Taking Off The Mask: The Hidden Cost of Trying to Be Someone Else
It was my first week of college.
Although I’d already been on campus for almost three weeks, the first day of classes brought all the emotions of a typical first day: excitement, nervousness, wonder, and angst.
The fall sports athletes had already claimed the campus, with our confidence and tight-knit groups, making us feel like the established “ruling class.”
Eventually, it came time for everyone else to check in, settle in, and get ready for the first day of class.
Walking across campus felt surreal—a mix of excitement and nerves. I wasn’t far from home, but everything felt new. Staying on campus gave me the experience of being “away,” even if I could drive home in 15 minutes.
Here I was, surrounded by strangers, with no one who really knew the “old me.”
“It felt like wearing a mask, pretending to be someone I wasn’t while hiding the real me underneath.”
I had a huge opportunity—a chance to be someone different, even if I didn’t fully realize it at the time. The drive to reinvent myself wasn’t a conscious decision. There was never a moment when I said, “This is my shot to become someone new.” It was more of an unconscious effort— a force inside me to hit the reset button and reshape. Looking back, it was a powerful force I couldn’t or didn’t want to fight.
But here’s the irony of trying to reinvent yourself: that ambition often stems from discontent with the “old you.” While the outside looks shinier and more polished, the inside usually carries the same anxieties and insecurities you were trying to escape. Instead of starting fresh, you’re layering a new image over the same unresolved fears.
The outside gets prettier, and the inside gets uglier.
I didn’t wholly abandon who I was. I wasn’t trying to become a completely different person. I liked who I was (mostly). But I became incredibly skilled at adapting—at stepping into roles I thought others needed me to play. Whether it was making connections, gaining attention, or achieving tangible goals like advancing my career or social status, I was constantly shifting, always playing a part. It felt like wearing a mask, pretending to be someone I wasn’t while hiding the truest me underneath.
I was like Stanley Ipkiss in The Mask—putting on a persona that felt powerful but wasn’t me. The mask gave him freedom and confidence, but it was also a source of chaos. Similarly, my external success wasn’t always aligned with how I felt inside. At the time, I thought of this adaptability as a strength. Fitting in anywhere felt like a superpower. But now, looking back, I see how much of myself I left behind in the process. It wasn’t that I was being fake, but I was holding back parts of who I truly was or amplifying parts that weren’t entirely me.
This is where authenticity comes in.
Growing up, I never questioned whether I was authentic. I was so focused on getting results—on achieving and succeeding—that I didn’t stop to ask myself if I was being true to who I really was. After I’d achieved some external successes, I realized how much of my identity had been shaped by others’ expectations.
For a long time, I viewed connection as a tool—a means to an end. It wasn’t just about deep, genuine relationships but about using those connections to propel me forward. Whether that meant advancing my business, education, career, or social status, I saw connection as a stepping stone to something greater.
But it didn’t stop there. Attention became something I craved. It energized me. There was something electrifying about standing in front of a crowd. I loved it. I could talk for hours with confidence, knowing I had their attention. Teaching gave me that same rush—a deep sense of fulfillment, but one that was tied to external validation.
What I didn’t realize then was that these achievements, these moments of attention, were like a shiny coat I put on to cover up something inside of me. On the outside, things looked promising—career advancements, social recognition, connections—but inside, I was still wrestling with a deep sense of disconnection from my true self.
As time passed, I began to notice something: a constant undertone of exhaustion and emptiness. It felt like I didn’t have enough “oomph” to give to Courtney, the dogs, or the fun, “non-work” stuff in my life.
I was drained from the energy spent trying to be someone I wasn’t.
“Is the safety you seek going to come from more money and status, or will it come from feeling safer with who you are and more aligned with what you want?”
The first seed of awareness was planted when I found myself exhausted by the effort I was putting into my presence on social media. I had spent so much time and mental energy curating an image of who I thought I needed to be. I was constantly adjusting, editing, and presenting versions of myself to fit a mold I thought others expected.
What I was creating began to feel less like an authentic expression and more like a performance—one that drained me, leaving me with less of myself to give. I had set up a false persona, one I believed people would accept or even admire, but it came at a cost. It was as if I were wearing a mask, projecting an image that I hoped would be accepted, but inside, I wasn’t whole.
The second realization came during a conversation with my mentor, James…
I shared my belief that I needed certain things in place—more money, status, and security—before I could truly feel “safe” and allow myself to enjoy life. Of course, he pushed back. “Is the safety you seek going to come from more money and status, or will it come from feeling safer with who you are and more aligned with what you want?” He asked if I was truly being authentic with myself or if the “safety” I thought I needed was really just a mask—a distraction from something deeper.
His question hit me harder than I expected. What I had seen as a need for "safety" was actually a longing for freedom. Freedom from the pressures of external validation, the need to make more money, and the fear of judgment. I realized that I had been so focused on molding myself to fit the expectations of others, thinking that would bring me success or fulfillment. But in reality, true freedom would come when I stopped worrying about fitting in and started embracing who I really am—without the need for validation.
It became clear that the “safety” I was seeking wasn’t found in more external accomplishments but in freeing myself from the need to seek approval or avoid judgment.
Since that conversation, I’ve started to notice the moments where I was still holding back parts of myself or adapting to the world around me in ways that didn’t feel true.
These realizations weren’t always obvious at first, but looking back, they’re crystal clear.
It’s easy to get caught up in what we think we “should” be or how we believe we need to act to gain approval or success.
But the truth is, it’s not about what you wear, how you sound, or how much money you have.
It’s about what you do and what you say—the actions and words that reflect your true self. These are the things that truly define who you are and shape how others perceive you.
When you stop adjusting for the outside world and start showing up as your authentic self, everything else falls into place.
When you take off the mask, life get’s much easier.
