Whole Me Living with a Whole Heart. Finally.
The other day, something on the inside of me stood up and sighed, and she just kinda said, “I’m tired of living in bits and pieces. I’m not doing that anymore. For anyone.” And just like that, I suddenly had the capacity for my whole self to live from my whole heart. #letsgo
Wholehearted living – I’ve been meaning to do it since Brene Brown first showed up in my YouTube feed with her TED Talk a decade ago. Just couldn’t seem to figure out the formula. Is it hugs? Is it… telling the truth? To whom? About what? And when? What is the way to live wholeheartedly? How will I know when I’ve done it? How does it feel? Lots of questions that have gone unanswered for years. Until a few days ago when I just got it.
Doin’ The Most
Like you, I am a multifaceted individual with… a pretty diverse array of talents and experiences. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. Oh, people think I’m their cup of tea, but it doesn’t take them long to realize that I’m really like this. Most of the time. My personality isn’t an eccentricity that I take off when I get home. I am this woman. The woman who finished watching Steven Bartlett interviewing Jocko Willink on The Diary of a CEO a few moments before writing this sentence. Because I dig both those men. Oh, and it’s a minute after midnight rolling from Sunday night into Monday morning, and every week, I spend this time catching up on podcasts and missed sermons. I’m sitting on my couch, scribbling insights into my 2024 journal. I’m really this chick – day in and day out.
I’ve been on a year-long journey of self-reflection and self-discovery and I’ve noticed that over the course of my life, I’ve volleyed between showcasing different facets of myself and presenting a cohesive identity to the world. I’ve struggled with the cohesive part.
For years, I compartmentalized Me – my various passions and roles – fearing that presenting my full self might alienate or intimidate others.
Totally does, by the way.
Still, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m a woman with levels, Jerry (👈🏽 Seinfeld reference). And the fact that I’m not so easily understood doesn’t really change anything about me.
It’s Pronounced Soh RIL brən
I think one significant thing that’s underscored this journey is the complexity of my first name, Sorilbran. Its phonetic spelling often elicits confusion and discomfort in others, leading me to offer simplified alternatives or nicknames. “You can just call me Rib,” I say easily. Or I answer to words that aren’t my name, but maybe sound akin to my name.
- Sorrel
- Sorrelbron
- Cerebellum
- Cerealbran (yeah, that’s the words “cereal” and “bran” smushed together to form a name)
- Cerebrum
Those may be the most popular mispronunciations of my first name, and rather than spend another eight seconds helping people to correctly pronounce my name, I usually just respond to their attempt and give them a mental A for effort. Sort of like French merchants did me when I whipped out my Rick Steves tourism French during a visit to the country. My accent is SPOT-ON! My vocabulary… meh.
Yet, as I reflect on this pattern, I realize it’s emblematic of a broader tendency to dilute my essence (bruh… not my entire essence) to make Me more palatable to others.
I can’t say this is a new concept to me. Over a decade ago, a rather discerning friend of mine admonished me for diminishing the significance of my OWN FIRST NAME to accommodate others’ discomfort. “Your name is beautiful,” he said. “Motherf**s’ll just have to learn how to pronounce that sh**.”
It was a bona fide eyeball-to-eyeball rebuke stemming from love, mutual respect, and genuine concern. His words echo in my mind, a poignant reminder of the importance of owning… well… me. Unabashedly. It’s a sentiment I’ve carried with me, an ember of wisdom waiting to be stoked into flame.
Identity, Assemble!
The tendency to shrink from my me-ness has gone beyond guiding people through the pronunciation of my name; it’s permeated my relationships and endeavors. But this detached sort of existence not only diminishes my own dopeness, but it hinders my ability to build authentic connections with others. And that’s the secret sauce of wholehearted living, isn’t it? Authentic connections.
In my industry, authenticity is a buzzword, but it also functions as a form of currency. Marketing is a world where you’re constantly walking the line between showing your audience who you are as you’re showing them how you can serve them. Both elements must exist in the right amounts to be effective. And younger consumers can sniff out inauthenticity from a mile away. Within the context of marketing, authenticity makes sense. But as far as my personal life and my emotions go, authenticity has always seemed risky.
