Author: Jennifer Willey, Founder and CEO of Wet Cement
I’m going to spend some time talking about my innie and my outie, but I promise you—I don’t have two belly buttons. If you’re considering getting a chip implanted in your head and working at Lumon Industries, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
If you haven’t been watching Apple TV's hit show Severance, snuggle up on the couch and start streaming! It is fascinating and thought-provoking--forcing us to reflect on the walls we’ve built between our work selves (our "innies") and our personal selves (our "outies").
In the show, the characters choose to 'sever' from their normal lives to forget who they really are, along with their memories and relationships, while at work. To escape their reality, they get a chip implanted in their head and work at "Lumon Industries," abandoning their professional passion behind, like teaching or painting, along with their pain. Once the elevator doors close to start their workday, they transform into an entirely different person.
Watching this fascinating show led me to reflect on my personal journey. When I think back to my first job—working as a newscaster in upstate New York—I realize that is when I first started splitting myself into two distinct versions. The “on-air” anchor and reporter Jennifer was polished, professional, and free of any Staten Island accent (which, I might add, took effort). Off-air Jenn? Let’s say she was louder, funnier, and had a mouth that would make a sailor proud.
This divide was reinforced when my news director sent me to the station’s preferred stylist for an “anchor makeover.” It was a transformation that left me looking like a low-budget Katie Couric with a pixie cut and fuschia blazers featuring shoulder pads big enough to double as flotation devices. From that moment, I internalized that the “real me” wasn’t needed in the workplace.
After several years, I left TV news for far too many reasons to list here (that will need to be a separate post!), and shifted into the corporate world -- which only made it worse. "Work Me" was composed, measured, and serious in my new career as an IT Management Consultant. I talked about programming and database management with my colleagues over lunch. Outside of work? I was cracking jokes, drinking too much wine with friends, and overflowing with ideas about ANYTHING besides programming and database management, which I had zero interest in. I pivoted so much in my early corporate career, with five different roles across three companies in four years, I could have been mistaken for a Solid Gold dancer. One thing remained a constant across the many jobs--the divide between my 'innie' and 'outie.'
It got to the point where even my closest colleagues noticed. One of my best friends at Yahoo! started calling me “Bipolar Jenn” (not exactly the most PC nickname, but the early 2000s weren’t known for their sensitivity). She couldn’t reconcile the fact that the fun, sarcastic person she knew outside of work was the same hyper-focused, reserved professional she saw toiling away in her cubicle and in team meetings.
For a brief, shining moment, I found a company where I felt like my innie and outie selves actually merged. That place was AOL. (Yes, for those over 18, it did exist after 2000. And for those under 18, no, it’s not a typo for AOC—it was America Online, one of the original internet giants.)
AOL was different. I felt psychological safety there—something I didn’t even have the words for at the time. My colleagues wanted the real me. We worked closely across teams, built meaningful friendships, and the company even had “cultural ambassadors” who had to sign off on every new hire. There was an intentional effort to create a workplace where people could be themselves.
That’s not to say my insecurities completely disappeared. When AOL acquired The Huffington Post, I met with Arianna Huffington herself, trying (and failing) to explain why pharmaceutical companies weren’t going to throw millions of dollars at “wellness content” instead of hardcore health and medical information. Spoiler alert: It was not a conversation she wanted to have and shortly thereafter the company 'outsourced' their health division to the very company I left to join AOL, and I was asked to lead the relationship as we transitioned the business to them. That 'integration' led to the end of my professional "reintegration."
The divide came roaring back when I moved on to my next job. At that company, I was openly judged for caring “too much” about my work. One executive even told me, "If you care this much, you shouldn’t work for a company, you should work for yourself." She also told me I didn’t matter to the company—that I could be replaced anytime. Over time I saw ideas and suggestions discarded, and when I was asked to fudge the truth (read: lie) to potential investors, you'll be happy to know the 'outie' version of me said 'No Thank You' and left.
I went for one more corporate role, which turned into a rollercoaster with multiple bosses with varying viewpoints of 'Innie' Jennifer. One thought I was the best thing since sliced bread (BTW, is that really the best thing we've seen? I think we need to update that saying), and when the company quickly discarded him, my very next boss tore me down and made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
While my 'outie' was seemingly building Lego sets and playing with my kids, my 'innie' was stressing over toxic workplace relationships. Conversations with friends shifted from laughter and the fun of imagining the future to scenario planning and how I should act around my manager. Jolly Jenn had disappeared and was replaced by Debbie Downer. It's amazing I still have friends--thanks for sticking with me!
