You’re not failing if you’re exhausted from holding it all together —you’re human. Sometimes taking off the mask is the bravest move of all.
We all wear masks.
Some are shiny.
Some are silent.
Some are stitched together from expectations so heavy, we forget they were never ours to begin with.
And some…
Some are so damn convincing, even we forget they’re not our real face.
Pretending...but for Adults
Fear doesn’t always look like hiding. Sometimes it looks like pretending.
Pretending you agree.
Pretending you’re okay.
Pretending you don’t need more, want more, burn for more.
That feeling of knowing you are destined for more? That will not go away no matter how much you try to squash it, snuff it out or lock it down. Trust me, I spent 30ish years trying to do just that. Pretending nearly smothered me. It led to autistic burnout, spiritual collapse, and the slow unraveling of every identity I believed made me lovable.
But the thing is, the fear wasn’t just about what would happen if people saw the real me.
I discovered it was about what would happen if I saw her—because without even articulating it, I knew I couldn’t go back, I wouldn't want to return to the status quo.
And when I finally let it go, I didn’t just remove a mask.
I remembered who I was before I learned to perform.
Survival: The Ultimate Performance
For most of my life, people thought my intensity was the mask.
That when my spirited expression broke through, it was too big to be real.
That my anger, my joy, my passion—were all too much.
I didn't feel things that deeply.
Or conversely, that I was making it all up. A hypochondriac of the soul.
That I was pretending all the time.
That I was playing a role. Overdoing it. Performing.
But the irony?
The mask wasn’t the passion.
The mask was the version of me that tried to tame it.
The sweet compliance.
The child who smiled politely in Sunday School.
The girl who thought she had to be a wife and mother, nothing else.
The woman who stayed quiet to keep the peace.
The perfect Mormon wife who kept it buttoned up, battened down, and boxed in.
Quieting my voice, softening my edges, and praying my big emotions away.
That version of me?
She wasn’t real. She was survival.
Becoming aware of the mask?
That was the first step toward coming home to myself, a true act of courage to genuinely look at all the heart shaped wreckage, and wonder what have I done?
(Shout out to you if you know the song I am humming to myself as I wrote that last line.)
Back on topic...
Awareness, looking at the emptiness of the shell that was me? That was a cakewalk compared to learning to take off that mask.
Terrifying. Uncharted. Overwhelming.
Still is at times.
But holy hell! When I finally removed it, it was the moment I started to breathe again.
🌀 The Cultural Mask: When Even Disney Gets It
I can absolutely relate to Elsa. To Luisa. To Isabella. To Rumi.
And it's not just their mad hip shaking or belting crazy intense musical riffs, though we do have that in common as well.
There’s a reason so many of our modern stories center around repression—around what happens when we hide who we are for too long. And it’s not just an individual struggle. It’s collective - damaging not only the individual but ultimately the larger societal group
We tell ourselves that holding it all together is noble. That composure equals control. That self-restraint equals strength...
But really, it’s just another mask—one that’s been passed down through generations and reinforced by almost every movie, the majority of religions, and “be a good girl” rulebook.
I had a conversation with my youngest recently, as we sat and watched K Pop Demon Hunters for the upteenth time, pointing out to him that his current animated obsession (and the others in recent years) ran much deeper than flashy fight scenes, killer costumes, and an epic soundtrack.
On the surface, these stories look like story of protecting familial legacies, or restoring balance, or slaying monsters, but the true story being told in sweeping cinematic glory aren't about any of those things—they are about slaying repression.
Throughout these animated imaginative artistic depictions of ̶m̶y̶ life, every time a character tried to squash who they were, the entire world around them cracked.
(And yes, I may have dramatically whispered, “What do you MEAN you can’t put it back the way it was?!”)
We laugh, but it’s true. When we silence the most alive parts of ourselves, everyone pays the price.
And yet, while the next generation seem to be learning the "embrace your authenticity" message—many of us adults are still standing in the wreckage, blinking in disbelief, wondering:
Where did Elsa get the nerve to stop giving a flying fuck about the judgment of others?
Who told Isabella she was allowed to sing the song that thousands of wounded religious folk desperately wish they could have embraced in their younger years?
How do I cope when Luisa's catchy dance number morphs to my personal struggle playing out in gory detail on the screen, and I suddenly can't breathe looking at the rawness of it all?
Why do I feel so seen watching Rumi embrace her marks and Hunter badass self?
What happens now that the mask won’t go back on?
There IS no going back — and maybe that’s not the curse I thought it was.
😱 The Weight of the Mask
The longer I wore the mask, the heavier it became.
It started as armor — protection, peacekeeping, survival.
But armor grows heavy when you forget to take it off.
Weight becomes silence. Silence becomes ache.
Wearing the mask cost me:
My sense of clarity
My connection to others
My ability to hear my own damn intuition
It kept me safe, sure.
But safe the way a birdcage is safe—sterile, still, and silent.
And when I stepped out of it, I didn’t become someone new.
I came home to the woman I’d always been.
That’s what Reclaiming really looks like—not reinvention, not becoming something new, but returning to who you've always been, remembering what’s already been buried beneath all the “shoulds.”
It’s raw and disorienting at first.
Because when you start to remove the layers of “should” and “supposed to,” you don’t just feel free—you feel naked.
Unmasking isn’t always glamorous.
It’s not a one-time mic-drop moment.
It’s slow.
It’s sweaty.
It’s sacred.
It’s the practice of living unmasked, again and again, even when fear whispers, “Put it back on.”
Because courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s the decision to move through it.
And yet, that’s the moment transformation begins.
The moment before the rise.
The pause between remembering and rebuilding.
It’s the inhale before you Do It Scared.
And it’s the only way to live fully alive.
💥 Do It Scared = Take Off the Mask
Throughout this year we have talked, or rather I have written at you, about my family motto: Do It Scared. It's the inspiration for this entire blog series. It guides me and my two boys on the daily, from our little moments of bravery to the large scale badassery decisions. It is more than just a motto, it is how we embrace fully living.
The important thing to remember when you are learning to embrace this way of life: Doing it scared isn ’t always bold and loud.
Sometimes, it’s whispering no when you used to say yes.
Sometimes, it’s telling the truth, even if your voice shakes.
Sometimes, it’s letting your emotions be big. Messy. Visible.
You don’t have to rip it off all at once.
You just have to loosen the ties.
Breathe a little deeper.
And let the real you peek through.
Often it means walking away from the version of yourself that people liked best…
But that version? They weren't really you.
Even though it is scary, put the mask down with love and gratitude for the person who has gotten you to this point, and then remind yourself:
You're not too much.
You're allowed to be different.
You deserve to finally be free.
And maybe that’s where you are too — standing at the edge of your own unmasking, equal parts terrified and ready.
💬Reflection Prompt:
What’s a mask you’ve been wearing to stay safe, accepted, or invisible?
And what would it look like to take it off—even just a little?
🔥So...now what?
If you’re standing in that in-between — not who you were, not yet who you’re becoming — you’re not lost. You’re in the sacred middle.
And if you need help finding your footing there, that’s what I’m here for.
A coach isn't there to tell you how to do it, but rather to walk beside you as you navigate the new paradigm of your existence, to remind you that you deserve this and to help you get after the things you truly want.
The uncomfortable truth is that your life will not change within your comfort zone. If you want different results, you have to do something different, become something different.
But you don't have to do it alone.
Be strong. Do it scared. 💜
