When Did You Make Your Mask? (Daring Greatly Chapter 4)

I'll never forget the day in eighth grade that I learned that I needed to protect myself from my friends.They were clustered around their lockers, laughing and talking animatedly before the first bell ushered us into another long day of teachers and math and the tiring work of trying to be cool.I bounded right up to them, as usual. But when the first person noticed me, her head immediately lowered and the conversation came to an abrupt halt.For a moment, I was confused, but then it came crashing down on me, crushing me in that moment. They had been talking about me. Laughing about me.I don't remember what I did next, but I'm sure my unconscious self made some vows about holding them at a distance, about protecting myself from ever feeling that way again. To be traumatized means to be subject to a lasting shock as a result of an emotionally disturbing experience or physical injury. I was traumatized, but no one could see it, so I put my head down and went to my home room, trying to stifle the hot tears of shame.When you're traumatized emotionally at the tender age of 13, even once, even for something as "minor" as that, you are not sure who to be anymore, or what to do. We just know we never want to be rejected like that again. So we create masks that protect our actual and vulnerable selves, projecting an image that seems more sturdy and less susceptible to trauma.Can you remember one of these moments when you unconsciously created a mask?The problem is that the longer we wear these masks, the more fused to our actual selves they become, and it becomes harder and harder to see and know what's real and what's not. And then vulnerability becomes difficult, if not impossible. Appearing vulnerable can even be another mask that we try to wear, if we do not know what's underneath our masks in the first place.Brené writes about the three common vulnerability masks that we all wear to protect ourselves from diminishment and shame.1. Foreboding Joy. She writes, "When we lose the ability or willingness to be vulnerable, joy becomes something we approach with deep foreboding... Joy can feel like a setup. We wake up in the morning and think, Work is going well. Everyone in this family is healthy. No major crises are happening. The house is still standing. I'm working out and feeling good. Oh, shit. This is bad. This is really bad. Disaster must be lurking around the corner."I experienced this just last week, as Isaac was walking over to his friend's house. As I was smiling at how he is growing up into such a delightful and mature kid, stabs of pain suddenly hit me. "What if he gets made fun of and doesn't know what to say or how to get out of there? What if something terrible happens to him in that house? I can't protect him over there."Brené calls these moments rehearsing tragedy. She writes, "When we spend our lives pushing away vulnerability, we can't hold space open for the uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure of joy. For many of us, there's even physiological response - a "coming out of our skin" feeling. We're desperate for more joy, but at the same time, we can't tolerate the vulnerability." The antidote to foreboding joy is to practice gratitude, she writes. Out loud. if you need help doing this, my friend Dan writes about it a few times a week here. I read every post he writes, because I need to practice gratitude out loud.2. Perfectionism."Perfectionism," Brené writes, "is not self-improvement. Perfectionism is, at its core, about trying to earn approval." I use this mask every day and all the time, and I can see that it fuels the cycle of shame in me because it is unattainable. It also leads me to subtly shade the truth so that I appear to be better than I am.But perfectionism is insidiously slippery. It doesn't always mean to "do everything perfectly." In our church, one of the things we value is "how things really are is more important than how things look." We celebrate when people come to the end of their rope and talk about it out loud. I love this. So perfectionism for me can be to appear as if I'm being vulnerable and real. The more I do that, the more accepted I am. See how slippery this can be?The antidote to perfectionism is to regularly give ourselves a break and appreciate the beauty of our cracks and imperfections.In 2 Corinthians 4:7, we read: "Treasure is kept in clay jars. In the same way, we have the treasure of the good news in these earthly bodies of ours. That shows that the mighty power of the good news comes from God. It doesn't come from us." My translation: I'm cracked and when I let my cracks show, the real light can shine through.3. Numbing. We use many numbing strategies. Some of us use shopping and obsessively checking facebook; others use chemicals and others stay crazy-busy. But the research shows this horrifying statistic: We can't selectively numb emotions. When we numb anger and pain, we also numb joy.What is your hallmark numbing strategy? I have several. I am convinced that if you took my iPhone and internet access away for a week, I would end up in the fetal position, wracked by spasms of withdrawal. If you took away any public forums for me to receive adulation and praise, I would probably go to random street corners and beg people to say they like me. (Uggh. I didn't like writing that one. But it's true).The antidote to numbing is setting boundaries, finding true comfort, and cultivating spirit. Finding true comfort means stopping to ask: What is it that I really need, that I'm trying to find in this fourth glass of wine? And is there a better way to experience comfort and nourishment that doesn't involve numbing?What masks do you use to shield yourself from vulnerability, and what antidotes are you planning to try this week?Photo Credit