In this episode of On Purpose with Jay Shetty, actor Riz Ahmed joins Jay Shetty to discuss the psychological cost of maintaining separate public and private identities. They explore how the pressure to perform for external validation—whether on social media, at work, or in daily life—creates shame and disconnection from one's authentic self. Ahmed shares his experience with code-switching and the health crisis that forced him to confront his relentless inner critic.
The conversation examines the relationship between mental strain and physical illness, the fleeting nature of external achievements, and the importance of flow states over validation. Ahmed and Shetty discuss reframing experiences of otherness and marginalization as sources of creative power, and they emphasize the value of vulnerability in both art and relationships. The episode offers perspectives on building self-worth through authenticity, creating safe spaces for one's unfiltered self, and aligning creative work with purpose rather than approval.

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Jay Shetty and Riz Ahmed explore the damaging effects of maintaining a gap between public and private selves. Shetty describes this feeling as a "straitjacket," noting that everyone feels pressure to perform—at work, with family, and online. When self-worth becomes tied to external validation and one can never step "off stage," deep shame emerges. This disconnect, dramatized in Ahmed's show "Bait" through the symbol of a severed pig's head representing internalized criticism, grows more destructive as the versions of oneself diverge.
Both agree that collapsing this gap by sharing vulnerabilities openly is liberating. Ahmed notes that making a show about his own insecurities helps free both himself and viewers: "Now more and more, I think like, I want to share the messy contradiction of myself… taking off the mask." Embracing all paradoxical parts of oneself, rather than fitting into simplistic labels, fosters both liberation and solidarity.
Ahmed and Shetty reflect on code-switching—adjusting accent, style, and behavior to fit different environments. Ahmed literally changed costumes between school, home, and friends, alongside shifts in accent and demeanor. Shetty recounts similar pressure in the corporate world after leaving the monastery. While this process reveals identity's fragmented nature, both now strive to integrate all aspects rather than editing themselves for each room.
Shetty concludes that healthy identity means appreciating the collection of stories, roles, and contradictions within oneself, rather than suppressing parts to appear coherent.
Shetty draws parallels between acting and everyday existence in the social media age, describing it as a constant audition where people equate their value with how others view them. This pressure to present an idealized self extends to every aspect of life, from LinkedIn to Instagram.
Both discuss how this affects even simple choices like clothing, recalling moments when they censored their authentic style for presumed audience expectations. While the visibility economy inclines people toward editing themselves, Shetty and Ahmed advocate for authenticity. Shetty notes that when truly connected and not performing, he experiences genuine flow and connection, and he intentionally shatters expectations—like talking about football—to break from caricatures others project onto him.
Shetty asks, "What is your safe place? What are your safe relationships? The place where you don't have to perform and you get to be the messy, chaotic, neurotic, boring version of yourself?" For both, these are close bonds—family, long-standing friends, or those who look beyond the social "avatar."
Shetty finds this in gatherings with family or his cousins' WhatsApp group, where belonging is unconditional. Ahmed echoes this, explaining that people who see beyond the avatar matter most. Having relationships and spaces where one is accepted in totality—contradictions, neuroses, and flaws included—nourishes the psyche and provides refuge from a world demanding constant performance.
Ahmed recounts losing the ability to walk during filming of "Star Wars," hospitalized for two and a half months. He describes this as an autoimmune crisis connected to relentless self-criticism: "My body had turned on itself." This internal critic, while an engine behind achievement, can become deeply destructive. Shetty similarly developed vocal cord polyps as a monk, attributing the physical ailment partly to suppressed emotional expression.
When hospitalized, Ahmed faced the reality he might never act, walk, or survive again. This reckoning with rock bottom prompted a spiritual turn—brought to his knees, Ahmed began to pray, asking for another chance to give his gifts. In profound vulnerability, ordinary experiences became meditations on beauty and grace. Ahmed realized, "if I don't even control my own body, then maybe everything I do have is a gift," believing "it's when you're brought to your knees that you're halfway towards praying."
Shetty and Ahmed unpack the challenge of speaking openly about trauma. Cultural narratives about strength and masculinity induce shame—Ahmed feared revealing health struggles would expose him as "weak," especially as a man of color. This isolation compounded the pain. Shetty admits he resisted vulnerability, worried people would think he was "broken."
By publicly sharing their journeys, Ahmed and Shetty hope to create space for others to recognize themselves in these stories, reducing isolation and helping those battling their own minds and bodies feel less alone.
