I wear a mask during the COVID-19 pandemic to keep myself and others safe. Sure, I complain about the tropical heatwave under my mask, maskne, and foggy glasses. It’s a minor inconvenience. That’s it. It’s not a political statement. It’s the very least I can do.
I don’t mind wearing a mask during the pandemic. When I wear it, I can be any one—someone more confident, funny, beautiful, worldly, sassy, brutally honest. I think I’m hiding from the world, but I’m always recognized. So much for that plan.
Wearing a mask isn’t new to me. I’ve been doing it my entire life. I was the girl who smiled with her eyes and laughed while I was broken inside, hiding a homelife that was anything but safe, loving, and stable. No matter how much I hurt inside, I smiled. My mask hid my secret. I wore this mask when I met my husband. I broke off little pieces at a time to give him just a glimpse of my real life. It felt wonderful when the mask finally fell away and he wasn’t horrified by what he saw. He sees everything. I’m not sure he wants to sometimes, but he put a ring on it.
I still wear a mask so people don’t see my depression or how hard it is for me to get out of bed sometimes and be amongst the living. I smile and say I’m fine. Or I will really lie and say I’m good when I’m anything but. I will hide behind a sunny disposition and laughter (except with my poor husband and kids). There are times I’m good. I just never know.
Let’s be honest, we all wear masks. Saying exactly what you’re thinking during a work meeting may not end well. I mean who doesn’t want to call someone a complete fucking idiot over Zoom. But instead, you smile and agree with their insane idea. Or when you lie to the cashier at the grocery store and say your day is going wonderfully even though you just got the results of your biopsy and you’re terrified; it took everything you had to get out of bed and you just want to curl up on the floor and cry at the check-out line; your marriage is hanging on by a thread and the next fight just may end it for good; you’re so stressed at work your hair is falling out; you worry how you’re going to buy your groceries next week; you’ve been holed-up with your kids during the pandemic and they are on your very last nerve; or you woke up in a shit mood and the sound of the cashier’s voice makes you want to jam your car keys into your eardrums. The list is endless.
Writing gives me the courage to take off my mask so you can see me—not just the person I want you to see. You see my ugly side. Writing let’s me be brave and honest. You may judge me, but maybe something I write may help you in some small way. It’s helping me.
P.S. Don’t be an asshole. Wear your mask or cloth face covering when you’re out and about, wash your hands, and follow physical-distancing guidelines. We’re all in this together.