Masks, Messages, and Messy Feelings

Yesterday was… emotionally messy. There was a difficult moment earlier this week when my employer contacted my mother to check in and make sure I was ok. Completely well-intentioned and honestly quite caring of them, but because of who I am and how heavily I mask things, she had no idea just how bad my mental health had become recently.

It frightened her. And I think part of her quietly blames herself for me being depressed.

That hurts because, despite everything, I don’t blame her. Life is complicated, trauma is complicated, and brains are complicated. But I also realised how effectively I hide things from the people around me. I can seem functional, calm, conversational, even supportive, while internally feeling like I’m barely holding things together.

Then yesterday, a small change in plans around Birmingham Pride unexpectedly hit me much harder than it probably should have on the surface. I’d originally been meant to stay with friends for the weekend, but another guest was already staying there, so I ended up needing to book a hotel instead.

Objectively? Not the end of the world.

Emotionally? My brain immediately translated it into every fear and insecurity I already carry around: not being important enough, being an afterthought, being “too much,” people not really understanding how badly I’ve been struggling recently.

The frustrating part is that I’m painfully aware of what’s happening in my own head while it’s happening. I can practically watch the thought processes in real time. I know my trauma responses are amplifying things. I know people can care about you and still make mistakes or handle things clumsily. I know not every disappointment is abandonment.

But knowing all that logically doesn’t instantly stop the emotional reaction.

What actually surprised me, though, was this: instead of doing what I usually do — shutting down, disappearing, minimising my feelings and quietly spiralling alone — I actually told my friends what was going on in my head.

That was hard.

Really fucking hard.

I explained that I was emotionally very raw at the moment, and that staying close to people I feel safe with would help me manage the weekend. I admitted that I needed more support and reassurance than I normally would.

And do you know what happened?

They listened.

Not perfectly. Not dramatically. Not with some huge cinematic emotional speech. But they listened in their own way, reassured me, and made it clear they still wanted me there and wanted me spending time with them.

I think what yesterday really exposed is just how deeply wired some of my messed up patterns still are:

That’s not easy to untangle after a lifetime of learning those lessons the hard way.

But today, after sleeping on it, I actually feel… ok. Not magically fixed. Not suddenly mentally healthy. But calmer. More grounded. Less trapped inside the emotional intensity of yesterday evening. And honestly? I think part of that is because I did something different for once.

I didn’t completely disappear.

I didn’t swallow everything whole and pretend I was fine.

I let people see a little bit of the real situation instead of forcing myself to remain “Auntie Matt,” the endlessly supportive one with all the wise words and emotional stability.

Turns out that’s terrifying.

Terrifying

But maybe also necessary.