Living authentically: trusting yourself in a world that judges
Part 3 of 5: Beyond the Golden Ghetto
In college, I loved reading Thomas Mann's "Clothes Make the Man." This short story follows a character who, by wearing elegant clothes, is mistaken for a nobleman. But his charade unravels, and he’s humiliated when his true identity is revealed.
Ironically, I lived the inverse while living in the Swiss Alps: I wore trekking clothes and tried to hide any signs of wealth to avoid judgment.
The fear of appearing arrogant was one factor. Learning about my father’s world was another. My father had been a mountain guide who had painted houses, coached hockey, and worked as a lumberjack and stunt man in a James Bond movie (a Pitz Gloria guard). While some might have distanced themselves from their humble roots, I took pride in mine.
But pride didn’t shield me from reality.
Early warnings
People tried to warn me. My Swiss lawyer advised: "Don't reveal anything personal to your neighbors." A child psychologist added, 'You’ll never fully integrate into the community.'
Initially, I dismissed these warnings as elitist and small-minded, and lacking generosity of spirit. I didn’t yet understand that privacy wasn't about superiority—it was a defense against the gossip and judgment that thrive in a small, tight-knit community. I also didn’t understand that my lifestyle would be seen as a threat to those who struggled to make ends meet.
At the time, I brushed it off, determined to make it work.
Disappearing to fit in
I convinced myself that appearing modest was the right choice. Having just received a settlement from my family trust, I felt an even stronger urge to downplay my circumstances. But no matter how much I tried to blend in, I couldn't shield my family from the repercussions of our lifestyle choices. When I bought my children new bikes or bought flights to the US to visit family—or even traded my old Outback for a new one—they came home in tears, bullied by their peers, kids who had to muck out cow stalls before school. My “playing small” wasn’t protecting anyone.
Each choice to blend in slowly eroded my sense of self. My children’s tears and our collective isolation made it painfully clear—I wasn’t just blending in; I was disappearing.
Reclaiming myself
Friends from my past life came to visit and reminded me of the person I had once been. Yes, I was sober, working on my black belt in karate, and physically healthier than before, but I wasn’t living authentically. This realization prompted change. I began making different choices: upgrading my wardrobe, caring about my appearance, getting a stylish haircut, joining a writing group, taking piano lessons, and enrolling my children in private school.
These decisions came with their own set of challenges. A neighbor asked:
“Now that your kids are in private school, will you deem to spend time with us?"
I responded, “Of course, don’t be silly,” but I felt a growing chasm in our relationship. At the same time, an intimate relationship ended—I had gone to another world, he said.
To navigate these shifts, I hired executive life coach Grant Calder—a high school friend living in Stockholm. Together, we worked to clarify my values, create a vision board, identify where I was stuck, and to develop a plan to move forward.
Understanding toxic dynamics
I bought a summer home in Newport to spend time with family while maintaining boundaries. But this brought a new kind of discomfort. People who had ignored me during my years as a struggling journalist and newspaper manager suddenly sought my friendship. My wealth had become my calling card, and the attention felt hollow.
My experiences in Newport reminded me of a client who had faced a similar dynamic. After generously supporting a friend—covering rent, food, and expenses—he discovered that what he thought was a friendship had turned into resentment. The friend became a self-appointed "spy," relaying negative comments others had made about my client. This dynamic exemplifies what Brené Brown calls "common enemy intimacy"—a false bond built on shared negativity. True connections elevate; toxic ones corrode trust and self-worth.
Building trust and reclaiming identity
The path to rebuilding trust and authenticity requires intentional steps:
Invest in relationships slowly: Use Brené Brown's BRAVING framework to evaluate trustworthiness. Watch how people reveal themselves over time before sharing vulnerabilities.
Center yourself in your values: Authenticity isn't about displaying or hiding wealth—it's about alignment with what matters to you.
Cultivate supportive communities: Connect with others who share similar experiences and circumstances.
Choose your confidants carefully: When interactions leave you feeling drained, used, or abused, it's time to reevaluate.
Establish clear boundaries: Do not do for others what they can do for themselves. You don’t always have to be the first to pick up the tab.
Decline relationships or situations that conflict with your values, even when past generosity or loyalty makes it difficult.
Finding your truth
Thomas Mann's character wore elegant clothes to mask his reality. I made myself plain and uninteresting to hide from mine. But in reclaiming my authenticity, I discovered that living truthfully is the greatest form of self-respect.
The question isn't whether judgment and envy will exist—they will. The question is: will you trust yourself enough to rise above them and live authentically?
If this resonates with you, and you’re ready to reclaim your authenticity, I invite you to learn more about my coaching practice. Currently, I’m all booked up, but I’ll be opening a few spots for new clients at the start of the new year. If you’d like to join the waitlist and be the first to know when spots become available, click here to sign up.
Good one!