Ahmed and Shetty emphasize that awards, applause, and career milestones rarely bring lasting satisfaction. Ahmed compares these to short-lived pleasure, like a child earning praise and an extra glass of Coca-Cola. Even holding an Oscar, Ahmed was met with a harsh inner voice urging him not to become complacent. This creates an unsustainable treadmill, with critics always setting the next distant milestone.
Ahmed identifies flow—complete absorption where self-consciousness dissolves—as far more nourishing than validation. In these moments, whether performing or playing with a child, time and ego disappear. Shetty expands on this, observing that children naturally embody wonder and curiosity, while adults become obsessed with objectives and lose their sense of play.
Shetty insists flow cannot be forced but arises naturally when we allow ourselves space and rest. The best ideas come in moments of idleness—"on the toilet seat" or during a long drive—when the mind is still and inspiration can surface.
For Ahmed and Shetty, fulfillment is found in aligning creativity with purpose and offering. Ahmed describes promising to use his talents for good if given more life—an intention to share whatever gifts he's been given. Shetty echoes this, discussing how devotion to craft becomes spiritual practice—a prayer rooted in gratitude and service.
Shetty raises the question: do you create to get or to let go? When the motivation is to offer, there is lightness and expansiveness. The rewards that come back are never as sustaining as the moment of surrender and offering itself.
Both acknowledge the challenge of balancing ambition with detachment. Ahmed strives for a middle ground between holding himself too tightly and letting go too much. Shetty describes setting strict boundaries, such as not working or using his phone past 6pm, allowing space for renewal and creativity.
By prioritizing flow, intrinsic purpose, and spiritual alignment over external validation, one can achieve true fulfillment without falling into unsustainable pursuit of public approval.
One guest recounts being eight when skinheads cornered him and his brother with a knife—an early, shocking realization of being different in a way that meant danger and vigilance. Such early experiences of othering often lead to code-switching, which the guest sees as origins of his future as an actor. The pain and internalized shame are real, but both Jay and his guest emphasize the possibility of transforming painful beginnings into fuel for creativity and empathy.
The guest notes that people of color and other marginalized individuals often work "twice as hard to get half as far"—"the bitterness, the pain, the rejection... it's real, it's justified." Yet this friction can give one's journey more meaning. Shetty references the Stoic idea that "the obstacle is the way," suggesting the specifics of one's difference can become keys to opportunity and narrative power.
Instead of seeing discomfort as weakness, both propose reframing it as advantage. Shetty remarks that feeling like an outsider grants observant, analytic distance and signals growth—referencing David Bowie's belief that one should never feel the bottom of the pool to keep growing. Occupying unfamiliar spaces grants the power to "change the temperature in the room" and open doors for others.
Shetty explains that true fulfillment comes from genuine connections with someone who truly understands, not from mass acceptance. He describes large events where a singular, authentic interaction brings greater meaning than acknowledgment from the whole crowd, emphasizing that real belonging is rooted in lasting relationships, especially with those who knew you before external success.
Ahmed reflects that early in his career, inhabiting various personas felt like achievement. Yet as his artistry evolved, he realized profound work originates from exploring personal neuroses and lived experience. Instead of hiding behind masks, the challenge becomes unmasking one's true self. It is the raw, specific truths of one's life that create the most powerful art.
Ahmed describes making "Bait" by drawing directly from his insecurities, including recreating a panic attack at the same venue. By openly mining his shame and vulnerabilities, Ahmed transforms the private into public, using creativity as both personal healing and a spiritual act. Sharing his struggles turns personal experience into "medicine" for others.
Shetty explains that public figures feel pressure to uphold constructed images. To prevent becoming a caricature, Shetty makes a point of talking about ordinary topics like football. Both agree that maintaining authenticity means consciously embracing normalcy and resisting the distortions of fame.
Ahmed and Shetty agree that true magnetism is born from being unapologetically oneself. Audiences are drawn to specificity, honesty, and vulnerability. They dispel the myth that one must wait for success to express authenticity; rather, it is authenticity itself that paves the way for acceptance and achievement.
1-Page Summary
Jay Shetty and Riz Ahmed candidly explore the chasm between how individuals present themselves publicly and who they truly are. Shetty articulates the exhausting and damaging effects of constantly performing an idealized version of oneself, likening the feeling to a straitjacket: “the gap between your public and private self can feel like a straitjacket.” He notes that everyone, not just public figures, feels pressure to perform at work, in families, and online. The inability to ever step “off stage” and the tendency to conflate performance with self-worth can lead to deep feelings of shame, as one’s true value comes to depend on external validation.
