When Hiding Feels Like Safety
For much of my life, I wore a mask—not one made of cloth or armour, but of performance. The kind of mask that says, “I’m fine,” even when I’m unraveling. It wasn’t vanity or deceit. It was survival.
Growing up with undiagnosed ADHD, sensitive wiring, and a brain that processed everything differently, I quickly learned that the world didn’t always welcome my truth. I failed a grade, got labeled, and was bullied so intensely in junior high that retreating inward felt like the only safe option. Hiding became my superpower.
The Wisdom in Disguise
When we talk about “putting on a mask,” we often think of it as negative. But the truth is, hiding taught me a lot. It taught me how to listen—really listen. It gave me radar-level sensitivity to people’s moods and motives. I learned how to scan a room and detect the safest places to land, the kindest eyes, the calmest energy. It honed my empathy, sharpened my self-awareness, and gave me insight into pain—my own and others’.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but hiding also made me a better creator. It fueled my imagination, forced me into inner worlds, and helped me build entire universes out of quiet moments. My creativity was born in the shadows, where I could be my fullest self without judgment.
Sometimes the cape comforts more than it conceals, as I wrote in The Comfort of the Cape.
The Moment the Mask Slipped
There wasn’t just one moment. There were dozens—maybe hundreds—of micro-moments. Like when I shared my love of superheroes with someone who actually got it. Or when I cried watching The Secret of NIMH and wasn’t made fun of. Or when I started this blog.
Each time the mask slipped, something shifted. Not always with fanfare. Sometimes the result was neutral, sometimes painful. But over time, I began realizing: I wasn’t just hiding from others—I was hiding from myself.
The version of me I kept buried was so much more than I gave her credit for. She was bold, loving, creative, quirky, and strong. She just needed a safe space to breathe.
What I Know Now
Masks aren’t inherently bad. Sometimes we need them. They protect us in dangerous places. But healing happens when we learn to choose when to wear the mask—and when to take it off.
Now, I see my past differently. I don’t regret the hiding. It kept me safe when I didn’t have tools or language or support. But I also celebrate every step I’ve taken to step into the light. Blogging has been a huge part of that. So has embracing my SuperMell identity—not because it hides me, but because it reflects my truth in a way that feels brave and empowering.
Unmasking is still a daily practice. Some days, I’m more vulnerable than others. But every time I show up as my full self, I’m reminded that there’s strength in softness—and power in being seen.
There’s growing recognition of this experience, especially among neurodiverse and sensitive people, as explored in this Psychology Today article.
Diana’s Corner: My Safe Space
Diana never cared about my mask. Whether I was hiding from the world or facing it head-on, she curled up beside me with the same quiet loyalty. She’s taught me that you don’t have to perform to be loved. You don’t have to earn rest or companionship. Sometimes, you just need to breathe—and be.
When I’m unmasked and unsure, Diana is my soft landing. And in that, she’s part of my unmasking journey too.
Final Thought: Hiding Isn’t Weakness—It’s a Survival Skill
There’s a time for masks and a time for freedom. If you’ve ever hidden yourself just to make it through the day, that doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re resourceful. It means you adapted.
But when the world becomes a little safer—or when you build a space that feels safe—take the mask off. Look in the mirror. Let yourself be known.
Your story doesn’t start when the mask comes off. It includes every moment it was on. That’s part of your hero’s origin, too.
And if this post resonated with you, I’d love to hear from you in the comments—your story, your mask, or your moment of unmasking.