Cracking the Mask

I originally wrote Cracking the Mask to share at The Moth, a live storytelling gathering where ten names are drawn to tell their stories. My name wasn’t called last night, but the story still wanted to be told. So I’m releasing it here — both in written form and as spoken word.

You can listen to the audio version below and/or read. You’re my audience.

“We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes…”

Paul Laurence Dunbar

Those words have followed me for years.

Because I know what it means to wear a mask.

Not the kind you can see—

but the one that smiles when the heart is weary,

the one that hides behind, “I’m fine,”

the one made of perfectionism.

I’ve worn that mask—

the one that says I have it all together,

that everything must be polished, flawless, and under control.

But lately, I’ve discovered cracks in that mask.

And here’s the beautiful thing—

the cracks let the light in.

Recently, I was reminded of that truth.

My plan for this past month was simple—

spend time with my family,

take a beautiful Mediterranean cruise,

and come home refreshed and renewed.

But life… had a different schedule.

An unexpected hospitalization,

and surgery for a loved one,

and suddenly, instead of boarding a ship,

I was boarding a new role—

caregiver.

Shout out to the caregivers!!!!

Perfectionism told me,

“Keep the mask on. Smile. You’ve got this.”

But reality whispered,

“It’s okay not to have it all together.”

And so, the mask cracked.

Cracking the mask of perfectionism

gave me permission to feel all the feelings—

to be so grateful I could be present for someone I deeply love,

and at the same time,

to grieve the trip I didn’t take.

Cracking that mask gave me freedom.

Freedom to say,

“It’s okay not to be okay.”

Freedom to ask for help—

because asking for help isn’t weakness;

it’s sacred.

The treasure of prayers,

cards, safe spaces to release ,

Virtual conversations

food, tea and quiet spaces,

beach sunsets

and space just to exhale

It’s a reminder that we were never meant

to carry life alone.

There’s a Japanese art form called kintsugi.

When pottery breaks,

it’s repaired with gold.

They don’t hide the cracks; they honor them.

The brokenness becomes the beauty.

And when I think about it—

we are all a bit like mosaics, too.

Made of broken pieces,

held together by grace, love, and gold light.

So tonight,

I celebrate my cracks.

The ones that let compassion flow through,

the ones that make me real.

I am no longer hiding behind perfection.

I am fine being perfectly imperfect

and beautifully flawed.

So I lay down my mask.

I let the gold fill the cracks.

And I let the world see me—

just me—

unmasked,

unpolished,

and whole.

Sheila P Spencer