Why I didn’t edit it out.

Episode 3 of our new podcast is out now. And ever since we finished recording, I’ve been having those classic 4am wake-ups, the kind where your brain goes, “Why did I say that? Should I have cut that bit?”

You probably know the feeling, right? When you bolt awake in the middle of the night with your heart thudding, replaying something you said or did – convinced it was too much, too messy, too honest. That “oh god, should I go back in and fix it?” kind of feeling.

The thing is, when I’m recording the podcast, I’m not really thinking about people listening. I know that sounds a bit daft, but I’m literally just talking to my best pal. It’s me and her, having a good chat, and I forget that it’s going to go out into the world. And then later, usually at 4am, I remember. And that’s when the panic starts.

There’s a part in the new episode where I talk about the massive breakdown I had in my twenties. It was quite a big, complicated breakdown that felt fairly mad at the time, the kind where everything just sort of collapsed in on itself and I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore.

But I didn’t edit it out.

I left it in. Not because I felt particularly brave, or wise, or anything like that. But because it was true and it happened. And I think we’re all a bit tired of hearing the polished versions of things, the stuff we all consume that’s been tidied up and made palatable.

My mother-in-law keeps sending me these videos of animals doing impossibly cute things: dogs painting, cats playing piano or saving children from burning buildings, and they’re clearly AI, completely fake, but they look real enough that you almost believe them. And honestly, it makes me feel a bit queasy, not because she’s sending them (she’s just trying to brighten my day) but because we’re living in a world now where everything is so heavily edited, so curated, so smoothed over that you don’t even know what’s real anymore.

Everything’s been through a filter, been workshopped, tweaked and perfected until it doesn’t look like life anymore, just a version of it that’s safe to show people.

And I think that’s why the word “vulnerable” gets thrown around so much now – it’s become this performance in itself, hasn’t it, where everyone’s got their vulnerable moment ready to go, carefully packaged and tied with a bow. But if vulnerability still has any real meaning left, it’s probably this: saying something real, and then sitting with the part of you that wants to delete it.

So that’s where I’m at this week. Ugh.

If you want to hear the episode where I said the thing and didn’t edit it out, even though part of me really wanted to, you’ll need to subscribe to the show because the episode is out now. You can find us on Spotify or Apple Podcasts.

It’s tender, a bit exposing, and probably the one I’m proudest of so far. And maybe this will feel familiar to you too. Because this shows up everywhere, not just in podcasts or big confessional moments.

It’s when you go to text someone honestly and then water it down at the last second. It’s when you almost say how you really feel in a meeting, but default to “I’m fine with whatever.” It’s when you start to set a boundary and then backpedal because it feels too uncomfortable. It’s when you name a hope, or an idea, or a want… and then quickly undercut it with a joke, or an “oh, I don’t know, it’s probably silly.”

We’re so good at editing ourselves. Smoothing over the real stuff so it doesn’t take up too much space, or make anyone uncomfortable. We’ve all become little AI generators of our own lives, polishing everything until it’s presentable.

But sometimes, something in us wants to be heard. Wants to be left in. Even if it makes us want to crawl out of our own skin a bit afterwards.

So maybe this is your invitation, to leave it in. Say the thing. Keep the line in the email. Say what’s true, even if it makes you squirm a bit. You might be surprised what shifts.

If this is something you recognise in yourself and want to have an introductory chat about what that might look like, you can book an intro call here.

Here’s to not editing ourselves quite so much.