Nobody will take you seriously.

I’m a very funny person.

The type of funny that makes people think you are dumb. Not academically dumb, but life dumb, reality dumb, emotional intelligence dumb. Like there’s no depth to you, like you don’t have anything serious going on for yourself. Exactly.

I saw the look on Michael’s face when he found out I’m a writer. I saw how he didn’t believe me until he read one of my newsletters. “Wait, you actually wrote this? You don’t look it.”

Or was it that time with Mabel? How she started acting differently towards me after we had that deep conversation about life and our perspectives on it that Friday night. A kind of different that made me uneasy because why was she suddenly so nice? Aggressively nice.

To be honest, I wasn’t bothered.

I loved the fact that people didn’t really know me, that I could put on a facade and just be “that funny girl”—the one who makes a joke out of everything.

I loved that.

Until recently, when I really thought about it.

And I didn’t like what I felt. I didn’t like the conclusion I came to. People do not take me seriously.

I mean, why would they?

When you constantly present yourself as the person who laughs everything off, who turns every serious moment into a joke, who shrugs off deep conversations like they’re too heavy to carry, why would anyone think there’s more to you?

People categorize you based on what you show them. And whether you like it or not, perception matters.

Not because you owe anyone a performance.

Not because you should shrink or stretch yourself just to fit into what people want.

But because, whether in friendships, careers, or life in general, people take you as seriously as you take yourself.

And the worst part?

When you finally decide to be serious, to be deep, to contribute to conversations that matter, people hesitate. They squint at you like you’re an actor breaking character.

"You? Serious? Since when?"

And that’s when it hits you.

You built this perception. You made people believe there was no depth to you. You trained them to think of you as just “the funny one,” the unserious one.

And now? Now, you have to fight to prove that you are more.

It’s not about changing yourself so people will approve of you. It’s about realizing that the way you carry yourself influences how people interact with you.

People give opportunities to those they believe are capable. They include people in conversations they assume have something valuable to say. They trust those who present themselves as trustworthy.

And if you’ve unknowingly branded yourself as someone who shouldn’t be taken seriously, you’ll find yourself excludedfrom spaces where depth, responsibility, and value are recognized.

Not because you don’t have it, but because you never showed it.

That’s the thing about perception. It’s not always the truth, but it shapes reality.

And whether you like it or not, you are constantly showing the world how to see you.

I learned this the hard way.

At first, I wanted to argue that it wasn’t my fault. “Why should I have to prove anything to anyone?” I told myself.

But then I realized it’s not about proving anything. It’s about being intentional with how I show up.

And truthfully? I’m still figuring it out.

I haven’t suddenly transformed into a different person. I still make jokes, I still don’t take life too seriously, but now, I catch myself. When conversations take a deeper turn, I try not to brush them off. When I have something valuable to say, I resist the urge to downplay it.

Some days, I do it well. Other days, I fall back into old patterns.

But I’m learning.

Learning that people can only take seriously what you give them a chance to see. Learning that you don’t have to stop being funny to be respected, but you do have to let people see the depth beyond the humor.

So no, I don’t have all the answers yet. But I do know this. Being intentional about how you present yourself isn’t about changing who you are.

It’s about making sure the parts of you that matter don’t go unnoticed.