You're a Fraud
My Journey from False Self to True Self
My greatest fear has been hearing confirmation that the little voice in my head is right: you're a fraud.
The moment when criticism strikes is like the full moon rising over a cursed soul. The transformation begins, as self-doubt and insecurity take hold, morphing me into a creature I barely recognize.
I still remember the moment it happened.
I was sitting at my desk, the soft glow of my laptop the only light in the room. The email notification chimed, and as I read the words, I felt the change begin. "I’m wondering if what is seen publicly is lining up with reality," it read. "There’s some people who are expressing some anonymous concerns." Each word seemed to echo in the quiet of my home office, growing louder with each passing second.
I was consumed by a darkness that felt beyond my control. What was once a confident, creative human being, devolved violently into a snarling beast, lashing out in pain and confusion.
The moon of criticism had risen and the transformation ripped through my very bones. My gifts that normally brought light and connection – my ability to communicate, to empathize, to inspire – suddenly became twisted and distorted, weaponized against myself and others.
For days, I moved through life in a daze. During meetings, I'd catch glimpses of my reflection in computer screens, half-expecting to see the beast staring back. While driving to work, my knuckles would turn white as I gripped the steering wheel, as if I could physically restrain the monster within.
I howled at the moon of hatred, feeling its searing light expose every flaw and weakness. My skin crawled with the fear of being seen, truly seen, in all my imperfect humanity. The beast within bared its fangs, ready to attack or retreat, fight or flight.
Then as I shuddered in agony, the light within me was snuffed out.
It was a Saturday morning when I found myself on the New Jersey Turnpike, with no clue where I was going. And I don't mean just on this trip – I had woken up that morning with a deep restlessness in my soul. It was this very restlessness that had led me to heed an unusual call.
I had been instructed by my life coach to wake up one day with no expectations and "just let God lead me on an adventure."
This is absolutely ridiculous, I thought when I received the homework. But a small part of me longed for something different in the aftermath of the deep and cutting criticism that had stormed into my life.
I began the day sitting silently in my car, quietly praying that I would be led exactly where I needed to go. I had pulled out in the early dawn from the driveway, sending a quick text to my wife.
"Gone for a drive. Need to find clarity. Back soon. Love you." The guilt of abandoning my responsibilities, even for a day, gnawed at me. But the need to rediscover my purpose felt even more urgent.
After a few hours, I glanced at the broader map on my internal screen and saw a familiar destination, at least in name: Princeton, New Jersey.
"Interesting. I've never been there before," I thought to myself.
Something stirred in my soul, and I inputted the exact directions to a small taco shop downtown. Within moments, I had drifted from racing speed to a gentle stroll, pulling through suburban New Jersey neighborhoods all lush and green.
Centuries before my journey, St. Augustine found himself on his own unplanned expedition. In his Confessions he describes his own moment of intense crisis, much like my dark night of the soul.
"I was weeping in the most bitter contrition of my heart," he wrote, when he heard a distant child's voice chanting, "Take up and read."
Interpreting this as a divine command, he opened the Bible at random and read a passage that spoke directly to his inner turmoil. In that moment, he experienced a profound transformation – a conversion that would shape not only his life but the course of Western thought.
While I hadn't heard a child's voice, I was also led by some inexplicable urge to "take up and read." And like Augustine, I also was seeking a transformation away from a life of striving to one of just being.
Augustine's words echoed in my mind: "You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you."
After parking and walking onto the campus of Princeton, I found myself standing amidst the pomp, the glory, the ivy. I slowly walked beneath the entry gate, silently staring down at me, perhaps wondering the same thing I was: Why in the world was I here?
It's the question that's been driving me, not just down interstates, but through life itself.
Why am I here? What's my purpose? What am I supposed to be doing with my life?
As I stood there on Princeton's campus, contemplating my purpose and identity, I was reminded of Dallas Willard's profound insight: "The most important thing in your life is not what you do; it's who you become. That's what you will take into eternity."
This thought resonated deeply with my struggle to define my worth beyond my accomplishments.
I looked up and saw the University’s coat of arms, with an image signifying the Old and New Testament. A quick google search revealed the compelling motto of Princeton University: DEI SUB NUMINE VIGET, or "Under God's power she flourishes."
Something moved in my soul as I stood there as still as the statues dotted throughout the campus. I was sent on this journey with difficult questions to contemplate.
What would it look like to be enough instead of always trying to do enough? Could I flourish if I simply rested under the protection of the One who created me?
As I pondered this, I was reminded of my inner beast - the one that howls at criticism and cowers in self-doubt. Could this broken creature also flourish under divine protection?
This restlessness I felt, this constant need to prove my worth through accomplishments, was simply a misdirected search for that ultimate rest. The answer, I realized, lay not in more striving, but in surrender – just as it had for Augustine all those centuries ago.
I've believed all my life that in order to be loved, I have to be useful. You won't find me wasting a second of my life. It is painful to rest, because to rest is to admit something: I am not in control.
I'll admit it, right here and now. I'm not in control. And that terrifies me.
As I grappled with these realizations, I found myself thinking about Trevor Hightower's insights on true identity and true self. He emphasizes the importance of "working from our true self" rather than a false identity we've constructed. This concept struck a chord with me as I sat alone in my hotel room that evening, writing out what I saw broken in myself.
