Ever felt like you're leaving a piece of your soul in the office parking lot? You aren't alone. It's that weird, hollow sensation after a day of "performing" for people—your boss, your partner, even your friends. We do it because we have to. Or at least, we think we do. There's a famous line from André Aciman’s Call Me by Your Name—later immortalized by Michael Stuhlbarg in the film—where a father tells his son that we rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty. It hits hard. It hits hard because it’s a universal tax we pay for modern belonging.
We prune our personalities like overgrown hedges. We snip off the "too loud" parts, the "too sad" parts, and the "too weird" parts until there’s nothing left but a manicured, boring stub.
Why We Rip Out So Much Of Ourselves Just to Fit In
Social survival is a hell of a drug. From an evolutionary standpoint, being cast out of the tribe meant death. Today, it just means you don't get the promotion or you don't get invited to the group chat. But our brains don't know the difference. We treat social friction like a predator.
To avoid that friction, we engage in what psychologists call "self-silencing." A study published in the Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology suggests that when we suppress our true feelings to maintain relationships, we actually increase our risk of depression and physical illness. We think we’re being "easy-going" or "professional." Honestly? We're just slowly eroding our own foundations.
It starts small. You stop mentioning your niche hobby because someone rolled their eyes once. You stop sharing your actual opinion on a project because the "vibe" of the meeting is headed in a different direction. By the time you’re forty, you might look in the mirror and realize you’ve become a composite of everyone else’s expectations.
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The Bankruptcy of the Heart
When we talk about how we rip out so much of ourselves, we're talking about emotional efficiency. We want to get over a breakup quickly, so we bury the grief. We want to be "productive," so we ignore the burnout. We treat our internal world like a lean startup—cutting costs, firing the "underperforming" emotions, and streamlining the interface.
But hearts don't work like software.
You can't just delete a "buggy" emotion like sadness without also corrupting the file for joy. They’re the same code. If you numb the pain, you numb the delight. It’s a package deal. When you rip out the part of you that feels the sting of rejection, you accidentally yank out the part that feels the warmth of genuine connection. It's a clumsy surgery.
The Professional Mask and the Cost of Labor
In the workplace, this is often called "emotional labor." Arlie Russell Hochschild, the sociologist who coined the term in her book The Managed Heart, looked at how flight attendants and bill collectors had to manage their feelings to produce a specific state of mind in others.
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You do this every day.
You smile when you're frustrated. You stay calm when someone is being objectively ridiculous. While this is necessary for a functioning society (nobody wants a pilot who screams when they’re stressed), there is a tipping point. When the mask becomes permanent, the face underneath starts to disappear.
Does Authenticity Even Exist Anymore?
Some people argue that there is no "true self" to rip out in the first place. They say we are just a collection of roles. You’re a daughter, a manager, a gym-goer, a consumer. But anyone who has ever felt that sudden, sharp pang of "I don't want to be here" knows that’s not true. There is a core. There is a person who existed before the world told you who you were supposed to be.
The problem is that the world is very loud. Social media acts as a giant, 24/7 sculpting tool. Every like you get for a certain type of post reinforces one part of you, while the silence on another post tells you to "rip out" that part of your identity. It’s a feedback loop of self-mutilation.
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How to Stop the Pruning Process
It isn't about being a "total jerk" or oversharing your trauma at the grocery store. It’s about integration. It’s about realizing that we rip out so much of ourselves because we are afraid of being too much. But being "too much" is usually just a sign that you’re actually taking up the space you were meant to occupy.
- Audit your silences. Start noticing when you swallow a thought. Why did you do it? Was it out of genuine kindness, or was it fear? If it’s fear, try saying 5% more of what you actually think next time.
- Reclaim a "useless" part of yourself. Think of something you used to love before you decided it didn't fit your adult brand. Maybe it’s drawing bad cartoons, or obsessing over 90s pro-wrestling, or wearing neon colors. Bring it back.
- Sit with the "bad" feelings. We rip things out because they hurt. But pain is a diagnostic tool. If you feel like a failure, don't just "pivot to positivity." Ask why that specific failure stings so much. What does it tell you about what you actually value?
The Risk of Being Whole
If you stop ripping pieces of yourself out, some people might not like the result. That’s the scary part. Your boss might find you less "malleable." Your "friends" might find you less convenient. But the trade-off is that the people who do stick around will be loving the actual you, not the edited version you’ve been presenting.
It's a long process. You’ve probably been pruning yourself for decades. You can’t just grow it all back in a weekend. But you can stop the bleeding. You can decide that, from today on, you’re keeping the rest of the parts. Even the messy ones. Especially the messy ones.
Practical Steps to Reclaiming Your Identity
To move forward without losing more of yourself, focus on these tactical shifts in your daily life:
- Practice Radical Sincerity in Low-Stakes Moments: Start with the barista or a stranger. If they ask how you are, and you feel "meh," say "I'm a bit tired today, honestly." It breaks the script of performance.
- Identify Your "Must-Haves": Write down three traits or passions that are non-negotiable. If a job or a relationship requires you to kill those things, it's not a fit. Period.
- Build a "Safe Container": Find at least one person—a therapist, a best friend, a partner—with whom you have a "no-rip" policy. A space where you are allowed to be inconsistent, angry, and unpolished.
- Limit High-Performance Environments: If your job requires 10 hours of intense emotional acting, you need 2 hours of complete solitude afterward to decompress. You cannot go from one performance (work) straight into another (socializing) without losing your mind.
We don't have to go bankrupt by thirty, or forty, or fifty. We can choose to be slightly more difficult, slightly more complex, and infinitely more alive. It’s okay to be a "work in progress" rather than a finished, hollowed-out product. Stop reaching for the shears. Let yourself grow.