This is Not a Self-Help Article About Authenticity.
BY DREW BROWN
Drew Brown is a writer living in Los Angeles. You can follow him on Twitter @drewbrownwrites or on his website at drewbrownwrites.com.
One of my favorite news stories of 2021 was about a twenty-five-year-old in Kentucky. Early in 2020, just before the world shut down with COVID, she decided to get a tattoo she had been dreaming of for years. It was a phrase a friend had used to describe her—one she was proud of and wanted to always remember:
“Courageously and radically refuse to wear a mask.”
Remember before COVID, when language about wearing masks was all figurative and not literal? What a slippery thing language is.
So when I decided I wanted to write a piece about “taking off my mask,” I realized I needed to begin by defining my terms: I mean the figurative “enter into places authentic and not fake”—i.e. the language of too many self-help articles in the late 2010s.
I promise this is not one of those.
Taking Off My Mask
For years I have held onto this idea of authenticity, of growing in my own self-awareness and self-acceptance, recognizing I have something good to offer the world as myself. No need for pretenses or performances or mirages. If I am to be accepted, it should be as myself, not a caricature of how I wish to be perceived.
And no other area of my life has provided more apparent opportunities to practice this than dating. Dating itself is a natural experiment in self-actualization. A first date is ripe for analysis and reflection because it is a bite-sized social interaction; on the drive home, I put on good reflective music (usually The Avett Brothers) and think about how I interacted with the other person. Did I perform for her, putting on my mask of perfection and competence? Or did I show up as the quirky person I am—goofy and deep, addicted to bread and Wendell Berry—willing to show the pieces of me that would not make me a good candidate for The Bachelor but a wonderful candidate for being human?
At twenty-nine and single, I’ve had over a decade of practice—each first date an opportunity to remove my mask another fraction of another inch from in front of my face.
What They Don’t Tell You About Being Yourself
I recently went on two dates with someone and felt the most myself I’ve ever been. I spoke confidently about my dreams of being a writer and opening a bookstore instead of demurring and playing it down, pretending like my writerly aspirations are dumb dreams that need to die. I spoke about shallow things like my love of The Office and deep things like my continuing journey with counseling. She did the same; I left those dates really excited by the way I portrayed myself and the connection that was forming.
The only problem was that she didn’t sense that same connection.
We spoke once more—a gracious and kind conversation. She was honest and incredibly thoughtful, sharing how much she appreciated getting to know me and learning more about who I am and what my dreams are. But she didn’t feel the same spark I did, and she wanted to be honest with me early so as not to belabor a conversation or do the dreaded “ghosting” dance so many others do.
I really appreciated her honesty and communicated that to her. We decided to venture towards friendship, something I am honestly excited for and feel good about.
But here’s the problem, here’s what I didn’t fully realize: masks are defense mechanisms and defense mechanisms exist for a reason. We fight so hard to lower our masks, but when someone sees our real self and—kindly, empathetically, honestly—still doesn’t reciprocate feelings, how do we bounce back? It doesn’t matter how kind they are in letting us down, it still feels like a dirty finger scraping a wound; it’s only human to want to scab over the rawness, to enter a cocoon, to put that hard mask back on because at least then we can assuage our hurt with the belief they didn’t really know the real us, that if they had they would have loved us.
But what happens when you show up fully yourself and they still don’t choose you? What then?
What then, indeed?
I wrote the two sections above this one two months ago and sat on this piece ever since then. I couldn’t find a good ending, and I still haven’t.
Because I don’t want this to be a mid-2010s self-help article; “Keep showing up” or “The real you is extraordinary” or any of the like feel trite and incomplete when the wound is still raw. Regardless of whether or not the platitudes are true, it still sucks to be vulnerable and finally lower that mask only to not be picked.
But in the intervening time, I’ve decided a few things. First, I must have grace for myself. It is a natural reaction to put that mask back on, to perform, to build defenses around my real self in order to protect that self from that hurt. To shame myself for doing it will only make it worse. Second, I’ve decided I’d rather keep the mask down, to remind myself that dating is important, but it isn’t definitive of my identity. I have a community—family and friends and church and counseling—that reminds me of my worth. Third, I am reminded that just as I have been hurt, so too have I hurt others. Dating is an inexact and awkward science, both a reciprocation of joy but also of unintended hurt.* We are dually being hurt and hurting. I am not solely the hero or the victim but an equal participant in this great experiment.
So, in lieu of a perfect ending, I hope to simply say I am with you, continuing to show up and continuing to take off my (figurative) mask. I believe I am worth it, and I know you are worth it.
*I am speaking specifically about dating between two healthy, consenting parties. I am not speaking of abusive situations or power-hungry perverts bent on manipulation and aggression. If you have experienced or are experiencing a situation like this, I pray you find escape and the love you deserve.