“The Face Behind the Mask: Revealing My True Self”

For the longest time, I got really good at pretending.

Pretending I was okay. Pretending I was confident. Pretending I had it all together. I wore my mask like armor—polished, smiling, put-together. I played the role I thought I had to play, the one that made everyone else comfortable. And the strange part? It worked. People believed it. I even started believing it myself… until I didn’t.

Because behind all of it—behind the polite nods, the small talk, the forced laughs—I was tired. Deeply, achingly tired.

There’s this quiet kind of loneliness that comes from feeling like no one knows you. Not because they don't care, but because you’ve never given them the chance. Because you’ve been so busy being who you think you’re supposed to be, you forgot how to be who you are.

I think that’s what happened to me. I got lost in the version of myself that I thought was safer, more likable, less messy. I smiled when I wanted to cry. I said “I’m fine” when I wasn’t. And every time I did, I felt a little less connected to the truth, and a little more like I was disappearing behind a mask no one could see.

Then one night, I cracked

Nothing big happened. No dramatic breakdown, no shouting or breaking things. Just me, alone in my room, sitting at the edge of the bed. I looked at myself in the mirror—no makeup, no forced smile, no pretending—and I felt this wave of grief. Not for someone else, but for me. For the parts of myself I’d buried to keep everyone else comfortable.

That night, I cried—really cried. And not because of any one thing, but because I had been holding it all in for so long. I realized how much I missed myself. The real me. The one with doubts and dreams and scars and fears. The one who didn’t always have the answers. The one who wasn’t always strong.

And I decided, quietly, that I wanted her back.

It didn’t happen overnight. I didn’t rip the mask off in one dramatic gesture. It started with small things. Telling a friend I was struggling. Saying “no” when I meant it. Letting silence hang in conversations where I didn’t feel like pretending. It felt awkward at first, like learning to speak a language I used to know but hadn’t used in years.

Not everyone understood. Some people pulled away, unsure of what to do with this less polished, more honest version of me. But others leaned in. They saw me. And they stayed.

And honestly, that’s what changed everything.

Letting people see the real me—the scared, imperfect, healing me—was terrifying. But it was also the beginning of something I didn’t know I needed: real connection. Real peace. Real freedom.

I still have moments where I catch myself reaching for the mask, especially when I feel vulnerable or unsure. But now, I pause. I ask myself, “Is this who you are, or who you think you need to be?” It’s not about being open all the time. It’s about being honest when it matters.

And maybe, if you’re reading this, you’ve worn a mask too. Maybe you're wearing one right now. If so, I get it. I do. Sometimes, those masks feel necessary. Sometimes, they help us survive. But when you're ready—when the weight of hiding feels heavier than the risk of being seen—I hope you’ll taAnke it off. Even just for a moment.

Because of the face behind the mask? It’s worth it. It’s beautiful. It’s you.

And the world needs more of that.