The Mask: What “I’m Fine” Really Costs You

I walk into the sanctuary on Sunday morning. My dress is not wrinkled. My shoes and purse match. My hair and nails are done. But on the inside, I’m a mess.

I fought with my husband on the way to church. Getting our two sons ready for Sunday School was like fighting a battle in the South Pacific. My stress was up, and my mood was down. At that moment, all I wanted to do was go back to bed and pull the covers over my head.

One of the female ushers came over and shook my hand.

“How are you?” she asked with a smile on her face.

I looked her straight in the eye, smiled, and told her a lie.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

And she lied right back to me.

“I’m fine.”

And so it goes. Sunday after Sunday. Wednesday nights, too. I was performing for the crowd, wanting everyone to think I had it all together. They couldn't see that I was hurting because I wouldn't let them see.

And it was exhausting!

Living your life holding up a mask that is constantly threatening to slip is exhausting. I know I'm speaking right now to other women who are doing the exact same thing I was doing. And I want to tell you a well-kept secret.

Wearing a mask costs you.

You know all that energy you spend keeping the mask in place?

Maintaining it when all you really want to do is reach out to someone and ask them to hold you for a minute. Keeping up the appearance that you are the best Christian woman in the room when what you really want to do is sob and say, “I'm not OK. Someone see me, please.” Resenting the fact that no one sees you are hurting, even though you are working so hard to keep them from seeing. Feeling lonely in a room full of other Christian women who may very well be hurting just like you.

All that energy.

Think about what you could do with that same energy if you weren't spending it trying to convince everyone that you're fine. You could put that energy toward speaking the truth. Jesus wasn't kidding when He said the truth will set you free.

One day, I told the truth. And you know what? The earth didn't crack open. The sky didn't fall. And not one woman in the room rejected me, which was what I had feared all along.

Not one.

Now, I'm not saying that every woman who tells her truth will be met with open arms. Sometimes we choose to tell the wrong person, someone we thought was the right person at the time. Sometimes people disappoint us. Sometimes they simply don't know what to say.

And I'm certainly not saying you need to bear your soul on the mountaintop for all to hear. But I am saying that maybe, just maybe, there is someone in your circle who can hear your truth and not turn you away. Someone who can sit beside you without trying to fix you. Someone who can hear “I'm not fine” and simply say, “Tell me about it.”

They may not be the women you expect. They may be the quiet ones sitting in the back pew. The ones who leave right after the service. The ones who smile and say they're fine, too. They may be struggling just like you.

You've been wearing that mask for a long time. And I know it's hard to take it off. So, here's my suggestion. Just let it slip. Just a little. Maybe the next time someone asks, “How are you?” you say, “It's been a really hard week, actually.”

That's all. Just one honest little truth.

You don't have to tell your whole story. You don't have to explain your depression, your marriage, your children, or why you cried in the shower that morning. You can start with one sentence. And maybe that one sentence will open a door. Maybe the woman standing in front of you will look into your eyes and say, “You know what? Me too.” And for just a moment, neither of you will have to pretend.

If there is no one in your circle you feel you can tell, I want to invite you to comment below.

Tell me about the last time someone asked how you were, and you wanted so badly to tell them the truth.

Tell me what you wish you could have said.

Share only what you feel comfortable sharing publicly. You don't have to tell your whole story to be heard.

You don't have to wear your mask here.

I'm listening.

Crushed Olive Ministries