Finding Strength in Uniqueness
"Mattis, we can't hear you. You need to participate more." My teacher's words hung in the air. The classroom fell silent. In that moment, I saw myself through her eyes—as someone flawed and inadequate, falling short of expectations. This wasn't just a casual observation; it became a refrain echoed on every report card: "Mattis is a good student, but must participate more."
I did what most of us do—I really tried to change. I tried not for myself, but to satisfy someone else's vision of who I should be. I pushed myself outside my comfort zone repeatedly, raising my hand and ignoring cues from my racing heart, speaking up even when my thoughts weren't fully formed. Yet no matter how much effort I invested, the feedback remained unchanged, and I only gained fatigue.
This personal struggle reflects a universal human experience. Each of us carries a unique combination of traits that makes us who we are. My preference for one-on-one conversations over group or class discussions, my way of processing ideas in my head before sharing them—these weren't flaws, just aspects of who I am. While I gradually came to accept this truth about myself, I discovered a darker reality: Sometimes, the traits that make us who we are can disturb others when they fall outside conventional norms. When this happens, we're often made to feel unwelcome, as if our authentic presence disrupts the harmony of the group. The unspoken solution offered is simple yet devastating: change who you are. Faced with this single option, we lose sight of our true selves, gradually accepting others' judgment until we find ourselves strangers in our own lives.
Through years of this struggle, I've come to understand that changing your nature doesn't lead to strength—it leads to fracture. When you force yourself into someone else's mold, the core strength that makes you uniquely you divides. But when you bring this same strength into harmony with your authentic personality, it multiplies exponentially. This realization changes everything—your approach, your progress, your evolution.
So how do we remain true to ourselves in a world constantly pressuring us to change? I've found the answer isn't in bursts of motivation, but in discipline.
Many of us wait for motivation—those fleeting moments of courage—to honor our authentic selves. We search for perfect moments of inspiration, believing they'll give us the strength to stand in our truth. But motivation is like the wind that only carries us in its gusts, making progress inherently unstable. One moment we're swept forward, the next we're left stranded.
When we rely on motivation alone, our self-acceptance becomes dependent on our emotional state. During these vulnerable moments—precisely when we need our self-worth most—we become susceptible to external pressures and others' expectations.
This is where discipline offers a steadier path to honoring our true nature. Unlike motivation's emotional rollercoaster, discipline creates a steady structure that supports our authentic self regardless of daily feelings. It's the quiet promise we make to ourselves: "Even when it's difficult, even when others don't understand, I will honor who I truly am." This consistent practice of self-acceptance gradually becomes automatic, no longer requiring the exhausting emotional fuel of motivation.
With this understanding, I applied a disciplined approach to how I contributed in school. I stopped forcing myself to participate in ways that drained me and instead honored my natural strengths. I realized that while I wasn't raising my hand constantly during discussions, I was contributing elsewhere.
While my teacher focused on traditional classroom participation, I found my voice in mentoring peers and offering support outside of class discussions. If she had removed the barriers of traditional participation and allowed each student to contribute according to their unique strengths, our classroom would have been richer. With open eyes, she might have seen that despite our different approaches, we were complementary.
I've discovered this profound truth: What others perceive as weaknesses—such as my classroom "silence"—are often our greatest strengths when embraced. The young student who once saw himself through his teacher's disappointed eyes now understands that authenticity isn't about changing who we are, but about finding our unique way to contribute. When we honor our true nature instead of forcing ourselves into others' molds, we discover not just personal fulfillment, but our most meaningful path to serving the world.