We’re told to keep things separate—be one person at work, another at home. Be professional. Look the part. Keep it together.
But what happens when life falls apart?
Trauma doesn’t care about your calendar. And yet, we’re conditioned—by systems, cultures, expectations—to tuck it away, to smile through the meeting, to act like everything’s fine because “this isn’t the place for that.”
So we wear masks. Every day. In every setting. One for work. One for friends. One for family.
But who are we, really, if we’re always on stage, performing for the role, the audience, the title?
This isn’t about discarding structure or professionalism. It’s about asking: what’s the cost of always performing? Of not creating space—real, safe space—for people to show up as they are, wounds and all?
We’ve normalized fragmentation. We’ve accepted that we should leave pieces of ourselves at the door depending on where we are.
But that kind of separation isn’t wholeness. It isn’t wellness. It’s survival.
What if we were human first? What if we acknowledged the baggage we all carry, the cultural scripts we follow, the fears that shape our paths?
I don’t have the answers. But I think it starts with this:
Let’s think about the masks. The ones we wear. The ones we expect others to wear.
And let’s ask—what would it take to live without them?
Just a thought I had today.
0 Comments