Unmasked

I lived with a mask, a cover for 40 years. This is not to say there was no truth. There was truth.

But my social self … the me I showed the word was encased in a hardened shell of protection and armor.

I’m perfect it said. I do all the right things. I hit all the right milestones at the right time. Right right right.

Armor protects you from incoming attacks but it also inhibits your mobility and sensory perception.

It keeps the sunlight and warmth from kissing your skin. Armor is stiff and stodgy and not at all cozy.

When the armor comes off you feel raw. It’s uncomfortable as hell, living in a different way. You feel tender and vulnerable, making up for lost time, lost years.

You think about putting it back on. It’s lonely without armor, without the dumb teams and associations we once clinged to.

But you decide to be brave and keep going. The thought of going another 40 years in the old way is unacceptable. There’s no going back. The only way out is through.