The Day I Stopped Performing My Life

thewayofthewiseowl
3 days ago
4 min read

There’s a moment that comes for a lot of us—especially when you’ve spent years being “strong,” “capable,” “the one who handles it,” “the one who holds it together.”

It doesn’t come with fireworks.

It doesn’t come with applause.

It comes quietly.

Like a whisper in your chest that says:

“I can’t do this version of me anymore.”

Not because you’re giving up.

But because you’re finally waking up.

And the day I stopped performing my life wasn’t the day I became someone new.

It was the day I realized how much of me had been acting just to survive.

Let me tell you what that looked like… and what it cost.

1. What Masking Looked Like

When people hear “masking,” they think it means lying.

No, baby.

Masking is survival.

Masking is adaptation.

Masking is doing what you had to do to stay safe, loved, accepted, or employed.

For me, masking looked like:

Smiling when I was overstimulated
Saying “I’m fine” when my nervous system was in a hurricane
Performing calm while my mind was sprinting
Overexplaining so nobody could accuse me of being “too much”
Downplaying my emotions so I wouldn’t be called dramatic
Working twice as hard just to look half as “together”

Masking was the part of me that learned:

“If I show you the real me, you might reject me.”

So I became a version people could digest.

And I got good at it.

So good that I didn’t even realize I was doing it anymore.

2. The Cost Over 40

Let me be honest.

Masking in your 20s feels like hustle.

Masking in your 30s feels like responsibility.

But masking over 40?

It starts to feel like suffocating.

Because your body keeps receipts.

Over 40, the cost shows up as:

burnout that doesn’t reset with one good nap
exhaustion that feels spiritual
irritability that you can’t pray away
a nervous system that refuses to keep pretending
memory lapses, brain fog, emotional crashes
losing interest in things you used to force yourself to care about
feeling like you’re disappearing inside your own routine

And for those of us late-diagnosed with ADHD, bipolar disorder, trauma—whatever it is…

Masking over 40 becomes a system failure.

Not because we’re weak.

But because we’ve been performing ourselves for so long that our soul finally says:

“Enough.”

That’s not a breakdown.

That’s a breakthrough we didn’t ask for but desperately needed.

3. Signs You’re Done Masking

If you’re in that season right now, let me name some signs you might be over it.

You’re done masking when:

You’re tired of explaining why you’re tired.

You don’t want to “earn” rest anymore.
You feel irritated by performing small talk, fake smiles, or social scripts.

You want realness or nothing.
You find yourself craving solitude—not because you hate people, but because you’re exhausted from pretending.
You notice your body reacting faster than your mouth can cover it.

You can’t fake it like you used to.
You start wanting a life that fits your nervous system, not everybody else’s expectations.
You’re grieving who you’ve been… and also relieved you don’t have to keep being her.

That last one?

That one is big.

Because grief + relief always show up together when you stop performing.

One part of you mourns the survival version.

Another part of you is finally breathing.

4. How to Start Unmasking Gently

Listen to me carefully:

Unmasking is not a personality flip.

It’s a safety process.

You don’t rip the mask off.

You set it down—layer by layer.

Here’s how to start softly:

Start with yourself first.

Before you unmask in public, practice unmasking in private.

Ask:

“What do I feel when I’m not editing myself?”
“What do I need that I keep minimizing?”
“What parts of me are asking to be acknowledged?”

Tell the truth in small doses.

You don’t have to reveal your whole story to heal.

Start with one honest sentence:

“I’m overwhelmed today.”
“I need a slower pace.”
“I’m not okay, but I’m working on it.”
“That doesn’t work for me anymore.”

Small truths build big freedom.

Let discomfort be part of it.

Unmasking feels unfamiliar at first.

Because when you’ve been performing for years, realness feels risky.

So if it feels awkward, you’re not doing it wrong.

You’re doing something new.

Choose peace over proving.

A huge part of masking is proving you’re capable.

Unmasking means you stop trying to qualify for rest, love, or belonging.

You don’t need to prove you’re struggling “enough” to deserve support.

If it’s heavy for you, it’s heavy.

That’s enough.

5. What Support Helps

Let’s be clear:

Unmasking without support can feel like free-falling.

So here’s what actually helps:

Safe people.

Not everybody is safe for the real you.

Some people only loved your performance.

Safe people are:

curious instead of critical
steady instead of chaotic
willing to listen instead of rush you
able to hold your truth without trying to fix or shame you

Start with one safe person.

That’s enough to begin.

Structure that fits your brain.

Late diagnosis taught me this:

You don’t need more discipline.

You need better systems.

Support might look like:

medication if it helps you
reminders, routines, timers
reducing overstimulation
planning with your energy, not against it
allowing accommodations without guilt

Community.

There is a kind of healing that cannot happen alone.

You need people who don’t make you explain your brain like a courtroom case.

People who say:

“Me too.”

“I get it.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“You’re not lazy.”

“You’re not alone.”

That kind of belonging changes everything.

Professional support.

Therapy, coaching, support groups—whatever aligns with you.

Because some masks are trauma masks, not just personality masks.

And they require care, not willpower.

Closing Truth

The day I stopped performing my life, I didn’t become perfect.

I became honest.

I became tired in a way that finally told the truth.

I became brave enough to stop auditioning for love.

I became willing to live in a body that needed support, not punishment.

And I want that for you too.

So if you’re in that tender, shaky, sacred season where the mask is getting heavy…

Let me remind you:

You didn’t mask because you were fake.

You masked because you were surviving.

But you don’t have to survive forever.

You’re allowed to live.

You’re allowed to be real.

You’re allowed to be supported.

You’re allowed to come home to yourself.

And if nobody has told you this lately…

The real you is not a burden.

She’s a breakthrough.