I first became familiar with the need to build my personal brand when my first book launched. Part of the mentorship with my publisher, PaperKat Books, was author branding. It took me a few weeks to formulate what I wanted my audience to see from the moment they encountered my name. What did I stand for? What was the main message I wanted my readers to receive? What kind of reputation did I want to build?
I had the most fun choosing my brand colors, my brand fonts, and my overall look. But these, as Mr. Kong explained, are surface-level expressions. To answer the deeper questions, I decided to take a course on Coursera titled Introduction to Personal Branding. It taught me what personal branding means and what it means to live one’s brand.
Being clear about one’s purpose takes precedence, followed by living by it, standing by it, and building a sustainable system that can grow over time. Aside from that, I also gleaned valuable lessons in reputation management. The course helped me become more adept in the use of social media and internet platforms. Before I got to answering the hard bits, I was already prepared with my personal mission statement and my Be Goals (as in answering the question: “Who do you want to be?”).
My personal mission statement, curtly summarized, is simply: Guiding you toward better health, in mind, body, and psyche, proudly displayed on my personal Facebook public author page for all to see.
One year after formalizing my personal brand, I found myself reflecting on the process.
First, I learned that it is far easier to begin when one has a deadline. Without the prodding of my publisher and the guidance of our resident stylist, I doubt I would have had the courage to step forward. The need for a professional author photo for my book jacket forced me to gather myself and present a public face. Though initially uncomfortable, I was grateful for the push.
Second, I examined whether my personal brand had stood the test of time. Over the past year, I have made refinements and adjustments. My colors and fonts sometimes vary in social media posts, but the substance of what I share—my content, my stance, my psychological truths and philosophical core—has remained steadfast.
During my first year as an author, I had the misfortune of encountering bad reviewers and a few haters on social media. My first instinct was to recoil—to delete all my social media apps and disappear. But after the emotional dust settled, and I had the chance to cool down, I realized the experience itself was the gift. It became something I could learn from rather than run from.
A few nights ago, I had what can be understood as a Jungian dream. The dream consolidated lessons that had been quietly forming in my unconscious for months. I began to see clearly what kind of writer I am, and what kind of psychologist I am, by learning not to listen to external noise. I realized that I had been shaken by rejection because of an old psychological wound: the belief that love is conditional, that being myself depends on approval, and that I must dim my light to accommodate others.
In the midst of that darkness, I rediscovered myself and began to respect my true worth. Not all that shines is gold.
During this period, I also explored literary workshops. When a co-writer with workshop experience critiqued a recent piece, his feedback led me to research Jungian cognitive typology. I applied this framework to myself and recognized that I am a thinking-dominant, intuitive writer, while workshop literary culture and Philippine literary elitism tend to favor feeling-dominant types such as INFPs, ISFPs, ENFPs, and ENFJs. After identifying myself as an INTJ, it became crystal clear that forcing myself into those molds would cost me dearly. It would also be an act of wanton disregard for my real Self, in the Jungian sense of the word.
If I pretend to write not as who I am, but as who I am supposed to be, it will not do anybody any good—least of all myself. Being true to my personal branding is what I should and could be doing.
At the same time, I was rekindling my connection with the Chinese philosophy of wu wei (无為). It entails not resisting, not forcing, and moving with one’s natural flow. This philosophy melds easily with Jung’s statement: “It is a privilege of a lifetime to be who you are.” I began to see how I was resisting my own nature. So why not practice wu wei instead, and act with fidelity to my authentic self?
This reflection ends with a powerful realization: personal branding must reflect personhood. It is very basic, yet easy to overlook in a world of surface performance and hype mistaken for substance. For those still in the early stages of their journey, I hope my experience offers something of value.
My Jungian dream ended with a rain sequence, symbolizing release. Rain clears debris and brings emotional catharsis. After that dream, I felt free. Something had settled. My vision cleared, no longer clouded by the tears of the past.