This divide became more than just an internal struggle—it literally made me sick. My innie’s stress started manifesting into a variety of medical issues. I realized that I couldn’t do this anymore. I had spent so much time shaping myself into what I thought the corporate world wanted me to be that I had completely lost myself.
So, seven years ago, I leaped. I jumped off the metaphorical cliff with no safety net by starting my own business, as I was the sole breadwinner in my family. But my incredibly supportive husband told me to go for it, and hence, I 'made my mark' with Wet Cement.
And that’s when the reintegration finally happened.
Now, I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. I can curse (appropriately and not on stage!). I can be loud. I can let my Staten Island accent slip. I can be me. And the irony? More people “watch” me now—on stage, in workshops, in keynotes—but I don't feel judged since I'm my true self. My audiences, clients, and colleagues don’t want a watered-down, corporate version of me. They want the real me.
And here’s the beautiful thing: When you show up as your authentic self, you empower others to do the same.
At Wet Cement, we conducted research with a team of behavioral scientists to understand the internal barriers that hold people back from achieving their professional potential. What we found was staggering. Women report having significantly less confidence at work compared to their male colleagues. But here’s the twist—women have more confidence in their abilities outside of work. Why? Because society teaches us to dim our light in professional settings. To be less of ourselves. That we are judged. To wear the mask of “professionalism” so we’re taken seriously.
Of course, imposter syndrome still pops up from time to time—usually when I’m in a room full of people who are smarter, more successful, wealthier, or taller than me (seriously, why is everyone so tall these days? Maybe because I stopped wearing heels after the pandemic). But now, I have the wisdom to tell that imposter to shut up.
To be clear, I mean no disrespect to any companies I worked for throughout my 25+ year career. I’m grateful for the opportunities to innovate, the lessons learned, the financial stability they offered, and—most importantly—the incredible friendships I formed. Many of my former colleagues are still my closest friends--one is even my husband!--and I wouldn’t trade those relationships for anything.
My experiences—both the exhilarating highs and the crushing lows—shaped me. Even the moments that sent me to the emergency room, convinced I was having a heart attack (when, in reality, it was anxiety), played a role in making me who I am today. They gave me the confidence and clarity to help others navigate their own challenges and corporate cultures. And while I know plenty of colleagues who never felt the same stark divide between their work and personal selves, Severance has shown me that I was far from alone in this experience. So, a heartfelt thank you to the show’s creator, Dan Erickson, and Executive Producer and Director, Ben Stiller, for bringing this concept into the zeitgeist.
As I reflect on my journey, I also recognize that my “innie” wasn’t better or worse than my “outie”—just different. But because I lived with that divide for so long, I often wasn’t showing up as my best self at work. I second-guessed myself, constantly calibrated my behavior, and sometimes held back when I should have spoken up. Looking back, I wish I had been a better colleague, employee, and team leader. But hindsight is 20/20, and while I can’t rewrite the past, I can acknowledge my missteps. So, to anyone I may have let down along the way—I see it now, and I’m sorry. For me, it’s a step forward in accepting myself and my imperfections.
Here’s the ultimate irony: I live near the real Lumon Industries—Bell Works in Holmdel, New Jersey, and it's played a starring role in my life since I started my business. It was originally the home of innovation and creativity for Bell Labs in the 1960s, was abandoned for decades, and then transformed into the space it is today. It's where I’ve spent countless hours building Wet Cement, writing my book Fearless in Five, and strategizing with my right hand, Liz. I led multiple workshops and women's leadership events there, including interviewing women's advocate Lt. Governor Sheila Oliver (may she rest in peace) for Impact 100 Jersey Coast, and celebrated birthdays and holidays.
It’s also where I had my first photoshoot for my business, weeks before the pandemic shutdown (and no, those photos are not airbrushed—I just had fewer wrinkles back then). It was even the last place I went before the world shut down because of COVID, as I delivered an International Women's Day program for a (real!) tech company housed within those concrete walls. (At least I think there were, as I didn't see a single goat while I was there--watch the show and you will understand).
But here’s what’s wild. The same place where I found myself—where I reintegrated—is the location where the characters in Severance are trying to escape from.
Poetic, isn’t it?
So, if you take one thing away from this, let it be this: You don’t have to start your own business to be your whole self. But you do have to find a place and people who embrace the real, whole you. If a company, a team, or a boss expects you to suppress your personality, hide your brilliance, or dim your light—they are not worthy of you. We don’t need more carbon copies of corporate robots. We need you--so, the next time you enter your elevator at work, stay genuine, authentic and exactly as you are.
