without being on display. The trick is knowing what’s yours to keep — and what’s worth sharing because it serves a purpose.
It helps to ask: Why am I posting this?
Is it to connect? To teach? To start a conversation?
Or is it to scratch an itch that maybe shouldn’t be scratched in public?
Some of the most genuine voices online aren’t the ones sharing every detail.
They’re the ones choosing carefully — offering pieces of their story in a way that creates space, not noise.
You don’t need to spill everything to be real.
You just need to tell the truth with intention.
Stop selling. Start showing.
People are tired of being sold to. They can smell it.
The moment something starts sounding like a pitch, attention drops, trust fades, and the scroll begins.
What people respond to isn’t the pitch. It’s the pattern.
Not what you say about yourself — but how you show up over time.
Not your title — but the way you speak, write, work, and think.
You don’t need to tell everyone you’re “the go-to” for something.
Let them figure that out by watching you do it — consistently, quietly, without the desperate energy of someone trying to win points.
The ones who end up trusted aren’t always the loudest. They’re the ones who just keep showing up — writing when no one’s clapping, building when no one’s watching, helping without expecting applause.
So don’t think in terms of selling. Think in terms of showing.
Let your work breathe. Let your voice build. Let people notice on their own.
That kind of trust? It sticks longer than a one-liner ever will.
How to market yourself: Making peace with visibility
It’s not that people don’t want to be seen. It’s that being seen feels risky.
What if you say the wrong thing?
What if people judge you?
What if it never lands and you just end up talking into the void?
Visibility comes with questions that don’t always have neat answers.
And for a lot of folks, especially the thoughtful ones, the quiet ones, the ones who didn’t grow up being told to “build their brand” — it can feel unnatural.
But being visible doesn’t mean performing. It just means not hiding.
There’s a difference between being loud and being present.
Between chasing attention and owning your space.
You don’t need to become someone else to be seen. You just need to stop shrinking what’s already there. You don’t need a script. You don’t need a formula. You just need to be consistent enough that people remember you’re around.
And when you show up like that — steady, honest, unforced — people start to lean in. Not because you shouted. But because you stayed.
Final Thoughts
There’s this fear that marketing yourself means losing yourself.
That being visible means being fake. That once you start talking about your work, you’ve crossed some invisible line and joined the ranks of people who sound like walking press releases.
But that only happens when you think you have to become someone else to be seen.
The truth? You already have what you need.
Your voice. Your way of thinking. Your way of doing things. That’s the product.
The goal isn’t to impress. It’s to connect. And the people who get it — the ones who stick around, support your work, share your name — they’re not looking for a performance. They’re looking for someone who’s real, consistent, and clear on what they bring to the table.
You don’t have to sell out.
You don’t have to play the game.
You just have to show up like you mean it.
That’s enough.