I've been thinking a lot lately about the different masks we wear.
We like to think of ourselves as ‘whole’ people who walk around being our authentic whole selves all the time, or at least we aspire to. But really, I think we have different faces that we wear depending on who we’re with, where we are, what we are doing and what stage of life we find ourselves in.
Far from being a negative thing, I think these masks are a learned strategy for thriving, or at least surviving in the world. We may have a work mask, a mask we wear at Christmas time around our extended family, a ‘mum’ mask that slips the instant we look across the room at our partner above the heads of the screaming children and silently stage whisper, “WHAT THE F**K?”
I used to have a great propensity for using the masks that gained me academic success. My research scientist mask allowed me to push through my introverted discomfort and speak in front of hundreds with a confidence I neither felt nor understood. I simply donned the mask and became that smart, funny and passionate presenter. I loved that mask. The ability to become something shining in the outside world while hiding away my insecurities and timidity within my internal landscape. This mask is what helped me to finish my PhD.
Another mask I was fond of was the one that would allow me to swallow my fears and do the risky/scary/new thing. Years ago, propelled by a breakup with a past boyfriend, I used this mask to finally get my motorbike licence. Despite scaring the crap out of me, this was something I had wanted for ages. I was terrified, but I put on this fearless mask and did it anyway, sweating and shaking through the test until I rode out of there, victorious.
Lately, I have wondered where those masks have gone. Since having kids it feels like they are out of reach, hidden away in the attic of my personhood, too dusty and irrelevant to be brought downstairs. A few times I have tried on the scientist mask, but it doesn’t seem to fit anymore. I’ve tried to bring out the fearless mask, but it is difficult to muster the energy required to wear it.
A year ago, I embarked on a business coaching course to create a brand for my business. I pushed all the way through to the end of the course and fell short on the final frontier: bringing the visual brand out of my computer and into the world. I tried on my fearless mask but found that I simply had no hands to grasp it. So I sat staring wistfully and guiltily at the unused mask before folding up my ego and moving along with the rapid pace of life with small kids.
I realised that perhaps our ability to exist in our different masks is directly proportional to the level of our capacity to wear them. As parents, all of us live in a continual state of moderate discomfort, the relief from which is fleeting and cherished. So, in what world would we seek more discomfort by donning a mask and pushing ourselves to do something uncomfortable, risky or outrageous? We are already emotionally (and sometimes physically) uncomfortable and outrageous.
As my kids get older, I feel the return of some masks and new ones growing too. I feel a new mask growing that gets worn when I see my mum-friends. This mask is honest and caring, funny and occasionally ridiculous.
Perhaps the word 'mask' gives the wrong impression. The masks are actually just the different facets of our ‘selves’ that create our wholeness as we cycle through them like a revolving door. And perhaps the level to which they feel like a mask is dependent on
a) how much we still resonate with a particular mask or facet and,
b) what our capacity is to embody that mask, particularly in early parenthood or any great life transition.
It reminds me of when I was three days postpartum with my youngest baby. Every mum knows that day three is BIG. Milk is usually coming in, and a massive hormonal shift creates a tidal wave of emotion. On this particular day, one of my husband's colleagues (whom I had never met) decided it would be appropriate to knock on the door and invite themselves in to ‘see the baby’. It felt so intrusive because I had no capacity to don the polite, meeting-a-stranger mask. It felt as if I had no skin. My insides were showing. My deepest, most vulnerable self was sitting on that couch…
“Why are you in my house?
"Why are you touching my baby?
"Why are you here, stranger?
"I don’t know you and I don’t want you here with my milk dripping out of my bra. I don’t want you here with this fragile new mother, this fragile new baby. Get out, please.
"Who gives you the right? Don’t you understand the space you are entering? Don’t you understand that I am a wild animal? It’s not safe for you. Because your presence is threatening me.
"Get out.”
So, if the masks we wear are the facets of our personhood, then I’d bet that they shift and change with us throughout life. And perhaps it gets harder and harder to put the old masks on once we’ve outgrown them. And perhaps some stay, relatively unchanged by time, simply waiting for us to have the energy to reach for them. And maybe sometimes, we are not meant to wear a mask, or embody any facet, except our naked, raw, animal selves.
Maybe the old version of my scientist mask has become redundant and has mutated into a new skin, one that is more wholesome and integrated, less pretentious. And the fearless mask, that one is still there in great condition, just waiting for me to grow my hands back.
