Wearing the Mask: Hiding in Plain Sight

In shadowed depths where silence lies

Emotions churn beneath veiled skies

A haunting song, despair’s refrain

Where aching hearts break slow with pain

Within the dark, a storm takes flight

Devouring joy, dimming the light

Depression swells, a rising tide

Drowning hope we try to hide

Low self-worth, a cloak we wear

Laced with doubt and thick despair

Lost in fog, unsure, adrift

Seeking dawn’s most distant gift

A smile we wear, so others heal

While hiding wounds we cannot feel

We lift the world, yet fall inside

Our pain unseen, our truths denied

They call us names they’ll never own

Afraid of truths they’ve never known

"Too much,” “too weak,” “just in your head”

As if our thoughts are theirs to tread

But in this fight, you’re not alone

So many hurt, unseen, unknown

There’s comfort in a knowing gaze

A kindred soul through shadowed days

So hold on tight when hope feels far

It often hides behind the scar

Your worth is yours, not theirs to name

It shines beneath the weight and flame

For strength is born where sorrows rest

And healing lives within the mess

Embrace your path, though steep and wide

And you will find your light inside

Most people wouldn’t know it just by looking at me, but I’ve spent most of my life hiding. Not in the literal sense—I've shown up, gone through the motions, smiled when expected, laughed when appropriate—but emotionally, spiritually, even mentally, I’ve lived behind a mask.

I’ve learned how to shape-shift to fit into rooms that never felt safe. I’ve dulled my voice, softened my truth, and tucked away the parts of me that might seem “too much” or “too sensitive.” I’ve edited my emotions for public consumption because I was taught—whether directly or indirectly—that being my full self would be too overwhelming, too different, or simply not enough.

The truth is, I’ve lived with low self-worth and shaky confidence for as long as I can remember. It wasn’t always obvious on the outside. I learned early how to pretend—how to appear composed, capable, and collected even when everything inside me felt cracked and uncertain. I became good at playing the role of “fine,” even when I was falling apart.

Some days, I still feel like I’m performing. I wear the right expression, say the right things, and hide the heaviness I carry. I’ve become so used to masking that I sometimes forget what it feels like to just be. To exist without editing, without trying to earn my place in the room, without second-guessing every word or movement.

And what’s hard is that the world rewards the mask. People are more comfortable with the version of me that’s polished, agreeable, and composed. But that version isn’t all of me. It never has been.

But in the stillness—in the rare moments I’ve allowed myself to be raw and unfiltered—I’ve found glimpses of someone worth knowing. Someone resilient. Someone tender. Someone who has survived so much more than anyone realizes.

I’m slowly learning that I don’t have to hide who I am to be accepted. I don’t need to minimize my feelings to make others comfortable. I am not too much. I am not broken. I am human. And my emotions, my sensitivity, my depth—they are not flaws. They are evidence of my aliveness.

The journey to myself isn’t linear. Some days, I still instinctively reach for the mask. But I’m trying. I’m learning to be seen. I’m trying to believe that who I am, unfiltered and imperfect, is still worthy of love.

So, if you’re someone who also hides behind a smile, who feels unseen or misunderstood—please know you’re not alone. And you don’t have to keep shrinking yourself to fit into a world that doesn’t yet know how to hold your full brilliance. There’s space for you here. There’s space for all of us.

If you're tired of wearing the mask-hiding in plain sight, start with one small step. Start by forcing yourself to be vulnerable and get outside your comfort zone. Share your true opinion, not the opinion others want to hear.