I live next to West 69th Street, where a Broadway legend started a Halloween tradition in 1971 and the block has kept it going for more than fifty years. Every home goes all out. One even hires people to scale the building on ropes under eerie lighting. On the 31st, the street fills with spectators, jaws dropped, and a few dogs in costume.
After more than 25 years as a therapist, I still think Halloween is the one night we’re honest about it: everybody wears masks.
The rest of the year we do it without the costume. The competent one at work. The easygoing one with friends. The fine one, as in “I’m fine,” worn so long it’s molded to the face. Masks aren’t the problem; every human adjusts to context, and that’s just social skill. The problem is when you can no longer find the face underneath.
How a Mask Gets Made
Nobody chooses a persona from a catalog. Masks form early, shaped by what got rewarded and what got punished.
If your feelings were too much for your household, you built the low-maintenance mask. If love followed achievement, you built the impressive one. If safety required scanning the room, you built the pleaser. For gay, lesbian, bi, and trans folks, masking often started as literal survival, monitoring your walk, your voice, your eyes, and that vigilance doesn’t just switch off after coming out; plenty of out adults still run it automatically.
Performers know a professional version of this, too. When you’re skilled at becoming other people, it can get genuinely confusing which self is on and which is off the clock.
The Cost of the Permanent Mask
A mask that never comes off is exhausting in a specific way. It’s the fatigue of monitoring, the low hum of managing an impression all day.
But the deeper cost is loneliness. If people only ever meet the mask, then even affection lands hollow, because some part of you whispers: they love the performance, not the performer. You can be surrounded and unknown. Lots of people are.
And over enough years there’s a stranger cost: you start to lose track of yourself. What do I actually enjoy? What do I actually think? The mask hardens, and the question “who am I under here” stops having a ready answer.
Taking It Off, Slowly
A mask comes off the way it went on: slowly, with safe people, in small doses.
Start by noticing when you’re masking; awareness alone changes it. Find the low-stakes moments to be slightly more honest than usual, an actual opinion, an actual no, an “actually, I’m not fine.” Watch what happens. Usually the catastrophe doesn’t come, and each time it doesn’t, the mask gets lighter.
Therapy, at its best, is a rehearsal room for exactly this: one relationship where the mask can come all the way off, so you can remember what’s under it. I offer virtual therapy across New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts, and in-person sessions in Manhattan. Consultations are free if you’d like to talk.
Read more reflections on healing, relationships, and growth on the blog: brettpsych.com/blogs
The content of this blog is for informational and educational purposes only and does not constitute medical or mental health advice. Reading it does not create a therapist-client relationship. If you are struggling or in crisis, please reach out to a qualified professional. If you are experiencing a mental health emergency, call or text 988 (the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline) or dial 911.