Performing versions of oneself, whether on LinkedIn, social media, or even family gatherings, often creates a profound disconnect from authenticity. Shetty discusses how the quest for approval can morph from wanting to be liked for who you genuinely are, to the more painful territory of seeking validation for a completely constructed persona. This was also at the core of his inspiration for creating the show "Bait"—exploring the spot between different versions of oneself, and how shame grows larger the more those versions diverge.
The internal critic is dramatized in "Bait" as a severed pig’s head—a racist attack that becomes a persistent symbol of internalized criticism and prejudice. Shetty discusses his own history with this voice of shame and its lethal power, emphasizing the need to collapse the distance between public and private selves for true well-being.
Collapsing this gap by openly sharing personal neuroses, insecurities, and contradictions is liberating. Ahmed notes that making a show by laughing at his own vulnerabilities helps free both himself and viewers from feelings of shame and isolation: “Now more and more, I think like, I want to share the messy contradiction of myself… taking off the mask.” Shetty agrees, highlighting that embracing all paradoxical parts of oneself and refusing to fit into simplistic labels is not only more human but also fosters liberation and solidarity.
Both Ahmed and Shetty reflect on the experience of code-switching, adjusting accent, style, and behavior to fit into different social environments. Outside expectations led Ahmed to literally change costumes—wearing school uniforms at school, traditional attire at home, and trendy streetwear with friends, alongside accent and demeanor shifts. Shetty, too, recounts the pressure to become someone else in the corporate world after leaving the monastery, fearing he could spend decades performing a role far removed from his truth.
The process of code-switching reveals both the fragmentation and multifaceted nature of identity. Ahmed describes how warnings from a casting director about his expressive eyes made him self-conscious, leading him to act differently for years. He and Shetty now strive to bring all sides of themselves together. Rather than editing or censoring their identities to meet the perceived expectations of every room, they attempt to integrate all aspects—allowing complexity, contradiction, and playfulness to coexist. For Ahmed, this means his artistic work, like "Bait," now unites these different aspects, rather than forcing him to adopt a single, inauthentic persona.
Shetty concludes that healthy identity means appreciating the collection and connection of stories, roles, and contradictions within oneself. He believes everyone harbors paradoxes, and the goal is to become comfortable embracing them rather than suppressing parts of one’s identity to appear coherent or fit into narrow definitions.
Shetty draws parallels between the acting profession and everyday existence in the age of social media, describing it as a constant audition. He observes that, especially due to the visibility and attention economy, people equate their value with how they are viewed by others. This pressure to present an idealized self—curated, successful, put-together—extends into every aspect of life, from LinkedIn bios to Zoom calls and Instagram feeds.
Ahmed and Shetty discuss how this affects something as simple as choosing what to wear. Both recall moments when they censored their authentic style to meet the presumed expectations of an audience, only to realize the impulse to people-please is deeply ingrained, even in small choices.
While the visibility economy may incline individuals to edit themsel ...
Public vs. Private Identity: Navigating Shame, Code-Switching, Vulnerability, and Authenticity in a Performance-Driven World
Jay Shetty and Riz Ahmed explore the profound ways internal conflict, criticism, and shame can shape not just emotional experience but also physical health, and how facing severe health crises becomes an unexpected entry to deeper gratitude, humility, and spiritual connection. They also interrogate the cultural barriers that keep high achievers from sharing these battles, resulting in isolation, and discuss how openness about suffering can help others feel less alone.
Ahmed recounts a life-altering health crisis during the filming of "Star Wars," when, at his professional peak, he suddenly lost the ability to walk and was hospitalized for two and a half months. He describes an intense internal war—believing a critical, shaming inner voice was so dominant that it contributed to an autoimmune crisis: “My body had turned on itself.” He connects this attack by the body to the psychological effect of chronic self-criticism and shame, identifying it as not just an emotional burden, but something with the real power to “kill you,” as relentless internal attacks mirror the body’s literal attack on itself.
This internal critic, Ahmed and Shetty agree, is a powerful engine behind achievement but can become deeply destructive. Many high achievers—athletes, artists, leaders—report an inner voice that pushes them ruthlessly to the top but leaves little space for joy, flow, or balance. Shetty suggests that high performers must learn to toggle between the critic and the inner cheerleader, as too much self-attack leads to exhaustion and collapse rather than sustainable excellence.
