The quiet work of unmasking

Unmasking rarely looks like a grand announcement. More often it's a series of very small, very brave adjustments.

When women talk to me about unmasking, they often imagine something declarative — telling everyone, changing everything, becoming unrecognisable. Understandably, that feels unsafe.

What actually happens is quieter. You keep your camera off during the call you always dreaded. You stop pretending you enjoy networking drinks. You write the email in your own rhythm instead of translating it into corporate. You let yourself stim in your own kitchen.

Each of these is small, and each of them returns a little energy to you. Over months, that returned energy compounds into something that feels remarkably like being yourself at work.

There is grief in it too, and I won't skip past that. Grief for the years spent translating, for the version of you that had to be built to keep you safe. That version wasn't wrong. She was doing her job. She's simply allowed to rest now.

Go slowly. Choose the safest room first. Unmasking is not a performance of authenticity, it's a gradual reduction in effort.