I wrote: I wrongly believe that if I don't have successful outcomes and accomplishments, I am unworthy. I often succumb to a belief that I need more money and more possessions for security and peace, and I think they will bring me lasting joy. I need external affirmation and I am often fearful of what others may think of me.
As I wrote, I thought about my family back home. How often had I missed moments with them, chasing after the next accomplishment? How many times had I been physically present but mentally absent, my mind racing with deadlines and expectations? The weight of these realizations settled heavily on my shoulders.
But amidst the confessions, I also found truth and beauty. I am not my curse.
Beneath the fur and the fury, there is still a human heart beating. A heart that yearns for something more. And just like the werewolf can learn to control its transformations, to master its inner beast, so too can we learn to tame the monsters of self-doubt and insecurity.
It means having the courage to face our own darkness, to sit with the pain and the fear and the anger, without letting it consume us.
We are more than our worst moments. More than the opinions of others. More than the snarling, snapping creature that criticism can unleash and reveal.
In this journey of self-discovery, I was struck by a description of personal growth that Trevor Hightower attributes to Brent Beshore.
Brent describes it as coming to know we are "fully known and fully loved with nothing to fear and nothing to hide."
This idea took on new meaning for me as I confronted my own insecurities and the false identities I had constructed.
I awoke early and left my hotel, driving once again to the University. The campus was empty of all but a few people walking dogs at 6:00 AM. I just began to walk, stopping only for a few brief moments to sit on a bench and watch the sun peek through some clouds and examine an ivy-lined dormitory.
I walked through construction, through history, and eventually found myself standing inside Princeton Stadium, alone. As the sun gently rose up over the horizon glancing off the clouds, the words of John Witherspoon, Princeton University Founder, echoed in my mind: "The pursuit of knowledge should be a lifelong endeavor, always seeking to expand our understanding of the world."
But knowledge alone isn't enough, is it? We can accumulate all the facts and figures in the world, but if we don't know ourselves, if we don't understand our purpose, what good is it all?
I'm seeking my true identity and naming the false identities in my life. It's a process of unlearning, of stripping away the layers of expectation and performance that I've built up over the years.
As I stood there looking over the gridiron, I realized that my journey to Princeton wasn't really about the destination at all. It was about the process of getting lost, of letting go of control, of facing my fears and insecurities head-on.
The pursuit of knowledge, as Witherspoon said, should be lifelong. This includes understanding who we are, why we're here, what drives us, what scares us - these are the questions that really matter.
And maybe, just maybe, the answers to these questions don't come from striving harder or doing more. Maybe they come from resting, from being still, from allowing ourselves to be loved and protected by something and Someone greater than ourselves.
As I prepared to leave Princeton and head back out onto the New Jersey Turnpike, I realized that I wasn't the same person who arrived clueless. I'm still flawed, still imperfect, still figuring things out. But I'm also more aware, more accepting of my humanity, more willing to rest in the knowledge that I am loved, not for what I do, but for who I am and whose I am.
The daily pressures are still there, the podcasts are still playing in the background, the traffic is still slowing me down. But now, I have a choice. I can jump back on and keep running, or I can step off, take a breath, and remember that my worth isn't determined by how fast I can run or how much I can accomplish.
DEI SUB NUMINE VIGET. Under God's protection, she flourishes. And so, perhaps, can I. Perhaps, can we all.
I'm not fully sure where I'm going next. But for once, that uncertainty doesn't fill me with anxiety. Instead, it feels like a possibility. Because now I know that wherever I go, whatever I do, I am enough. I am loved. I am protected.
And that, my friends, is a destination worth reaching.
As I pulled into my driveway, I saw my family through the window, going about their morning routine. I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of guilt for my abrupt departure and excitement to share my journey with them. I realized that my transformation wasn't just about me – it was about being present for them, about modeling a life of authenticity and grace.
With renewed purpose, I stepped out of the car and walked towards home, ready to begin anew.
Ready to embrace the journey of becoming, not just doing.
Ready to work from my true self, fully known and fully loved.
Ready to take the next step in this heroic journey of life.
This essay above began with the trauma of difficult criticism and the feelings of betrayal that began a painful revealing of my heart.
I don’t claim to have it all figured out, but in addition to my journey to Princeton awhile back, I recently had an incredible breakthrough in a session led by Trevor Hightower. I thought I’d share a first draft of what I wrote after thinking through what living from my true identity looked like.
I hope this might resonate with some people as I begin this journey
Tim Sweetman:
I am a guide to true alignment.
I have experienced the weight of living out of sync with my true identity, rooted in a distorted sense of identity…
I have earned the strength to guide organizations and leaders seeking alignment and reconciliation in their relationships, cultures, or teams — using my gifts of diplomacy and my experience as an operational and visionary leader…
In order to create an environment where both I and those I serve can thrive and experience true alignment…
Also see the
post here:
My friend, this is some incredible soul work. Proud to know you enough to know how this must resonate within you, and hope you realize that I’m on the same journey alongside you. This is wildly helpful, kind, brave, and just plain cool.