We Wear The Mask

Paul Laurence Dunbar wrote:

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

       We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

       We wear the mask!

I'm always surprised when I hear "You Look Good!". My response is always "DO I????" Because I don't feel good. I haven't felt good since 4/9/25. I haven't been myself since that day. Actually, I don't even have a "self" anymore. I'm different. Everything is different. Everyday isn't dark, but everyday isn't happy. I wear the mask of a smile. It protects me from pity, but subjects me to judgement. The smile makes you think I'm okay, even though I'm not. The smile on the outside masks my silent screams. I've been silently screaming for months, but I'm smiling so no one notices.

My smile actually protects the outside world from my reality. Behind my smile, there's a broken woman struggling to put the pieces together. Some days the struggle wins. Some days I win. Either way, my armor is a smile. Emotions don't feel safe, so I smile. Until I can't.

Therapy is teaching me to go with my emotions so that I don't explode one day. I've learned the days where my physical pain is overwhelming it's because my emotions are overwhelming my body. I have to find ways to take care of myself. I have to find ways to release emotions. Self care has become mandatory. I learned that instead of trying to control my emotions, go with them. That releases an element of "fight" that I used to start my day with. If I cry, I cry. If I don't, I don't. Writing helps, massage helps, working out helps, family helps.

There's grief, there's trauma, there's anxiety. There's also medication. But I reject that. I lost a lot in 2025, but my sanity won't be on that list. As soon as medication was suggested, I knew I had to dig deep. People often say how your loved one wouldn't want this or that. Such BS. My loved one didn't want to die, but here we are. And people focus on my grief as it relates to KP, but it's not just him. It's the broken relationship I had with my father that will never be repaired. It's about watching him be removed from life support while writhing in pain. It's about (two months later) seeing my husband's smiling face before falling asleep and the next time I see him he's unconscious. It's about knowing another friend lost her struggle while grieving Kevin. It's about watching my grandmother deteriorate at the hands of dementia, it's about learning the cancer has returned for another friend.

But it's also about transformation. I'm still here. Angels have been sent my way and there's a reason for that. Those angels have been telling me that my life isn't over. I'm starting to listen. As the New Year approaches, I feel an optimism that I hope manifests into a brighter and lighter me. Smiling while carrying a ton of bricks is hard.