The Chameleon

At a very young age, I learned to ski through what I now call the immersion method.

What’s the immersion method?

It meant following my brother and our friends—older, faster, stronger—down the slopes. I didn’t take lessons. I didn’t know technique. I just tried to keep up. Because keeping up meant I wasn’t left behind. It meant I belonged.

And the thing is—it worked. I got good. Like really good. I skied hard, fast, and fearlessly. Not just because I loved it (I did), but because being part of the group—the one who could hang—felt even better.

So, I took that approach and applied it to the rest of my life.

It didn’t take long before I became a master of blending in. I could adjust to fit just about anywhere. All it required was a quick scan of the environment and a decision: Who do I need to be to be liked? Accepted? Chosen?

And just like that, the Chameleon Method became my default.

It started out innocently enough. A way to survive the unspoken social rules of girlhood. But over time, what began as a skill slowly chipped away at something deeper. The outfits changed depending on who I was with. The tone of my voice. The things I cared about. The version of me that showed up became curated—not connected.

It was like standing in front of a closet, not to pick out clothes, but to choose which self I’d wear that day:

• School day? Popular girl.

• Out with friends? Cool girl.

• Family day? The good daughter.

• Date night? Depends on the guy.

And underneath it all, the real me was slowly being left behind.

Maybe you know what I mean.

You get so used to adapting, you don’t realize you’ve vanished. You go from “this is who I am” to “this is who I need to be.” And after a while, the mirror gets quiet. You look and don’t recognize your reflection. You feel like a stranger in your own life.

The marriage? Not quite you.
The career? Not what you dreamed.
The smile? A little more performative than genuine.

And yet—you carry on. Because that’s what Chameleons do. They blend in. They survive.
Until one day, you wake up and realize…

You’ve become excellent at being everything to everyone—except yourself.

Billy Joel had a line in his 1977 hit The Stranger:
“We all have a face that we hide away forever, and we take them out and show ourselves when everyone has gone.”

That one hits.

Because at some point, the mask isn’t just heavy—it becomes unbearable.

I remember a day on the slopes years later. I wasn’t racing to keep up anymore. I wasn’t proving anything. I was just skiing. The cold air on my face. The sound of the snow under my skis. The feeling of freedom in my body.

And in that moment—I felt like me. Not someone’s idea of me. Not a version of me curated to please or perform. Just me.

That’s what coming home to yourself feels like. And that’s the journey I walk my clients through every day.

Because somewhere along the line, you may have left yourself behind. But you don’t have to stay lost.
You don’t have to keep wearing the mask.
You don’t have to keep living a life that fits everyone but you.

You just have to decide—lovingly, bravely, honestly—that you're ready to find your way back.

Back to who you are.
Back to what lights you up.
Back to what you're meant for.

And if that sounds both terrifying and thrilling—good. That’s where transformation begins.

Let’s take the first step together.

Because when you stop trying to belong everywhere, you begin to belong to yourself.

And that, my love, changes everything.

Schedule your free consultation today and let the transformation begin.