The Mask

I was 10 years old when this picture was taken. Pictures, cards, and other memorabilia from my past sit at the bottom of a large plastic box that only sees daylight once a year when I rearrange and clean storage space under the stairs. I don’t have many pictures from my childhood; this is one of the main pictures I have kept from that time. Every time I open the old dishevelled photo album this picture always brings back significant memories for me. I always wonder if the reason I cannot see my face clearly in this photo anymore is not because the quality has faded with time but because God orchestrated it that way so I would not see the sadness in my eyes. It would not make any difference whether this photo existed or not; I always remembered this moment.

Back in the 80’s the Kodak camera was at the height of fashion gadget wise. Kodak’s were cool and fun to capture life’s precious moments with because photos printed in an instant. I hated instant photos or any photos for that matter, I always felt uncomfortable waiting for a decent picture to be taken. My Father took most of the family photos back then and I remember every minute leading up to this photo being taken, it was one of a few clear times I remember feeling trapped and alone. Five minutes earlier I was lying on my bed crying about what was happening in my life. I remember quietly slipping away from my family downstairs and going upstairs to the privacy of the bedroom I shared with my sister. Tears flowed down my face and the pain I felt in my body, emotionally and physically caused me to curl myself into the tiniest of human balls overwhelmed with the hopelessness of my situation. For a few minutes I could stop pretending to be this happy, vibrant little girl called Yvonne and just be the confused and frightened girl that I was; dying inside with a secret I had no name for.

This was the day back in my memory I can pinpoint clearly developing ‘the mask’. If sexual abuse were packaged with a survival kit for victims and survivors the mask would be the ‘must have’ item. The mask took up residence in my life soon after the sexual abuse began at the hands of my Father. I learned to use it as a front to hide from the outside world my sadness, guilt and shame. I had done nothing wrong, I had nothing to hide but I felt in some way to blame for what was happening to me. It allowed me to be secretive about my emotions, to pretend all was okay. In private I would be sad, in public I laughed and joked around pretending not to have a care in the world with a fake smile spread across my face. No one saw under the mask, the fear when wash time came or the tears I cried and hid in my face flannel after my Father indecently assaulted me night after night in the bathroom. I had no control over what happened to my body or me but what I could control was how I appeared to the outside world. Not only my protector, over time my mask was also my deceiver because behind closed doors I isolated myself from connecting with me as I self harmed and indulged in other self destructive behaviour.

Wearing a mask of normalcy while living on a state of emotional alert inside became tiring to live with the older I got. I did try to take it off a few times well; if I am being honest it began to slip off. When I had my first flat after I left care my Mother used to visit sometimes on a weekend. Our relationship was not built on anything of real heartfelt value only superficial surface stuff. One time she came and I was lying in the sofa, mask off, depressed and emotionally broken. I tried to broach the subject many times with her about my abuse but she did not want to know. She could see my pain and sadness and I told her I was depressed. Instead of wondering why or offering a kind word of comfort or hope she told me to cheer up; I never revealed my deep emotions to her again. Other times I tried to let people around me know how I was feeling but they were not the right people to divulge that kind of personal information to either. Their response to me showing the rawness and vulnerability of a soul wounded by sexual abuse was not empathy or understanding; just a measured tolerance that quickly turned to impatience because I had not ‘got over it’ yet. Too messy and deep for most people to care or want to invest the time to know they actively avoided engaging with me on any emotional level so I pushed back on the mask of acceptability while inside still hurting.

Counselling and therapy helped me to open up and identify why I hid behind the mask for over 20 years. It provided a safe environment, free of judgement and accusation that allowed me the time to express myself and not feel wrong about how I was feeling. Creating the right environment and taking my time to explore these feelings helped me to see with clarity that the shame, guilt and condemnation I carried since a child behind a mask of fear and judgement was never mine to carry; it was the abuser, my Father’s. Along my journey through meeting other survivors I learned that I was not the only survivor to feel isolated by a burden inherited through a most brutal crime I had no understanding of, that corroded my self esteem and worth as a human being. I gained bravery through self-discovery and strength from God to step out and face me.

What helped me to keep operating behind the mask was the belief that I thought I was good at hiding my emotions but as much as I thought I hid my despair well, years later people from different eras of my past on seeing me again commented there was always a sense of sadness about me; it just goes to show that as much as I thought I was hiding people could see behind the façade.

I know many survivors that are still wearing their mask now many years after the abuse has happened; maybe you are reading this as someone who knows the mask too well. In front of family at functions, friends, work and the world, you feel unable to trust or feel safe enough to let anyone see you vulnerable or see you as you are. With wrong people there should be caution but with the right people and support you can show the person behind the mask. There is nothing worse than feeling unable to protect yourself, to feel transparent and vulnerable. As victims in our childhood of unwarranted abuse and survivors of our past; I understand that. But I want to encourage you as someone who has finally taken off the mask, showing the world through my openness in sharing my personal experiences with you, it is liberating not having to hide or pretend anymore. I took courage from daring to hope that I could heal and be free to be my own person. It is a slow process of learning to know how you are, facing difficult feelings and fears, placing the blame where it belongs and having the courage to step out in hope for new personal beginnings. One thing I know for certain; the mask only helps to certain point but no further for in the end you will have to face what is behind the mask. Yourself.

Poem I wrote 15 Years ago called ‘Tired’

Tired of lying

Tired of crying

Tired of buying

Who is the real me?

Tired of yearning like a child

Tired of acting wild

When was the last time you really saw me smile?

Tired of my shattered heart

Tired of the morning before it starts

Tired of wearing all these different masks

Tired of turning life’s bends

And all life’s tasks

Tired of being a woman

Tired of the vulnerable child in me

But not tired of the yearning to be set truly free

Yvonne x