The Masks We Wear

The Masks We Wear “Everyone wears a mask.” Sana used to say that often. At the time, I understood it intellectually. Now, I understand it in my bones. Sana had difficult days — days when depression and anxiety pressed quietly but heavily on her heart. Only those closest to her could see the shift in her eyes, the fatigue beneath her smile. And yet, when she stepped into her preschool classroom, something remarkable happened. She would “switch on.” She became animated, warm, energetic — moving through songs, stories, and routines like an energized bunny whose joy seemed endless. Many admired her dedication. Some were puzzled. A few may have misunderstood it entirely. How can someone struggle so deeply and still show up so brightly? What people often don’t see is that this switching is not theatrics. It is endurance. It is emotional labor. It is survival. Putting on a mask is not about being fake. It is about being functional. For Sana, the classroom was both sanctuary and responsibility. She gave her students the best of herself, even on days when she felt she had very little left. But what many don’t realize is that masking pain requires enormous energy. It is more draining than running a marathon. It is a marathon of suppressed feelings, controlled expressions, measured responses. And when the day ends, the body and soul feel it. I know this now in a way I never wished to. There are days I push myself to go to work or attend a social event. I put on the face that says, “I’m okay.” I smile. I engage. I perform normalcy because the world feels more comfortable that way. But when I return home, I want nothing more than to curl into bed and simply be — to remove the mask, to let my shoulders drop, to allow the quiet truth of my emotions to surface. Masking is exhausting. It is the quiet strength of those who keep going. It is the hidden cost of resilience. It is the burden many sensitive, empathetic souls carry. Perhaps the Divine, in ways I cannot fully comprehend, is allowing me to walk through similar emotional terrain so I can understand what Sana carried — not just her pain, but her courage. The bravery it took to show up. The love that compelled her to give, even when she was empty. If there is a blessing in this, it is awareness. We never truly know what someone is holding behind their smile. We do not see the effort it takes for them to function, to contribute, to care. So let this be a gentle reminder: Be kind. Be slow to judge. Be mindful of the unseen battles. Because everyone wears a mask. And sometimes, the brightest smiles belong to the bravest hearts.