Marilyn, Me, and the Masks We Wear

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”
― Marilyn Monroe

Last night, in between watching the NBA Finals, I found myself caught up in a documentary about Marilyn Monroe. Call me a history geek, but I love digging into the stories of famous figures—their beginnings, their battles, the path they took to fame. There’s something powerful about learning who they really were beneath the glitter.

Truth is, I didn’t know much about Marilyn beyond the surface: the tragic suicide, the sultry “Happy Birthday” to the president, and the countless quotes that flood Instagram. But as I watched, I saw someone much deeper—someone who was incredibly insecure, hiding behind a persona she carefully curated for the world.

It was genius, in a way. She embodied the ultimate bombshell—confident, sexy, magnetic. But underneath it all, she was struggling. She wanted to be seen as more than the image the world adored. She read obsessively, trying to fill in what others said she lacked—because she never finished high school, because she wasn’t “smart enough.” It was heartbreaking and familiar.

I couldn’t help but see a version of myself in her story. I, too, used to hide parts of myself behind smiles and perfectionism. I wasn’t an orphan, I didn’t bounce from foster home to foster home, but I knew what it felt like to be deeply alone. Alone in the sense that no one really knew me, because I kept those pieces locked away. Vulnerability felt far too dangerous.

But here's the thing: living like that eventually breaks you down. You become a prisoner in your own mind. I’ve had moments—just like Marilyn must’ve had—where my thoughts raced, my emotions swelled, and I felt like I could scream from the inside out.

What changed? Self-reflection. And faith.

I started doing the hard work—recognizing my flaws, confronting them, and working to heal. I stopped pretending I had to carry everything on my own and finally realized I never truly was alone. God had been there all along, patiently waiting for me to understand that truth. That awareness has brought me more peace than I could’ve imagined.

I sometimes wonder what could have saved Marilyn. Maybe someone reminding her she was never alone. Maybe someone helping her believe that being vulnerable didn’t mean being weak. I wish she had found her version of peace before it was too late.

Making Half the Attempt isn't Enough

Yesterday, I went to Sunday service as part of our weekly ritual, and the sermon really hit home. The message was all about “teaching an old dog new tricks.” It reminded me how easy it is to get caught up in our routines and become complacent. We stop asking ourselves what we can do to grow, to improve, to become better. But being a good Christian—and a good human—means striving to be the best version of ourselves every day.

We're not perfect, and we’re not meant to be, but that doesn't mean we stop trying.

One line that has always stuck with me came from a very unlikely source: my old “internship” at a record label in my early 20s. That experience was one of the most difficult times in my life—full of deceit, manipulation, and pressure to do things I was never meant to do. But the man who put me through all that used to say one thing over and over: “Don’t do things half-ass.” As strange as it sounds, that phrase became a sort of mantra for me.

Why? Because deep down, we all know when we’re not giving our best. When you’re just checking off boxes at work, when you’re telling someone half the truth, when you’re doing just enough to say you did it—you feel it in your gut. That’s not effort. That’s avoidance.

I was also recently at an event featuring a panel of men who had reached the peak of their careers—executives from places like Red Lobster and Walt Disney World. One of them, the Brand Manager at Red Lobster, said something that echoed the same sentiment: “If you want to grow in your career, do something outside of your job description.” Your job description is just a guideline. It’s what you do beyond that that sets you apart.

The pastor even told a story about his dog—how he always knew when his dog had done something wrong because it would show guilt and shame without a word being said. That struck me. We’re the same way. When we know we’re phoning it in, we feel that guilt in our spirit.

Doing the bare minimum might get you by, but it won’t make you better. True growth comes from doing more than what’s expected—being honest with yourself and showing up fully.

So here’s my takeaway: If you want to level up—spiritually, professionally, or personally—you have to give more than half the effort. You have to show up with your whole heart. Anything less, and you’re only cheating yourself.