Fear of Being Seen — Removing the Masks

Halloween is over. You can tell because all the orange, black, and purple candy bags in the supermarket—spiders, haunted houses, bats—vanished overnight, replaced by red, green, and white packs bursting with Christmas trees, Santas, and reindeer.

I was late (as usual; does a year’s notice ever help?) scrambling for candy to hand out, while one of the clerks—already in full retail-elf mode—was swapping out the shelves for the next season. I snagged one of the last pumpkin-shaped chocolate bars before it got replaced by a Santa.

I mean, really—who hands out Santa for Trick or Treat?

Decorations are down, skeletons back in the closet—literally and, if I’m honest, figuratively. Barry helped me haul the witch’s cauldron and ghostly gear back out to the garage. I opened "Halloween" labeded purple plastic bin to stow this year’s favorites, pulling aside a rubber rat and a few plastic spider rings and pausing, as always, at the old costumes and discarded masks.

Nostalgia: instant hit-along with a musty smell. Costumes—store-bought, homemade, the classics and the flops—crammed in amid memories. Barry and me as Bonnie and Clyde (doesn’t every couple do this?), Fred and Wilma, hippies and disco dancers. And tucked among it all: a heap of masks—ghost, burglar, clown nose. Superhero for one night, or just someone braver—any alter ego I needed.

It’s easy to toss a party mask in a bin when the night ends, easier still to forget about it until next October—or next decade.

But the masks we wear in real life? The ones fitted for daily survival? Those are stubborn.

One mask—older than my marriage (I really have to start purging that garage!)—caught my eye: faded black satin, once paired with a gutsy unitard and boots for a neighborhood bash. That mask made me feel sexy, edgy—a little bit “bad girl.”

My Catholic roots and a few well-aimed nuns’ lectures prevented me from ever being that woman in daylight, but for one night, I owned it.

Pretending was safer than showing up as myself—and back then, safety always won.

When I tucked the Catwoman mask back under a rubber rat, I realized: it’s so much harder to shed a daily mask than any Halloween disguise.

The Masks We Wear

This week’s women’s meeting was custom-built for this metaphor: the masks we wear, not just at parties. Saturday’s topic—the fear of being seen; removing our masks—brought out every version.

Perfectionist.

Overachiever.

People-pleaser.

For me: the clown.

Some women could name their mask right away; others didn’t realize they had one until someone else put words to it. We all have a collection—emotional masks crafted for hiding, for pretending, so expertly worn they feel permanent.

When you’ve worn a mask for decades, you forget the shape of your own face.

But as real as those Halloween disguises, these emotional masks keep us from everything we crave: connection, truth, breath, freedom.

I can strap on my Superwoman persona any day, but masking up doesn’t mean I can fly.

I’ve tried.

Why We Wear Them

Every mask carries a story—and, always, a fear.

Perfectionism promised to keep me lovable if I never made a mistake.

Control felt like safety in a world where chaos was the norm.

Humor kept things light, so no one saw the storm brewing underneath.

“I’m fine” protected me from judgment, pity, and vulnerability.

But these are just behaviors. Beneath them all sits fear:

fear of rejection, of not-enoughness, of being too much, of not belonging, of being a burden.

The Big Realization: Our Fears Are Made Up

Here’s the revelation that stopped me mid-thought: I spent years collecting so many self-help books I could have opened my own bookshop, analyzing every emotional angle, searching for a cure—but I just got more tangled and confused.

The facts in those books weren't my prison.

The stories underneath were. I had to dig deeper-get out of my head and into my soul.

Every fear—failure, unworthiness, being “found out”—was just that: a story I absorbed, rehearsed, and believed. Conditioning, not cosmic truth.

Did you know we are born with only two fears?: falling and loud noises.

Everything else is learned—and, with practice, can be unlearned.

Preparing for the Holidays: The New “Scary Season”

With Christmas candy crowding the aisles and Thanksgiving creeping closer, I’m shifting my focus to a new kind of holiday prep: helping my Women in the Rooms community (and my readers here) move through seasonal stress without the masks.

Halloween is child’s play—the true scary season comes in November and December, when family dynamics, memories, and expectations stir everything up.

So this month, we’ll use my RETURN Method as our grounding tool.

The RETURN Method: How to Take the Mask Off

Here’s how I learned to break the cycle—one honest moment at a time-and then created a clear method for others:

Reveal – Tell the story, just the facts. No embellishing, no minimizing.

Explore – Notice the thought attached to that story. Often invisible and loaded: “I’m a burden.” “I have to be perfect.” “If I speak up, I’ll get rejected.”

Trace – Where else does this belief show up? Is it why you overachieve, people-please, or procrastinate? Which mask hides it?

Uncover – What’s the core fear underneath? For me, it’s often rejection—or that familiar refrain of “not enough, not enough.”

Rewrite – Create a new, honest, kinder belief. “I’m allowed to make mistakes and still be loved.” “My worth isn’t measured in productivity or people-pleasing.”

Nurture – Practice the new belief. Write it, say it, try it in small steps. Each repetition loosens the grip of the old story.

Why This Works: A Blend of Science and Spirit

My RETURN Method is based on lived experience and also science.

Psychiatrist Carl Jung called it shadow work—

bringing the unseen parts of ourselves into the light.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy says: change your beliefs, change your life.

Narrative therapy invites us to rewrite the stories that keep us stuck.

Even simple journaling has been proven to calm the nervous system and help integrate emotion and logic.

Real change doesn’t come from collecting “what’s wrong.”It comes from daily, humble practice—naming what hurts, challenging the belief, and nurturing the new truth in community.

The Takeaway

I left "Sexy Kitty" in the depths of the bin, back in the garage—and decided to leave a few emotional masks behind with her.

Taking them off doesn’t mean we stop being strong, funny, or kind.

It just means we start being real.

If you’ve got a mask that pinches, isolates, or keeps you small, consider this your gentle nudge: you’re not alone.

Your fears are made of stories—and those stories can be rewritten.

Beneath every mask, there’s love. There’s you.

Let’s loosen them—just a little—and see what happens when we show up real.

We’re braver together. 💜

Holiday RETURN Series & Invitation

As the holidays approach, I’m shifting gears—preparing not just for festivities, but for the reality that, for many of us, November through New Year’s is the real “scary season.” Family gatherings, eggnog-filled parties, old triggers and expectations often make it the toughest time to go mask-free and stay authentic.

That’s why, over the coming weeks, Women in the Rooms will be focusing on the RETURN Method as our grounding practice—supporting each other through the rush and the pressure, learning how to stay present, connected, and true to ourselves.

If you need a place to breathe easier this season, join us. Come as you are—bring your coffee, your journal, and your whole heart. We meet every Saturday morning, 8–9 AM EST. New faces are always welcome.

We’re in this together. 💜

Join our conversation every Saturday 8-9 am