Lately, I’ve been sitting with a lot of big, complex feelings. The kind that don’t let you skim the surface but drag you deep into the muddy water of questions like: What’s real? What’s mine? And am I living authentically, or just reacting to the world’s noise?

It all started with a book—For the Culture by Marcus Collins. It’s a marketing book, sure, but it’s not just about selling products. It’s about how culture drives our behavior, how deeply we’re influenced by what surrounds us, and how marketers—consciously or not—play on our feelings, identities, and experiences to get us to buy in. To buy products. To buy lifestyles. To buy stories about who we are and who we should be.

And while I respect the art of marketing (especially as a business owner), something about this has made me feel… unsettled.

The Slippery Slope of Selling

Reading this book, I started to feel that marketing, at its core, is manipulation with better branding. It’s not just “identifying a target audience”—it’s poking at their wounds and desires, their sense of belonging, their fear of missing out, and their dreams of being seen. It’s building trust through storytelling, and then using that trust to get them to buy something—an idea, a product, an identity.

And that made me pause.

Because I want The Sawyer Club to grow. I want it to thrive. But I don’t want to manipulate people into engagement. I don’t want to exploit my audience’s emotions or experiences to drive clicks, conversions, or follows. I want connection, not coercion. I want resonance, not reach at all costs.

But can we even separate the two in today’s world? Or is that wishful thinking?

Is Authenticity Just Another Aesthetic?

That’s where the existential spiral started.

If we’re constantly being marketed to—since birth, through media, religion, school, community, politics—how much of us is really us? How many of our preferences, beliefs, and behaviors are just responses to what we’ve been taught to value?

How much of my personality is actually mine—and how much of it was curated, shaped, or even contorted in response to what the world told me I should be?

It’s hard not to wonder if manipulation is just a fact of human life. Not a malicious act, always—but a mechanism we’ve all learned to use in order to survive uncertainty. To connect. To persuade. To avoid rejection. To get what we want or need.

That question has been weighing on me, especially as someone trying to build a values-driven brand. Is it possible to influence without manipulating? Can I grow a business, be visible at work, and still keep my integrity intact?

The Hermit and the Spotlight: A Work Story

This morning, I pulled a tarot spread looking for guidance. The Star. The Two of Pentacles. The Hermit. The Five of Cups. The Six of Wands.

Each card felt like a breadcrumb on the trail of what I’ve been navigating at work.

I’ve been in my new role for about a month now. And while I’m grateful to be in a healthier environment, I’ve noticed something that has me feeling… exposed. In every meeting we’ve had so far, my name has come up. Constantly.

Sometimes it’s praise. Sometimes it’s curiosity. Sometimes it’s encouragement to share more ideas. My direct report has overheard me musing to myself about improvements we could make to our systems, and now he’s pushing me to bring those ideas to the table. Even our manager is encouraging more proactive brainstorming.

This might sound great—and in some ways, it is. But if I’m honest? It’s made me self-conscious as hell.

I don’t want to be seen as “the new girl who thinks she knows everything.” I don’t want to be that coworker who constantly references her old job. I don’t want my input to be misinterpreted as criticism. I want to contribute, not come across as condescending.

But I also don’t want to shrink.

At my last job, I stayed in the background. I kept my head down. I avoided the spotlight. And I watched as others took credit for my work, stepped into roles I had quietly built, and left me feeling invisible, undervalued, and eventually—burned out.

This time, I promised myself I would take up space. I would make my voice heard. I would not hide in the shadows of my own brilliance.

But doing that comes with risk. Risk of judgment. Risk of misunderstanding. Risk of being seen, not just for what I do—but for who I am.

And maybe that’s the real work here: Learning to be visible while staying true. Letting myself be celebrated without being distorted. Choosing to show up with humility and confidence—at the same time.

Balancing the Inner Star and the Outer Critics

The tarot spread brought it all together:

• The Star reminded me of my hope and vision.
• The Two of Pentacles showed me the tension I’m juggling—between authenticity and adaptation, between old fears and new opportunities.
• The Hermit reflected the part of me that still longs to retreat, reflect, and protect my peace.
• The Five of Cups pointed to the disappointment and burnout I carry from the past.
• The Six of Wands offered a glimpse of recognition, success, and the validation I’ve earned—but only if I can allow myself to receive it.

This week, I’ve been learning that growth requires exposure. That showing up means being seen—and that being seen might mean being misjudged. But it also means being understood by the people who matter. It means stepping into the spotlight not for applause, but for alignment.

And maybe that’s the way forward—for me, for The Sawyer Club, for all of us trying to live and work and create in ways that feel good in our bones.

Final Thoughts

For the Culture has been teaching me about marketing, yes—but also about humanity. About influence. About the stories we live by and the systems we uphold.

And as I think about how to build something that feels both successful and sacred, I’m asking new questions:

• Where is the line between persuasion and manipulation?
• How do we show up fully without centering ego?
• Can we market with integrity? Can we lead with softness? Can we shine without burning others—or ourselves?

I don’t have all the answers yet. But I do know this: I don’t want to build a brand, a career, or a life that’s performative. I want it to be real. Even if that means slower growth. Even if it means fewer followers. Even if it means constantly checking in with myself to make sure I haven’t slipped into someone else’s script.

So today, I’m choosing to be visible. To be intentional. To speak, even when my voice shakes. And to believe that authenticity might not be the fastest path—but it is the truest one.

Feel With Me:

• Where in your life are you dimming your light to avoid being misunderstood?
• What parts of your identity might be shaped more by influence than by inner truth?
• How do you define manipulation—and where does it show up in your world?
• What would it look like to step into your power without apology or performance?

Let’s talk about it in the comments or on IG. Because navigating the messiness of visibility, vulnerability, and value is something we don’t have to do alone.