One of my favorite songs right now is Wilder Woods’ “Be Yourself” (feat The War & Treaty), which builds around the sentiment of a friend or lover communicating that every part of their partner is worth knowing, and every part of that partner is safe in the relationship. What a beautiful idea for a song! It’s the thing we all want, right? Unconditional belonging. I’ve always felt like the best parts of me were distasteful to many of those around me, and the worst parts of me were enough to render me completely disposable. No cap.
So, I got good at living life a fragment at a time, showing people the parts of me that wouldn’t offend them or make them feel threatened. Well, living in bits and pieces makes authenticity and wholeheartedness impossible! A few days ago, I finally reached the moment in time I’ve spent my life waiting to reach – that moment when Sorilbran stood up and decided that living the rest of my life as the alligator Loki version of myself (no shade) just isn’t feasible. The cost is too great.
I heard a really great quote from Sarah Jakes Roberts during her interview with Lisa Bilyeu: “We allow them to believe that a lesser version of us exists, and then we shrink to become that lesser version of who we are.”
That quote resonates with me. I’m sure there are a handful of reasons why this internal dialogue is happening now. I survived the pandemic, but not all of my friends did. I moved away and returned to a Detroit I don’t even recognize, a Detroit where most of my friends left, either via relocation or a transition from time into eternity. And I have had the privilege of laying eyes on people I literally prayed I’d get the chance to see again including my father, my brother Stu, and his wife Super Kira. My niece, Zara, and my Uncle Mike (who has THE BEST laugh). My dear friend, Chris, and his beautiful family. My man, Paul. Billy Furman, the most likable guy in the world. And old Uncle Quasar, who’s not my uncle, but one of my dearest friends, part of my musical superpower, and a living legend.
If I remain who I’ve been, I’ll walk through life with these folks and they’ll never know how important they are to me. If I just walk in who I truly am and stop hiding, they’ll get access to the rest of me and we’ll see what kinda damage we can do out here in these streets.
I’ve listened to enough stories to know that personal growth is as important as professional success when you’re trying to find proof that the thing you want to do can be done. The rebirth of my songwriting career (and of songwriting as a means of putting language around my thoughts and feelings) and my vow to stop hiding and start sharing my life via prose and rich media has created a pathway for me to provide visibility into the humanness of chasing a dream, and of trying something crazy at midlife.
My story matters. I matter. I can write all day about marketing, but finding ways to shape insights into essays and letters requires transparency, and I historically reserved transparency for a small group of close friends.
Until recently, I had been accustomed to fragmenting my identity, parceling out different facets of myself to suit the expectations of others. But a few days ago, a realization dawned upon me like a beacon of clarity:
I am not defined by the convenience of others.
I am a musician, a writer, a marketer, a maker, a mom, a daughter, #allthethings. And they’re all housed as part of a singular entity, indivisible and multifaceted. And with this realization comes a newfound resolve to embrace the entirety of myself. No apologies.
So now I get to do the thing I love to do – imagine what’s next, and imagine how the version of me who’s gathered back to herself all the disowned fragments moves around in the world. What do I say to my friends? My daughters? My dad? How do I treat them? How do I see them? How do I behave with other musicians when I’m not afraid they secretly think I’m not good enough? Or that they don’t believe in me? As I contemplate my path forward, I am filled with a sense of what I can only describe as awe-inspiring giddiness. No longer do I feel I must fracture myself into a million fragments to fit the molds of others’ expectations. Instead, I embrace the totality of who I am, unbounded by societal conventions or perceived limitations.
This journey of self-discovery is not without its challenges. There are moments of doubt and uncertainty, echoes of past insecurities that linger in the recesses of my mind. Yet, with each step forward, I feel a profound sense of alignment with my truest self, a beacon guiding me towards authenticity and wholeness. #hereshecomes
