I’m Sorry, I Can’t See You Through That Mask

Sometimes I wonder what we think we’re accomplishing by wearing masks.

I have lived most of my life believing that I must keep myself from a certain level of vulnerability… Lived most of my life believing that part of my human responsibility was to “save face” in the face of opening up to the people around me.

I grew up assuming that I must decide on a mask and don it through any and all of life’s circumstances. I began to view any kind of hypothetical struggle as something to be disdained, scorned, outcasted.

I believed that I couldn’t take my mask off. I couldn’t be weak.

I couldn’t be broken.

 

Sometimes I wonder what we think we’re accomplishing by wearing masks.

 

A funny thing happened when I came to college 2 1/2 years ago. My mask that I had created in high school- the facade of invincibility I had created for myself- suddenly became quite the burden to carry. You see, I’m broken.

I’ll say it again: I’m broken.

I’m not going to “have it all together” any time soon, and I will never be able to live up to the standard that my mask sets for me.

And you too, friend. You will never be able to live up to the standard that your mask sets for you. 

 

So sometimes I wonder what we think we accomplish by wearing them.

 

This past week, I had the opportunity to be vulnerable- I had the opportunity to take off my mask for a hot second and allow people to see me.

What’s my mask, you my ask? 

My mask is the desire to appear invincible. My mask is the lie that I am always happy all of the time. My mask is my attempt to appear that I don’t care what people think about me.

And this week I took it off, if only for a minute. I stood in front of a group of people and I re-entered into one of the darkest parts of my life, walking strangers and friends through a time that left my heart raw and wounded and bloody.

And I’m telling you, it was hard, and uncomfortable, and taxing. It took a lot of prayer and left me wanting to stuff some of it back inside of me, back where it “belongs”.

But that’s when I realized: My life – my story– is raw and wounded and bloody- and not only my story… the story of every single person in the room with me that night.

We’re all broken, and yet we all vainly attempt to fashion masks large enough to somehow hide those parts of us. And, I’m sorry, but it just begs the question…

Why?

 

Why are we, as a human race, so completely and utterly terrified of being seen? Why do we all store parts of ourselves deep within the closets of our mind: locked up and hidden? Why do we constantly persuade ourselves that the people in our lives somehow “have it all together”?

I am here to break it to you: THEY DON’T.

 

 

Friends, I want to encourage you… there is such a beauty in being known. Whatever your mask, whether it be feigned perfection, optimism, or apathy, I ask you to lift up it’s corners and begin to tear it off. Your story is beautiful and whole and worthy of being told.

So tell it. Please, tell it.

Take off your mask and let the fresh air brush over your vulnerable heart. Believe me, you may be surprised by the beauty underneath.

 

 

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