She was hungry.
The girl acted bravely.
The boy was mischievous.
These are the kinds of sentences we’re taught to avoid.
A major tenet of writing—one I’m very qualified to discuss as an elementary education major who ended up teaching math, and who, in high school, skipped The Tortilla Curtain and landed in British Literature instead of AP English—is this:
Show, don’t tell.
What made him evil?
How do we know she was hungry?
What did she do that made her brave?
What chaos did the boy actually cause?
If it matters, don’t label it.
Prove it.
Recently, I heard someone begin a conversation with, “I’m the type of person…”
I immediately cringed.
This wasn’t a job interview. No one asked. It was just… offered. Unprovoked.
And that’s the problem.
When you tell someone what kind of person you are, you’re usually trying to do one of two things:
- Impress them
- Change their opinion of you
Impress
At some point in adulthood, you have to tell yourself:
Who cares what other people think of me?
Not your close friends or family—those opinions matter. I’m talking about casual acquaintances. Sideline parents at your kid’s soccer game. People you barely know.
If you’re trying to make friends, it actually helps to just be yourself.
Because people can tell when you’re trying too hard.
If you think being kind will win someone over, great—
but don’t tell me you’re kind.
Show me.
- Show me how you talk to your kids
- Show me how you treat the referee
- Show me how you handle it when your kid gets less playing time
If you think being funny will win someone over, then make me laugh.
You know what’s not funny?
Telling people how funny you are.
One of the highest compliments I give—and it’s rare—is:
“They’re sneaky funny.”
They don’t advertise it. It just shows up. Naturally. Over time.
Not, “I’m a big practical joker at work.”
(No one has ever actually said that to me, but it would be amazing if they did)
Change
Most people are self-aware.
They know when they are liked, respected, admired—or not.
And when they feel like they’re viewed negatively, they try to change the narrative.
The problem is, changing people’s opinions takes time.
Weeks. Months. Years. Maybe never.
We’re impatient. So instead of doing the slow work of changing through our actions, we try the shortcut:
“I’m the type of person who…”
No one says, “I’m not a jerk.”
But they’ll say,
“I’m the type of person who gives—my time, my energy, everything.”
Here’s the truth:
You don’t control when—or if—someone changes their opinion of you.
That timeline belongs to them.
The only thing you control is what you do next.
And the only way to change how people see you…
is to give them something different to see.
Whether you’re trying to impress people or change their perception of you, the answer is the same:
Be yourself.
Be consistent.
And most importantly—be good through your actions.
The rest will take care of itself.
Because in writing—and in life—
people don’t believe what you say about yourself.
They believe what you show them.
“But hey—don’t take my word for it.”
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