Further showing the mind-body link, Shetty describes developing vocal cord polyps while living as a monk, a physical ailment that he attributes in part to both vocal strain and to suppressed emotional expression. The loss of speech—a core identity and calling—brought a striking awareness of how blocked or inauthentic expression manifests in the body. The ailment forced him into silence and deepened his understanding that gifts can become vulnerabilities, and that the ability to communicate extends far beyond mere words.
Both Ahmed and Shetty describe the humbling confrontation with mortality and loss of control that severe health crises bring. When Ahmed was hospitalized, he faced the reality that he might never return to acting, walk again, or even survive. The gap between how others perceived him—friends texting excitedly about his Star Wars role—and his own desperate, night-bound reality in hospital forced him to reckon with loss, grief, and surrender. This reckoning with rock bottom prompted a spiritual turn: feeling brought to his knees, Ahmed began to pray, asking simply for another chance to give his gifts.
In these moments of profound vulnerability, ordinary experiences—a pigeon visiting a hospital window—became meditations on beauty, humility, and the sheer grace of being alive. Ahmed describes this as realizing, “if I don’t even control my own body, then maybe everything I do have is a gift,” and found intense gratitude in the smallest wonders, believing “it’s when you’re brought to your knees that you’re halfway towards praying.” Reminders of mortality, such as Steve Jobs’ final speech, also underscore the importance of clarity, honesty, and love.
The health crisis became not just an ordeal, but an awakening: it deepened gratitude for basic abilities, fostered humility, and offered a gateway to spiritual connection.
Mental-Physical Link: How Criticism, Shame, and Trauma Manifest As Illness and Crisis
Riz Ahmed and Jay Shetty explore the limitations of external validation and the deeper fulfillment found in flow, purpose, and spiritual devotion. Their reflections move beyond achievement, advocating for an existence aligned with authenticity, curiosity, and nourishment of the soul.
Both Ahmed and Shetty emphasize that external markers such as awards, applause, or career milestones rarely bring lasting satisfaction. Ahmed describes how, despite external success—like the rush from winning an Oscar or receiving applause—the feeling is always fleeting, comparing it to the short-lived pleasure of a child earning praise and an extra glass of Coca-Cola. These moments supply only a quick [restricted term] hit and don't nourish the soul.
After significant recognition, like Shetty’s show receiving 95% on Rotten Tomatoes, the satisfaction is immediately shadowed by a sense of hollowness, as if validation itself is a trap. Shetty even admits to feeling a surge of self-criticism amid triumph, recalling that while holding the Oscar he was met not with peace but a harsh inner voice urging him not to become complacent.
This cycle of striving for praise and then discounting it creates a constant oscillation between self-doubt and disregard for feedback. Ahmed describes swinging between extremes—Googling himself for validation or, conversely, dismissing all external praise as meaningless. The ongoing pursuit turns into a treadmill, with critics and one’s inner self always setting the next distant milestone, rarely permitting enjoyment of the moment. Ultimately, both agree that true reward comes not from validation, but from the courage and vulnerability of the work itself.
Ahmed identifies flow—a state where self-consciousness dissolves—as the real object of his pursuit, far more nourishing than awards or public validation. He notes that in moments of deep absorption, whether performing, playing with a child, or even during an engrossing conversation, time and ego disappear. These moments bring a sense of connection to all things, and Ahmed actively seeks to live as close to this state as possible, both in art and daily life.
Shetty expands on the idea of flow, distinguishing it from relentless goal-chasing. He observes that children, who marvel at simple things and remain unattached to timelines, embody this state of wonder and curiosity. As adults, by contrast, we become obsessed with objectives and often lose our sense of play, causing time to feel compressed and robbing life of its richness.
Shetty insists that flow cannot be manufactured or forced. Instead, it arises naturally when we allow ourselves space and rest. The best ideas, he says, come not during deliberate work but in moments of idleness—‘on the toilet seat’ or during a long drive, when the mind is still and inspiration can surface like a fish in calm water. Play, marvel, and curiosity—often modeled by children—are vital teachers, reminding adults of the expansive present moment.
Ironically, it is in these flow states that people often create their most meaningful work, making the pursuit of flow far more valuable than the pursuit of success itself.
For Ahmed and Shetty, fulfillment is found in aligning creativity with a sense of purpose and offering. The shift happens when artistic and professional endeavors cease to be about personal gain and validation, and instead become an offering to others—a contribution anchored in honesty and truth.
Ahmed describes a profound prayer during a moment of vulnerability, promising to use his talents for good if given more life—an intention to empty himself and share whatever gifts he has been given. Shetty echoes this, discussing how devotion to craft becomes a kind of spiritual practice—a prayer rooted in gratitude, health, purpose, and service to others.
