The Mask I Didn’t Know I Was Wearing: A Lifetime of Compartmentalizing

When You Become a Master of Disguise Without Realizing It

If you’ve ever felt like you’re a slightly different person at work than you are with friends, family, or even your dog—hi, welcome. You’re in very relatable company.

I didn’t set out to compartmentalize. I didn’t make a little chart and say, “Here’s Me for Teachers, Me for Friends, Me for My Parents, and Me for Quietly Crying in the Shower.” But I did learn how to shapeshift early on. Like, before-my-permanent-teeth-grew-in early.

And like many kids, I was just trying to figure out how to exist in a world that didn’t seem to have space for how I naturally showed up. I didn’t know I was masking. I thought I was just “being good.”

ADHD, Childhood, and the Art of Staying Small

Looking back, undiagnosed ADHD was a major plot twist in this whole story. My brain didn’t work like my classmates’, and I knew that—sort of. I didn’t have the vocabulary, but I definitely had the anxiety.

So I stayed quiet. I laughed when I thought a joke had been told. I sat in the back of the classroom like I was trying to win hide-and-seek. The goal was simple: blend in. Do not stand out. Do not make waves. That felt like the worst thing that could possibly happen to me. (ADHD Sidenote: Except for Edward Scissorhands cutting his way from under my bed up through my mattress. Yes, that was a real fear. No, we don’t have time to unpack it right now.)

At home, emotional expression was . . . complicated. Crying got you sent to your room. Being loud got you compared to your sibling. I learned early on that love came with asterisks. But I could joke around with my dad, who is extremely sarcastic. So humor became my secret weapon. It felt safe.

College Years: Same Performance, New Audience

In college, I kept up the act. I was friendly, helpful, a good listener. Inside? Constantly nervous. I even felt intimidated by some of my closest friends. Not because they did anything wrong, but because I still didn’t feel like I could fully exhale around anyone.

My freshman year, I nearly completed suicide. Junior year, I developed trichotillomania—pulling out my eyebrows compulsively. And this was before brow filler was a thing. It was rough. Thin was in, but bald was not.

Even then, I didn’t think I was “compartmentalizing.” I thought I was adapting. Surviving. Doing what everyone else seemed to be doing, just a little more frantically.

Now Hiring—Your Most Polished Self

When I entered the workforce, I leveled up my performance game. I became the Helpful Coworker. The “Yes, absolutely!” person. The one who offered to take on extra projects even when her own plate was piled like a wobbly Jenga tower.

Burnout came quickly. So did the teeth grinding. (Nothing says “I’m fine” like clenching your jaw through REM sleep.)

My go-to fix? Get a new job! New team, new environment, and new opportunity to burn out all over again. It took years to realize I wasn’t just tired—I was emotionally overdrawn. I was working so hard to keep all the versions of myself straight, I didn’t notice I’d completely lost track of the real one.

Finally Letting Myself Show Up—All the Way

Everything changed when I landed at a company that actually meant it when they said, “Bring your whole self to work.” For the first time, I stopped editing myself so much. I let myself be sarcastic. I told the truth about being overwhelmed. I shared personal things with coworkers and work things with friends. Coworkers became friends. The lines blurred—in the best way.

And slowly, my nervous system started to exhale.

When you’ve been wearing different masks your whole life, you don’t realize how heavy they are until you set them down. I had no idea how much of my mental energy was being spent on simply managing how I came across in every space I entered. I thought I was being productive. Turns out, I was being performative.

If this is you—if you’ve been shape-shifting your way through life without even realizing it—please know: you’re not broken. You’re adaptive. And you deserve to let your guard down and live without the burden of constant performance.

A Quick Practice

Can you spot your mask? Take five quiet minutes and ask yourself:

• Where do I feel like I’m putting on a version of myself just to be accepted?

• What would it feel like to show up just 5% more me in that space?

• Is there one place where I could safely stop pretending—even just a little?

Write it down or type it up. Voice memo it. No edits, no judgment.

Final Thought: Compartmentalization Saved You

Compartmentalizing helped you survive. That means it worked. But now, you get to ask—do I still need this mask? Or can I start building a life where I don’t have to hide different parts of myself in different rooms?

Spoiler alert: when you start showing up as your full self, the rooms you walk into get a whole lot warmer.

The Depression Club

Trigger Warning: mentions suicide

The Club No One Signs Up For

Several years ago, I lost a former boss—Matthew.*

He wasn’t a close friend, but he was a kind and influential presence in my life. He helped me become a book editor, which had been my dream since eighth grade. He modeled strong, thoughtful leadership at a time when I was going through my own personal collapse.

I worked under him during one of the hardest seasons of my life. I had just called off a wedding and was in the thick of a depression so deep, I couldn’t comprehend how I was functioning. Work became a safe space. My team felt like family. And Matthew helped create that environment.

Then, he died by suicide.

The Grief That Catches You Off Guard

I hadn’t worked with Matthew in years, but when I learned of his death, it hit me hard—much harder than I expected. Because suddenly, I realized: We were in the same club.

The Depression Club.

The one where you know what it’s like to plan your own death.

Where you’ve written the letter to your family.

Where you’ve taken the first steps.

I’ve never fully attempted suicide, but I have been that low. I’ve felt the ache that makes you want to disappear and stop the pain. The weight that makes hope feel fictional.

And Then It Happened Again

Even recently—just a couple weeks ago—depression snuck back in. Out of nowhere. I cried myself to sleep every night for a week. I prayed for the pain to stop.

But this time? Something was different.

The Tools That Brought Me Back

I used meditation skills I’d learned from my coach. I sat with my emotions instead of running from them. I took small, gentle steps. And for the first time ever—I walked myself out of a depressive episode.

That moment was incredibly empowering. Because I realized:

• I am not powerless.

• My brain has changed.

• The work I’ve done has mattered.

And it continues to matter.

Living With Depression, Not Under It

Sometimes I forget that healing isn’t a straight line. Even though I haven’t been suicidal in years, depression still visits. But now, I have more tools. I have support. I have hope.

And I have a voice that can speak clearly, even in the dark.

A Quick Practice

What’s one small step you can take today to care for your mental health?

Is it scheduling a therapy session? Getting some sunlight? Taking a mindful walk or just texting a friend to say “I’m struggling”?

Pick the next smallest step. You don’t have to climb the mountain—just take one breath at a time.

Reflection

When was a time you survived something quietly? Something no one else knew was hard for you? What did it take to keep going—and what might you need now to feel supported, seen, or safe?