When Positivity Gets You Called Fake

I’ve always been a silver-lining spotter. Some people call it optimism. Others roll their eyes and call it annoying. Here's a little story...

A few weeks ago, someone hit me with a line that stopped me cold: “It’s fake to be that good all the time.” As if hope is a costume. As if kindness is an act.

It stung — not because they meant harm, but because they named the quiet insult I’ve felt my whole life: that being “real” must mean being jaded, exhausted, or at least a little bitter. And most importantly not sprinkling pixie dust over your problems to see them as opportunities.

As if hope is a cheap knockoff handbag and cynicism is the genuine leather version. That if you’re grounded, hopeful, or silver-lining spotting, you’re somehow naïve or fake.

I’ve heard the sideways “must be nice” comments, seen the eye-rolls, felt the assumption that optimism equals denial.

Somewhere along the way our culture decided pain proves depth and hope proves shallowness. Like cynicism is a PhD and joy is a toddler drawing with crayons. But authenticity doesn’t need to come wrapped in sarcasm, exhaustion, or despair to be believable. Sometimes the realest thing in the room is the person still willing to believe in better.

Where My Positivity Comes From

Maybe it’s just how I’m wired. I’ve always been that person who looks for the good, even when it’s buried under a mountain of mess.

My dad still laughs at me because I never just have a Plan A — I’ve got a Plan B, C, and D, each with its own silver lining. In my head there’s always a series of “if this happens, then here’s how we pivot” scenarios, not out of paranoia but because I’m wired to look for possibility and solutions.

I see it in strangers at the grocery store, in my own kids, in people who are quietly holding their families together. It’s not fake. It’s the quiet rebellion of refusing to give up on what’s possible — and the muscle memory of always searching for another path forward.

The Myth: Authenticity Equals Negativity

We’ve normalized skepticism as “smart” and positivity as “suspect.” We label a good mood “fake” but rarely question a bad one. We’ve even coined the term “toxic positivity” — and while yes, there’s a real danger in dismissing pain with platitudes, let’s call BS on the way the phrase gets weaponized. Too often it’s become a hall pass for staying cynical, a way to shame anyone who dares to hope out loud.

Being “authentic” doesn’t mean dragging everyone into the pit or endlessly dissecting the problem. It doesn’t mean matching the room’s vibe or shrinking your own. And honestly? I can’t stand talking about the same problem over and over without finding a way through it. That’s not authenticity — that’s stagnation. I’d rather spend that energy finding even one imperfect step forward than circling the same drain of complaints.

Authenticity is holding pain and possibility in the same hand. It’s saying, “This is hard” and “There’s still a way” in the same breath. It’s gritty joy, quiet rage, ugly crying, stubborn hope — all of it allowed, none of it a performance.

Positivity Isn’t Pollyanna — It’s Hard Work

Years ago, I made a choice that made my mother shake her head a little: I stopped watching the news. She thinks I’m crazy — like I’m cutting myself off from reality. But the truth is, I’ll always find out about what matters. I don’t need a steady drip of fear, outrage, and tragedy thrown in my face every single night. Because protecting my mental space isn’t denial; it’s discipline. It’s my way of saying “no” to manufactured panic and “yes” to showing up clear-minded for the people who need me.

Being authentically positive isn’t naivety; it’s a daily rep. It’s choosing not to marinate in cynicism when that would be easier. It’s telling the truth even when it makes people uncomfortable. It’s refusing to collude with self-deception — in yourself or in others.

And yes, that can make people squirm. When you say, “Here’s the hard truth, and here’s the way forward,” you’re holding up a mirror. Not everyone is ready to see themselves without their own filter.

What This Looks Like in Real Life

At work, maybe you’ve been the person who speaks honestly in meetings when everyone else is trying to “stay positive” but no one’s naming the real issue. Or maybe you’ve been the one who drops the awkward truth and then watches everyone shift in their chairs. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s also how the real work begins.