Shetty’s approach to success involves intentions beyond external markers. He prays for people’s health, their ability to provide with digni ...
Beyond Validation: Embracing Flow, Intrinsic Purpose, and Spiritual Alignment
For many creative individuals and people of color, early encounters with racism or difference leave a deep imprint. One guest recounts being eight years old when he and his brother were cornered by skinheads, with a knife pressed to his brother’s throat—an early, shocking realization of being different in a way that meant living with danger and vigilance. He reflects that this moment began a lifelong journey to understand and reconcile his identity.
Such early experiences of othering often lead to code-switching—adapting behavior, speech, or outward persona to fit different environments. One guest describes attending a predominantly white, upper-class school, which required code-switching there, and then adjusting again in his home neighborhood, regarding this constant adjustment as a form of performance that sparked his future as an actor. The guest sees these experiences not only as sources of challenge or pain, but also as the origins of depth and perspective, fueling artistry and empathy. Jay Shetty shares his own memories, including playful moments of being called “Gulu” at community gatherings and performing for the aunties—experiences of being different but also being celebrated.
The pain, trauma, and internalized shame that stems from such experiences are real and justified, but both Jay and his guest emphasize the possibility and power of reframing: transforming painful beginnings into fuel for creativity and a greater capacity for empathy. They speak to the benefit of leaning into these origins—to draw nuance, complexity, and a unique voice for their creative work.
Marginalization presents both hurdles and unique sources of creative power. The guest notes the reality that people of color, women, and differently abled individuals often have to work “twice as hard to get half as far.” This resistance and friction are not to be bypassed or minimized—“the bitterness, the pain, the rejection... it’s real, it’s justified.” Yet, this very friction can give an individual’s journey and creative life more meaning.
Jay Shetty references the Stoic idea that “the obstacle is the way,” suggesting the specifics of one's difference—whether race, background, or any form of otherness—can become keys to opportunity. They argue the experience of being blocked or excluded, when embraced, can unlock new narrative power and specificity. For creatives, leaning into what sets them apart, rather than minimizing it, brings vitality to their art and allows their work to resonate with more depth and authenticity.
Instead of seeing discomfort and not belonging as a weakness, both hosts propose reframing these feelings as advantages. Jay Shetty remarks that he has felt like an outsider in every space he entered, whether at Oxford University or elsewhere, and he has learned to appreciate the observant, analytic distance that comes from not fitting in. Feeling like a fish out of water, he says, signals growth and being in the right place—referencing David Bowie’s belief that one should never feel the bottom of the pool in ord ...
Identity and Belonging: Embracing Difference As Strength For Creatives and People of Color
Riz Ahmed and Jay Shetty discuss how authentic self-expression fuels both creative potency and personal fulfillment. Their conversation highlights that genuine connection and resonance come from embracing vulnerability and living without pretense.
In the early stages of a creative career, acting is often perceived as playing different characters—each new mask or role signals success and an artist’s range. Riz Ahmed reflects that early in his journey, inhabiting various personas felt like a measure of achievement. Yet, as his artistry evolved, he realized that profound work originates from exploring personal neuroses, contradictions, and lived experience. Instead of hiding behind masks, the challenge becomes to unmask one’s true self. Ahmed notes that this unmasking process, though daunting, establishes deeper and more honest connections with audiences. It is the raw, specific truths of one’s life—rather than vague universality or performance for approval—that create the most powerful art.
Riz Ahmed describes making his show "Bait" by directly drawing from his own insecurities and life events. He includes real incidents such as having a panic attack during a concert, even recreating it at the same venue as part of the show. By openly mining his shame and vulnerabilities, Ahmed transforms the private into the public, using creativity as both personal healing and a spiritual act. He acknowledges that sharing his struggles—such as those depicted in "Sound of Metal" and "Mogul Mowgli"—turns his personal experience into a kind of “medicine” for others. For Ahmed, the act of offering up his vulnerabilities invites audiences into a universal space where individual pain is recognized, shared, and ultimately transcended.
Jay Shetty explains that public figures often feel pressure to uphold a constructed image—whether it’s being perpetually wise as a mentor or relentlessly funny as a comedian. He shares that people frequently expect him to deliver profound insights at every turn, creating a burden of always being “on.” To prevent himself from becoming a caricature, Shetty makes a point of talking a ...
Authenticity in Creativity and Life: Living Truth, Not a Persona
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