being real...faces of me

I've decided to post a poem that I first read on a youthgroup retreat in Alexandria, Egypt. Back then it really hit home with me, and marked a changing point in my life. Today I was talking to a good friend of mine and our conversation reminded me of this poem. I'm afraid it's as much true for me now as it was back in 2001. How about you?

Faces of Me

I am not really myself.
I am someone else.
When others see me to talk to me.
They are talking to a stranger, not me.
I am kept hidden away,
Safe from discovery or attack,
Behind the cover of my masks.
Each day.
Sometimes knowingly, sometimes not,
As I sift through my closet,
Choosing which clothes to wear,
I also search through my mental mask menagerie,
Carefully selecting the image I want to project.

Like an actor,
I have learned to portray many roles,
Many faces,
Many moods.
And I use a different one for each.
Each mask represents something about me,
The me I would like to be.
I put on a mask of happiness because
I sincerely want to be happy,
I wear the socialite mask because
I want to have friends to have fun with,
The self sufficiency mask because
I truly want to take charge of my life.
I know these goals are worthwhile.
And I view the masks as a way
To help me reach those goals
By putting my best foot forward.

Something peculiar happens, however,
As I continue wearing these masks.
They begin to feel comfortable.
Natural.
Necessary.
I can go for weeks without removing them.
As if they were extended wear contact lenses
That only require occasional cleaning.
As I get used to my masks
I begin to believe they might really be me
Rather than merely a façade.
Yet meanwhile,
My true self lies dormant within me.
Isolated.
Forgotten.

So rather than bringing me closer to my goals,
The masks alienate me from them.
Like a brick wall, the masks confine me.
Isolate me.
Hide me from other people.
And before long I realise
I’m not what my mask says I am,
But exactly the opposite.
When I don the mask of conformity,
Identifying me with a certain group,
I’m really broadcasting my own lack of identity,
My own uncertainty of who I am.
Or when I wear the mask of confidence,
Refusing to admit weakness, mistakes or hurt,
I’m telegraphing my own insecurity.

I have other masks that I maintain
For use at the proper time:
The mask of superiority
To stare down inferior feelings
I detect in others
And in myself;
The mask of appearance
To enhance my attractiveness to others
So I’ll forget how ugly I think I am;
The clown or the rowdy masks
To gain attention I can’t obtain otherwise;
The totally together mask
To hide all my rough edges;
The mask of love
To disguise an overly selfish relationship;
Even the mask of spirituality
To silence all the questions about my status before God.

What should I do with all these masks?
I realise they have isolated me
Not only from other people,
But also from myself.
If indeed I want to be myself
Rather than someone else.
I must remove the masks,
Peel them off,
Cut them away like a plaster cast.
Some of the worthless mask I will trample to pieces.
Others I’ll display on my bedroom wall
To remind me of the person I’d like to be,
But am not yet.

I can openly walk toward the goals
Those good masks represent,
Because being real doesn’t mean giving up
On areas that I need to change.
Nor does it mean I am satisfied
With everything about myself.
It simply means accepting the way I am now,
And honestly admitting
I’m still working on my problems.

Ultimately, I won’t need the masks;
Instead,
I’ll show others the living person behind them:
Not a stranger, but a special unique,
Authentic human being-
Someone who’s not perfect, but who wants to grow.
Only when I open myself to other people
Will I see clearly.
And only when I take off the masks
Will I truly be free.

(author unknown)