Unmasking in Real Time

    Planning the neurodivergency panel was one of the most meaningful experiences of my year. From the start, I hoped to create a space where people could show up as they are, without needing to explain, soften, or reshape their truth. What unfolded was more powerful than I could have anticipated. Each panelist brought something real and necessary: humor, honesty, reflection, and deep presence. There was no one right way to be in that space, and that was exactly what made it feel sacred. People spoke in their own cadence, shared in their own language, and allowed themselves to be witnessed without pretense. The room held that with care. There was warmth, trust, and a kind of collective exhale. It felt like community at its best, where everyone is allowed to be whole.
    At the same time, I found myself reflecting on how much I still mask, even in spaces like this that are intentionally built around authenticity. I noticed how often I checked my tone, adjusted my posture, and chose my words with caution. I know masking is not something I can just turn off. It is something I learned over time, shaped by context, safety, and survival. Still, I catch myself holding impossible expectations around how I should show up, especially in professional or public settings. No one asked me to perform or polish myself, but I did it anyway. The panel offered a kind of mirror. It showed me how deeply I value other people's unfiltered presence, and how much compassion I still need to offer myself. Unmasking is not about arriving at some perfect version of authenticity. It is about allowing myself to soften, to trust, and to keep practicing what it means to be real.
    What struck me most about the panel was how people showed up exactly as they were. There was no pressure to polish or perform, just an open invitation to be real. I saw vulnerability, honesty, humor, and deep reflection shared in ways that felt grounded and unforced. Presence came through not just in what was said, but in how people paused, how they breathed, how they allowed silence to hold space. Some folks spoke with a steady rhythm, others with more hesitation, but all of it felt honest. It reminded me that presence is not just about words; it lives in tone, gesture, and the space we give ourselves to speak or not speak.
    Watching others share in that way helped me see how much broader community care can be. It is not just about big declarations or formal language. Sometimes it is about letting someone speak at their own pace or not needing them to make eye contact to feel connected. Seeing people unmask, even briefly, made me reflect on what kind of spaces allow that to happen. It showed me that care lives in the container we build, not just in the content we share. That experience expanded my understanding of what inclusion really looks like and made me want to be more intentional in how I help create that kind of space for others.
    During and after the panel, I found myself reflecting on how much I still mask, even in spaces designed for authenticity. While others were sharing so openly, I noticed the small ways I was still editing myself. Sometimes I catch it in the moment, but more often, I realize afterward how I adjusted my tone or held back a reaction. Masking is not something I do on purpose out of dishonesty. It is something I learned to do over time, a response to safety, context, and how I’ve been received in the past. Even as I celebrate the honesty and presence of others, I am still figuring out how to offer that same freedom to myself.
    In ministry especially, the habit of masking can show up quietly but powerfully. There is a version of professionalism I carry in my mind, built from a lifetime of watching how others succeed and how I’ve been praised when I appear calm, articulate, and put together. I want to meet those expectations, even when no one around me is actually demanding them. This can shape the way I move through a room, the way I preach, even the way I sit in meetings. I sometimes feel like I am walking a tightrope between authenticity and acceptability. There is a real tension between wanting to be fully present as my whole self and wanting to live up to standards I have partly imagined and partly inherited.
    This does not mean the work is inauthentic. It means I am still learning how to let more of myself be visible without fear of being misunderstood. I want to trust that my presence is enough, even when it is messy, tired, or less polished than I had planned. It helps to be in spaces where others model that kind of trust. The panel reminded me that it is possible. It reminded me that leadership does not have to come at the cost of softness or self-connection. I am trying to carry that reminder with me, even in the quiet parts of my work.
    There is no quick fix for this, and I am not trying to rush the process. I know that safety and context matter. I also know that my instinct to mask has protected me in many ways, and I do not want to shame that part of myself. At the same time, I am learning that the more I soften, the more I can create space for others to soften too. That kind of mutual trust feels like a form of ministry in itself. It does not always look dramatic. Sometimes it is just the choice to stay in my body a little more, or to leave space for silence without rushing to fill it. These small choices are starting to add up.
The panel was a turning point, or maybe more accurately, a checkpoint. It did not change everything, but it made me pause and pay attention. I felt held in that space, and I also felt challenged to hold myself with more compassion. I am learning to listen for the moments when I can offer just a little more of myself without fear. That is not always easy, but it feels honest. And for me, that kind of honesty is sacred.
    Unmasking, for me, is not a single decision or dramatic reveal. It is a slow and sacred process that unfolds in small moments of trust. The panel reminded me that presence does not have to be perfect to be powerful. Being part of that space helped shift something inside me, something quiet but important. It reminded me that I am not alone in this work, and that authenticity does not require me to rush or push past my own edges. Context matters. Safety matters. And honoring my own pace is not a sign of failure, but a way of practicing care.
    I carry deep gratitude for everyone who showed up to that conversation and for the ways they helped open a wider path forward. Their presence gave me permission to explore my own with more gentleness. As I move through the weeks ahead, I am holding onto that reminder. I want to keep exploring what it means to show up more fully, not just for others, but for myself. I want to keep creating spaces where people can breathe, speak, pause, and just be. That is the kind of ministry I believe in. And that is the kind of care I am still learning to offer, one moment at a time.