At home, you know the scene: helping your kids or partner face a setback without sugarcoating it, but also without catastrophizing it. It’s “Yes, this is tough” + “We’ll get through it.” It’s the hard conversation after the bad news, the calm voice during the meltdown, the “we’ll figure it out” hug at the end. It’s not about fixing everything; it’s about showing what it looks like to face hard things without losing hope.

In friendships, it’s holding space for someone’s pain without joining the spiral. You can empathize without amplifying despair. And yes — if you’re sitting across from me, you’re probably going to get the silver lining, too. It’s how I’m wired. Sorry, not sorry!

And for the record, our lives aren’t perfect — not at work, not at home. People sometimes assume we’ve got it all together because we hold hope so tightly. The truth? That assumption is hard to swallow.

Most days are just as messy, chaotic, and unpredictable as anyone else’s. Some days the sink is full of dishes, the laundry piles up, three half-finished cups of coffee sit on the desk, and maybe you’ve even driven to school still wearing slippers. Sometimes optimism crashes headfirst into a wall. The car floorboard looks like a recycling bin exploded. A stack of unopened mail glares from the counter.

We’re not immune to stress, exhaustion, or meltdowns. We just refuse to let the mess swallow us whole. It’s a choice — our choice — to keep finding the silver lining and keep moving forward.

Why This Matters Now

We’re living through a time of chronic burnout, polarized opinions, and perfectly curated realities. People are exhausted from being “on” all the time — parenting through Zoom calls, working through dinner, doom-scrolling through disasters at midnight. We’re juggling aging parents, kids with homework meltdowns, partners with frayed nerves, and bosses who still think “work-life balance” means checking email from the carpool line.

People are desperate for leaders — at work, at home, and in their communities — who are both honest and hopeful. Not one or the other. Both. Someone who can say, “This is hard” without spinning it and “Here’s how we move forward” without sugarcoating it.

This is where my 360° IMPACT pillars come alive in real time:

• Growth in choosing better responses when you’re one coffee away from snapping.

• Gratitude in noticing what’s still working while folding yet another load of laundry.

• Purpose in living your values even when you’re stretched thin.

• Integration in blending hard truth with hope instead of flipping between toxic positivity and total despair.

• Connection in showing up fully — messy hair, tired eyes, but present — instead of faking perfection.

• Collaboration in building real partnerships at home and at work so invisible labor isn’t crushing one person.

Your Micro-Shift This Week

If you’ve ever been accused of being “too much,” or dimmed your optimism to fit in, try this:

• Notice when you shrink your light or optimism because you’re afraid of being called fake.

• Practice holding both things at once — the hard truth and the hopeful path.

• Speak one uncomfortable truth out loud, kindly but clearly.

Being grounded and hopeful at the same time is not a flaw. It’s a superpower. It’s far easier to be cynical than it is to keep believing in what’s possible.

The Bottom Line

Over the years, what I’ve realized is this: when my positivity makes someone uncomfortable, it’s almost never because I’m being fake. It’s because positivity forces a choice between hope and cynicism, and that’s uncomfortable terrain.

Authenticity isn’t about showing you are miserable, edgy, or angry. It’s not wearing your pain like a badge or dismissing every ounce of hope as “toxic positivity.” Authenticity is standing in your truth — whether that’s gritty joy, quiet rage, ugly crying, or stubborn hope — and letting people see you as you really are. And in my world, every hard truth comes with a thread of hope attached — not to soften it, but to show there’s always a way forward. I don’t apologize for that.

My silver linings aren’t sprinkles on a sundae — they’re the calluses from years of refusing to drown in cynicism.

I’d rather be accused of being “too positive” than live in a state of chronic eye-roll.

I’d rather be relentlessly hopeful than comfortably bitter.

I’d rather be the person people whisper about than the one who slowly disappears under the weight of their own negativity.

So no, I’m not dimming my light. Not for a room. Not for a label. Not for anyone. This is me, unfiltered: messy, hopeful, a little sarcastic, and fiercely real. If that makes me “too much,” then maybe “too much” is exactly what we need right now.

In the chaos, finding the color — always,

Michele