On seeing the masks, breaking the loops, and choosing what’s real.
Harvesting the Raw
Sometimes the words come in the middle of the mess. Not after I’ve processed it or made peace with it. But while I’m still sitting in the ache and confusion of it.
This one came at 38,000 feet, watching Love Me and seeing more of myself in the loops and masks than I wanted to admit. Laughing, crying, and whispering holy shit—maybe more than I should have—on a plane. Somewhere between the manufactured laughter and the numbing rhythm of sameness, I saw my own reflection. The social scripts. Relational habits. The performance. The way we build a version of connection by playing roles we never consciously chose.
The Cost of Playing Roles We Never Chose
We create ourselves out of social constructs—roles we think we need to fill as individuals, as partners.
Who “should” we be?
What defines “happiness?”
Fuck…what’s even funny to us?
We get stuck in those roles and relationship patterns. On repeat. Day in and day out.
Wake up. Check the schedule, take care of the kids, dogs, partner. Check in with partner, family, friends. Go to work. Come home. Make dinner. Stare at screens. Laugh at the right moments. We somehow confuse these things as real human connection.
And then one day, you realize you’ve been laughing at the “right” moments for so long that you can’t even tell if something is actually funny.
It’s this moment, that question, that feeling in your gut that pulls you out of the loop for just a second. Enough time to create the slightest crack in your reality. It causes just enough discomfort to see the falsehood of the manufactured construct—and to want to break free.
Unmasking as an Act of Self-Honesty
In relationship, this is usually one person, not both.
That person starts asking the bigger questions. They start going inward, becoming more reflective. They see that patterns, behaviors, and beliefs are not “them” but parts of other people in their family and in society that they absorbed.
Parts that were taught when to smile, when to laugh, when to say yes or no. Parts that were taught how to act, react, who to trust, and who to fear.
This is where we start questioning what role we play and if it’s the role we want to play.
We break open. We bleed. We peel back the layers. We get curious. We explore. We experiment. We lose people—intentional and not. Sometimes we break our own hearts in hopes of finding something real. Something true.
We realize that turning to screens and external voices no longer works for us. In fact, there is now a visceral response to what once was sought out.
Now, we turn inward. Learn to hear our own voice. Then we can turn towards others with honesty. But that can be messy. It can be misunderstood. It can cost us relationships we thought would last forever.
These changes are often met with resistance, rejection, and heartbreak. But sometimes it is met with real connection.
It all teaches us. If we are open to it.
Of course we want the people closest to us to unravel with us, to un-become with us.
No matter how hard we try to stay on the same path together, no matter how hard we want our partner to see the magic in the mystery, if they aren’t ready, we often lose them.
And that loss can teach us, too.
It can break us open to the ways we’ve abandoned ourselves—well-intended, but just as destructive as any other force.
It can show us that choosing ourselves isn’t about rejecting or hurting someone else. It’s about prioritizing our wellness, our needs, our growth.
The Truth We Can’t Unsee
The process of unmasking, a term I learned with my new label as AuDHD, has been brutal. For me, and for my partner. It was like a key that unlocked the next layer of un-becoming for me. The things I used to accept to maintain the peace, the things I used to do to fulfill my “role”—the ways I made myself uncomfortable to make others comfortable—I don’t want to do anymore. I can’t do that anymore.
Boarding the plane, I asked the flight attendant to toss my cup before I even registered her “Good morning.” Then I laughed, realizing my brain had lagged behind.
I felt that laugh. In my body. In my heart.
Noticing that it felt different, I thought, How many times do I laugh because I was taught the ‘right time’ to laugh?
In Love Me, there was a scene where the characters were playing out their roles, day after day of sameness. Manufactured “live, laugh, love” and “relationship goals” on repeat. During the millionth reenactment of a tickle fight with roaring laughter, one character stops and says, “This is fake,” and tries to figure out if tickling can produce a real laugh for either of them.
It was clumsy and painful and familiar—like trying to find something alive in the ruins of routine.
The other character lashed out, not understanding why her partner wasn’t happily and dutifully playing out his role.
As the movie continued, I started to recognize the conversations, patterns, and pain from my own life. Past and present.
When I’ve lashed out from the “manufactured self” and when I’ve shown up from my truth. I saw myself in both characters.
How’s that for synchronicity?!
The truth is, we’re always changing. Even when we don’t recognize it at first.
We’re all unraveling. Un-becoming. At different stages. At different paces.
The pain, the beauty, and the mystery of it all shapes us. Helps us remember who we are.
Even when we fall back into old shapes and patterns, the work is to stay open. Stay curious. Stay present in our truth as much as possible.
Because the moment you see it’s fake, you can’t unsee it.
✨ If this resonated with you, you may also want to read Dahlias — a reflection on grief, growth, and the sacred rhythm of un-becoming.
Soundtrack this reflection with the playlist I built for pieces like this: Cracks in the Mask. 13 songs for mirror-gazing, identity unraveling, and emotional precision.
