When your boldest, clearest voice only shows up in text, what does that say about the real you?
It started with an offhand comment in a group chat.
“You’re way funnier online than you are in person.”
I laughed, then paused. Was that a compliment or a critique?
I’m not sure what hit harder—that it was true, or that I hadn’t noticed. Online-me drops sharp comebacks, shares personal reflections, and knows exactly what to say. Offline-me stumbles through small talk and edits herself in real time.
In person, I worry about tone. Online, I just type and hit send.
At first, I thought this meant I was being fake. But the more I talked with friends, the more I realized how common this is—and how misunderstood.
Because here’s the thing: if you feel more articulate, honest, or even more you online than in the physical world, it doesn’t mean you’re hiding.
It might mean you’re revealing something—something that gets filtered out by social pressure, time limits, or the awkward mechanics of conversation.
That’s worth exploring.
There’s a term in psychology for this: the online disinhibition effect. It’s usually framed negatively—think internet trolls hiding behind anonymity.
But there’s a positive version, too. Researchers John Suler and colleagues have written about how the internet can lower our internal censors, allowing us to share thoughts, emotions, or vulnerabilities that we might struggle to express face-to-face.
In a way, the screen becomes a buffer. You get time to think. To rewrite. To be messy and then edit.
That space can feel safer than the blur of a fast-moving conversation or the performative tightrope of social settings.
And for those of us who grew up straddling analog childhoods and digital adulthoods, it’s no surprise our identities split and stretch depending on context.
For many people, especially introverts or folks who’ve ever felt “othered,” the internet wasn’t just a place to scroll—it was a place to practice being.
I used to beat myself up about this duality. Why can’t I be as bold at brunch as I am on my blog? Why does “real life” Avery feel smaller than digital Avery?
Then I realized: the assumption that real life is more authentic than online life is kind of flawed.
Authenticity isn’t about location. It’s about alignment. It’s about how freely your inside matches your outside.
And sometimes, our online selves get to reflect that more honestly.
Maybe you’re the kind of person who tells friends “I’m fine” in person but writes late-night Instagram captions about your anxiety. Maybe you freeze when asked about your goals but can write three paragraphs in a Reddit comment about what you’re working on.
That’s not fake. That’s you, finally uninterrupted.
Of course, there’s a tension here. If your online self feels too separate from your offline life, it can start to feel like you’re playing two different characters.
I’ve been there. I once gave a talk at a networking event and someone came up to me and said, “Wow, you’re a lot more reserved than I expected.” That one stuck with me.
The goal isn’t to force your IRL personality to match your online voice perfectly. The goal is integration.
What parts of your digital self feel most aligned with your values? Which posts, messages, or journal entries make you think, “That’s exactly what I meant”?
And—this is key—how can you bring more of that you into physical space?
Sometimes it starts with small moves. Telling a friend something in real life you would’ve only written in a message. Letting a pause sit in a conversation instead of filling it. Wearing the outfit you posted about but were too nervous to debut outside your bedroom.
It’s not about being “the same” everywhere. It’s about being congruent.
One of the most helpful shifts for me was realizing that my “real-life” persona wasn’t fake either—it was influenced. By context. By social rules. By subconscious fears about taking up space.
The internet didn’t invent a new version of me. It just offered fewer penalties for showing up as I really am.
Online, there are fewer eyebrow raises. Less ambient noise. More space between input and reaction. That space can be a gateway to honesty.
But real life can offer that too—when we create conditions of safety. When we choose friendships where we don’t have to pre-write our lines. When we show up for ourselves even if the words don’t come out polished the first time.
If you’ve ever felt like your most expressive self lives in your Notes app drafts or unsent messages, you’re not alone. And you’re not broken.
In fact, you might be more in touch with yourself than you realize.
Because here’s what I’ve learned: being yourself isn’t one grand reveal. It’s a series of quiet reconciliations. A slow un-muting. A decision, moment by moment, to show up—even just a little closer to center.
Whether that happens on a screen, on a stage, or at your kitchen table? Still counts.
Final words
Being more “yourself” online doesn’t make your real-life self less valid. If anything, it points toward who you already are—beneath the buffering, the body language, and the social noise.
Instead of worrying which self is more real, maybe the better question is: which self feels more honest?
And what might shift if you started treating that self as the default, not the exception?
You don’t have to perform your authenticity. You just have to keep finding the spaces where you can bring it to life.
Sometimes, those spaces have Wi-Fi. And that’s okay.
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