hiding in plain sight
wearing a mask is easy; taking it off, well, that's where the real courage lives.
The fog hung heavy, smothering the streets in a damp, unrelenting grip.
Sound vanished into it, like the world had forgotten how to echo. Streetlights flickered weakly, their halos trembling as if they, too, wanted to disappear.
The air pressed down, thick and suffocating.
Every breath felt like a question without an answer.
The sounds of my footsteps were swallowed whole. The silence wasn’t empty—it was watching.
I stopped. Exhaled.
My breath formed a ghost and vanished just as fast.
A chill climbed my spine, sharp and insistent, not from the cold but from the weight of something unseen. Someone unseen. It wasn’t paranoia; it was primal.
A gut feeling that tightened like a vice.
Steel-laced skin, shadows sewn shut,
I am fortress and ghost, hollow-eyed, armored.
Fear coils in silence, a serpent fed on longing,
each heartbeat a rusted rattle in the dark.
But cracks grow—jagged, hungry,
threatening to spill what I’ve kept buried deep.
If this mask splinters, falls to ruin,
will I rise from my own ashes, or sink,
devoured by the darkness I’ve become?
The cold nipped at my face as I turned a corner. My chest tightened, the air sharp in my lungs. I sank onto a weathered bench, the splinters biting into my palms.
The wood was old, fragile, and as I dragged my fingers across it, the paint crumbled under my touch. The cold crept through my jeans, settling deep in my bones.
Understand me.
The thought hit me out of nowhere, sharp and raw.
Not a command, not a plea.
Just an ache.
My breath fogged up in front of me, vanishing as fast as it came.
I stared into the nothing and let the question rise: What if someone did?
But with it came the fear—dark, curling, familiar. What if they did—and left anyway?
A memory surged forward, unbidden. Seven years old.
A moving truck’s engine hummed in the driveway. I sat on the curb, my backpack digging into my shoulders, my stuffed bear dangling from one hand.
Diesel fumes mixed with the faint scent of my father’s aftershave. Boxes leaned against each other, precarious and towering, as if one wrong move would send them all crashing.
“Why are we leaving?” My voice sounded too small, like it might break.
My dad didn’t answer right away. He was busy sealing another box, every movement slow and deliberate, like he could tape over the truth.
“It’s better this way,” he finally said, not looking at me.
His voice was tight. Not angry, just... avoiding.
I didn’t ask what he meant. Even then, I knew better.
Questions didn’t get answers. They got silence.
A car horn dragged me back to the present. Faint, distant, muffled. My grip tightened on the bench, the sharp edges of the wood biting into my fingers.
“You’ve spent your life hiding, and now you want to be seen?” The voice came out of nowhere, cutting clean through the fog.
I froze, then whipped around. No one was there. Just the empty street.
My breath came faster.
The weight in my chest pressed harder. It wasn’t outside me. It was inside.
Shadow.
“You’re scared,” it said, its tone soft but merciless. “Scared of what they’ll find if you let them look. But let’s be real—what terrifies you more? That they’ll reject you, or that they won’t?”
I bit my cheek hard, tasting blood. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. “I’m not afraid,” I muttered. The words rang hollow, even to me.
Shadow chuckled, low and curling. “Keep lying to yourself. You’ve been running forever. You think these walls keep you safe? They’re a cage, and you built it.”
Another memory hit like a wave. Fourteen years old.
The cafeteria buzzed with noise—laughter, shouts, the clatter of trays. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, sterile glow.
I stood at the edge, clutching my tray like a lifeline. My palms were slick with sweat, and I could feel the sharp edges of the plastic biting into my skin.
I scanned the tables, my heart pounding as my gaze darted from group to group.
No one looked up. No one saw me.
My chest tightened, the noise blurring into a dull roar in my ears. I backed away, the tray trembling in my hands, and slipped out the door before anyone could notice I’d been there at all.
Shadow’s voice softened, wrapping around me like smoke. “Safety isn’t living. You know that. You’ve known it for a long time.”
Another voice rose, cutting and sharp.
Ego.
My fortress. My armor.
“Don’t listen to it,” it snapped. “Walls protect you. You don’t need to be seen. You need to stay safe.”
