Have You Ever Met Your Best Self?

Have you ever met—or been—the best version of yourself? And if you have... are you still that person? If not, what changed?

I can’t say I’ve fully lived as my best self—at least not for long. The closest I’ve come was in early 2016. Back then, when I walked into a room, it lit up. Not because I tried to shine, but because I couldn’t help it. I was grounded, magnetic, full of light. The friend everyone called for support. The voice of reason, love, peace, and patience. I loved who I was in those moments. My head was high, my smile wide, my energy radiant. I felt like Maya Angelou herself could narrate my walk with "Phenomenal Woman" trailing behind me.

That version of me? I adored her. I miss her.

But then... someone told me that my light outshined theirs. That when I showed up, they felt invisible. Wanting to be considerate—thinking maybe I was “too much”—I started dimming myself to make space for others. I didn’t realize that in doing so, I wasn’t just softening my presence… I was muting my essence. The vibrant, joyful, loving me? She faded. What remained was a quiet version of myself—timid, hesitant, disconnected. I stopped connecting with people. I lost my voice. I walked into 2017 as that woman.

And I hated her.

Not because she was weak, but because she wasn’t me. I bent, broke, and tilted my crown, thinking it would help others see me more clearly. But here’s the truth: dimming your light doesn’t help anyone see you better—it just makes youdisappear. And when you lose sight of your own light, your self-worth goes with it.

Funny thing is, those who seemed to shine the most on the outside—flashy clothes, polished nails, picture-perfect smiles—might have envied what I had: the kind of authenticity you can’t fake, the kind of presence that draws people in for who you are, not how you look. When all the surface stuff fades, what’s left? Can they connect? Can they relate? Can they make people feel seen?

We all bring something unique to the table. And some of us—we bring light.

Imagine selling out an entire venue… only to perform from the bathroom. People came to see you, but they’re only getting echoes. A glimpse. A muffled version of what they came for. That’s what happens when you dim your light to make others comfortable.

So what do we do?

We shine.

We say "fuck the critics" and we show up fully, loudly, unapologetically. And the people who love us? They'll bask in that glow. The ones who can’t handle it? Let your light be so bright that they either catch fire—or walk away.