The Many Versions of Me: A Hilariously Honest Look at How I Apparently Exist in Everyone’s Mind

The many versions of "you".

Let’s start with a fact that’s both terrifying and weirdly freeing: there are hundreds of versions of you walking around this planet right now — and most of them exist entirely in other people’s heads. That’s right, I’m not just “me.” I’m “work-me,” “mom-me,” “neighbor-who-needs-to-cut-her-grass-me,” and “girl-who-always-orders-too-many-sauces-at-Chick-fil-A-me.” We’re basically living in a multiverse of misinterpretations. And if you’re anything like me, sometimes you lie awake at night wondering: Which version of me did they meet today?

The All-Knowing Gadget Helper (aka: The Human Google at Work)

At work, I’ve somehow become known as the “all-knowing gadget helper.” You know — the person everyone assumes can fix the printer, connect to Wi-Fi, and reprogram the coffee machine while blindfolded.

Apparently, I exude “tech-savvy problem solver” energy just because I once turned something off and on again, and it worked. Now I’m the office IT whisperer.

Don’t get me wrong — it’s flattering to be seen as capable. But the truth is, half the time I’m just clicking buttons and praying. There’s no secret wisdom here, just mild panic disguised as confidence. Yet people believe I’ve got all the answers, from setting up Bluetooth speakers to emotional support strategies for malfunctioning laptops.

I nod, smile, and pretend I understand the question. Meanwhile, my inner dialogue is whispering, Please, God, let this Wi-Fi connect before they realize I have no idea what I’m doing.

The Messy Mom (aka: The Walking Domestic Disaster)

And then there’s the version of me that lives in every PTA mom’s subconscious — the Messy Mom.

You know the one. The mom who’s always five minutes late, juggling a lukewarm coffee, a forgotten permission slip, and a toddler wearing mismatched shoes. The mom whose car looks like a thrift store exploded — goldfish crackers carpeting the floor, random socks in the cupholders, and a mysterious odor that’s definitely not new car smell.

Other moms glide into school drop-off looking like they’ve been meditating since dawn. I roll up looking like I wrestled a leaf blower on the way there.

I can almost hear their inner monologues….

“Oh, she’s... trying her best.”

“Bless her heart.”

Or my personal favorite:“Do we think she’s okay?”

I am both the cautionary tale and the comic relief of motherhood. But honestly? I’ve made peace with it. Because while my life might look like a perpetual episode of “Laundry Mountain: The Never-Ending Saga,” at least my kid laughs loud, hugs hard, and doesn’t mind when dinner is cereal three nights in a row.

The Social Media Me: Filtered, Fabulous, and Questionably Real

Let’s not forget her — the version of me that lives online. She’s glowing. She’s wise. She’s always posting poetic captions about “embracing the journey” while conveniently cropping out the mountain of laundry behind her.

Online-me has her life together. Real-me once cried because I couldn’t find the matching lid for my Tupperware.

But it’s funny how the digital version of us takes on a life of her own. People comment things like, “You’re glowing!” and “I love your energy!” Meanwhile, I’m just sitting there in a robe, trying to angle my phone so the under-eye circles don’t look like moon craters.

The Judged Stranger at the Grocery Store

Somewhere out there, there’s a person who thinks I’m rude because I didn’t smile back in aisle seven. Another thinks I’m healthy because they saw kale in my cart (spoiler: it wilted before we ever ate it). Someone else probably thinks I’m reckless because I let my kid stand in the cart.

It’s wild — you can go grocery shopping and unintentionally become the villain in three different people’s mental stories. All because you were just trying to find the good avocados.

The Past Versions We Can’t Outrun

And then there are the versions people remember from years ago — the ones that no longer fit, but somehow still follow us like awkward shadows.

The “high school version” of me still lives on in some people’s heads — the girl who laughed too loudly, wore eyeliner like it was war paint, and over-shared on MySpace. (Rest in peace, Top 8 drama.)

Others remember the “teen version” — idealistic, broke, and fueled by coffee and unearned confidence. Then there’s the “post-breakdown version,” the one who had to rebuild her peace from scratch.

It’s strange when you realize that someone out there might only know you from one of those seasons. They don’t see the quiet growth, the healing, the humor you found in the mess. They’re still looking at an outdated snapshot of your soul.

The People Who Think They Know You (But Really, They Know Their Projection)

Sometimes people see something in you that isn’t actually about you — it’s about them. Their own fears, insecurities, or expectations paint over who you really are.

To one person, I’m “too sensitive.” To another, I’m “strong.” To someone else, I’m “too opinionated,” while another says I “inspire honesty.” All the same woman. All true. All false.

It’s like every person holds up a different mirror, and in each reflection, I look a little different. Sometimes I recognize her. Sometimes I don’t.

Trying to Keep Up With All My Selves

Some days, I wonder if life would be easier if we could all just wear name tags that said “Hi, I’m doing my best. Please don’t assume too much.”

Because truthfully, I can’t keep track of how I’m perceived anymore. I’m just trying to keep my head above the tide of expectations, judgments, and unintentional comedy that is being human.

But the older I get, the more I realize — maybe we don’t need to correct every misconception. Maybe it’s okay that the world sees a thousand tiny versions of us. Because the real one — the one who laughs too loud, loves deeply, messes up, prays quietly, and keeps growing — doesn’t need validation from every mental caricature floating around out there.

Finding Humor in the Chaos

Now, I try to laugh at it all.

When someone calls me “put-together,” I take it as a compliment — even if I know my sock drawer looks like a crime scene. When someone misjudges me, I remind myself that their perspective says more about their story than mine.

I’ve learned to stop performing for every version of myself that exists in someone else’s imagination. Because honestly, that’s a full-time job I didn’t apply for.

Instead, I’m focusing on being the version of me that I can actually stand at the end of the day. The one who tries, fails, learns, forgives, and still laughs about it.

The Beautiful (and Hilarious) Truth

So yes — there are dozens of “me’s” floating around out there.

The responsible one. The chaotic one. The kind one. The moody one. The gadget guru. The messy mom. The woman who “talks too much.” The friend who “always listens.”

And I’ve made peace with them all.

Because at the end of the day, all these versions are just reflections of how I move through other people’s stories. The only one who truly knows me — the messy, funny, overthinking, wildly resilient me — is the one I meet in the mirror each morning.

And she’s still figuring it out, too.

Moral of the story:

There are infinite “yous” walking around in the minds of others — but only one you that truly matters.

So let them think what they want. You just keep being the beautifully complicated, slightly chaotic, wonderfully human masterpiece that you are.

After all… if people are going to imagine versions of me, I might as well make her memorable.