The words hit like a command. My pulse steadied. “I’m protecting myself,” I said, clinging to that thought.
“Sure you are,” Shadow murmured. “But at what cost?”
Nineteen years old. My father sat at the kitchen table, a bottle in one hand, his eyes unfocused. The air smelled like cheap beer and something burnt.
“You’ve got to toughen up,” he said, his voice calm, steady, but too heavy. “The world doesn’t care about your feelings. Nobody does. Take care of yourself, because no one else will.”
I didn’t argue. I stared at the peeling wallpaper and let his words dig in.
The fog was thicker now, almost choking. I thought I heard my name.
Clear. Sharp. Close.
Panic surged. My breath hitched.
My legs tensed, ready to run, but I couldn’t move.
That voice—it was theirs. Someone I thought I’d left behind. Someone who’d seen a piece of me I’d tried to bury.
They stepped closer, their face pulling into focus. Recognition slammed into me like a fist.
Ego screamed, “Run. You can’t do this.”
Shadow whispered, “Stay. Let them in.”
I stood frozen, caught between fear and something else. My instincts screamed retreat, but I stayed.
They stopped in front of me, their eyes locking onto mine. Their voice wasn’t loud, but it hit hard.
“You’ve been hiding too long.”
The fog swallowed everything again, but their words stayed.
Their voice didn’t boom. It didn’t need to.
It hit like a knife—quick, clean, straight to the center.
I froze.
Every muscle locked tight, caught between the instinct to sprint and the pull to stay rooted. Fight or flight. Bolt or linger. My lungs felt squeezed, ribs wrapped in something too tight, too solid. The fog pressed closer, its weight more alive than the air around me.
Run.
Every nerve screamed it, but my legs wouldn’t move.
A part of me wanted to.
Wanted to turn back, fade into the armor I’d spent years forging. Walls, barriers, fences—call them what you want. They were safe.
But another part of me…
It wanted something else. It wanted to reach out, to take the hand waiting there, to see what happened if I didn’t disappear.
Possibility sat heavy in the air, a force in its own right.
Silence, louder than sound.
My heart pounded, hammering hard enough to make my head throb.
I was at war with myself.
“You don’t have to pick a side. Not yet,” Shadow said, its tone soft but sly, the kind that left a sting. “But let’s be real: those walls? They don’t just keep everyone out. They’re keeping you in.”
Ego slammed back, cutting and cold. “Good. That’s their job. Protection. Control. You’ve already fallen apart once. Why give anyone else the chance to do it again?”
Their words coiled tight around me, heavy, biting. My throat clenched. My chest felt hollow, like someone had scooped everything out and left the shell.
The figure in front of me hesitated.
Their hand hovered, just for a second.
Doubt flashed across their face, and then their voice broke through the fog.
“It’s okay to be afraid.”
And just like that, something shattered.
The crack wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Fragile. A soft snap in the armor I’d spent years perfecting. Tears stung at the corners of my eyes, hot, unwanted.
I didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to show it, but the pressure won. My fists loosened, nails leaving crescent marks in my palms that throbbed with every beat of my heart.
Ego faltered, its presence flickering like a dying candle.
Shadow leaned closer, voice low and sharp. “Fear isn’t your enemy. It’s the map. Follow it. Let it take you somewhere you’ve never been.”
The words echoed in my chest, deep and uncomfortable, but they stuck.
For the first time, I didn’t shove them away.
For the first time, I let myself wonder…
What if I stopped running?
And for the first time, I thought maybe—just maybe—it was time to stop.
—Ryan Puusaari
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P.P.S. "The masks might protect you, but they also trap you in the version of yourself you never wanted to be."
Embrace Your Inner Strength With Trigger Warning
Ready to confront the parts of yourself you’ve been dodging?
Trigger Warning: A Guided Shadow Work Journal & Workbook for Reparenting Your Emotional Triggers isn’t just a journal—it’s a lifeline, straight to the heart of what hurts.
Packed with practical exercises and sharp prompts, it pushes you to face emotional triggers born from old wounds and unmet needs.
It will bring to the surface the stuff your inner child tucked away.
Are you tired of running?
This is your shot to smash the old cycles and rewrite the script with something real—self-love that sticks. One reflection at a time, you’ll inch closer to freedom.
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