Confessions of a Shadow-Dweller

If you’ve ever seen me “out in the wild” — posting to The Writer in the Wild, putting in an appearance on social media, or even just chatting casually — you’ve probably met a version of me that looks pretty put together. Not necessarily glossy-influencer put together (I don’t own a matching set of pastel loungewear, and I definitely don’t drink green juice from a mason jar every morning), but composed enough that you’d think, "Okay, she’s doing alright."

That version of me is definitely real on some level, but she’s also wearing a very well-maintained mask. That mask that keeps things tidy for me, palatable for others, and, most importantly, light enough that no one has to wonder whether they should be worried about me. Because let me tell you, the unmasked version of me hangs out in some pretty dark corners.

Why I Hide in the Shadows

Despite how attracted people are to darkness in general, most people don’t really want to run into it in the flesh. Real melancholy, shadow work, spiritual excavation, and honest grief never fail to make people fidget in their chairs.

At best, it unsettles them. At worst, it makes them back away slowly, as if I just told them I like to collect shrunken human heads. And I've apparently always been this way, as I have very early childhood memories of entire rooms full of horrified adults going silent because of some random observation I made.

Because I know this, I tend to dim that side of myself when I’m in “public mode.” I sand down the edges, add a few emojis, and season it with enough humor that no one calls a wellness hotline on my behalf. And, really, even the brightest among us does this to some extent. We curate. We tuck away the heavy, confusing, or complicated parts of who we are so we can slide through life a little more smoothly.

I get why it's necessary, but every time I do this, I feel a tiny pang of betrayal toward myself.

The Pull of Darkness

For me, darkness isn’t something to run from. It’s actually where I live best and feel most comfortable.

I don’t mean “darkness” in a cartoon-villain, doom-metal kind of way. I mean the quiet, shadowed spaces of thought and feeling where the real stuff happens. I'm talking about the hours when melancholy settles in like an old cat on your lap, and the creative ideas that only arrive when the lights are low and no one’s expecting you to smile.

None of that is scary to me. It’s fertile, rich soil, and when I’m in it, I feel a lot more like myself. But try explaining that at a dinner party without someone nudging the conversation toward lighter ground.

And maybe that’s fine. Not everyone has to get it, but if you’re a person who thrives in shadowy spaces, then you also know what I mean when I say it’s exhausting to keep pretending that sunlight is your native habitat.

The Cost of the Mask

Masks are handy. They protect you, and they definitely help smooth over awkward conversations. But wear them too long, and they start itching like a mofo.

For me, the cost of regular masking has been twofold. First, I’ve robbed myself of genuine connection in so many cases, because how can anyone really connect with me if I’m only offering a curated slice of who I really am?

And second, I’ve diluted my own precious voice more than I'd have liked over the years. The masked version of me may write and speak in a way that’s accessible and pleasant to others. But the unmasked version writes with bite, weight, and the kind of honesty that makes you uncomfortable for half a second but then lingers with you for days.

Guess which version of me I'd rather be.

If you’re a creative person — writer, artist, thinker, whatever — you know how deadly this sort of self-dilution can be. It’s like watering down your strongest drink until it tastes like tap water. Sure, it’s easier to swallow, but where’s the thrill, and why even drink it at all at that point?

What Darkness Teaches (for Anyone Brave Enough)

Even if you’re not a natural shadow-dweller like me, don't kid yourself. You do have shadows, as we all do. And the parts of you that make you squirm are often the very places where growth, creativity, and healing live.

Friction makes fire

Consider, if you will, how fire actually starts — by rubbing sticks together, scraping a match across a textured surface, or striking flint against steel. Occasionally, the process of firestarting is awkward and messy. And depending on your method of choice, it might well take longer than you’d like.

That’s Nauthiz energy at work, the rune of necessity. It’s not pleasant, but it’s productive (hopefully). Instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?” I've learned to try asking, “What is this teaching me?” instead. In some cases, it turned out I was building resilience or a skill I'd lean on later.

Darkness isn't emptiness

When people think of “the dark,” they imagine a void. But I tend to see it as a void of possibility as opposed to nothingness. Owls (like the great horned owl that's been visiting us at dinnertime lately) thrive in it because they see differently. They don’t need to rely on light to guide them, because they’ve trained their eyes and ears for what others miss.

The same applies to human beings. Sit in the dark long enough, and you’ll start to notice textures, shapes, truths that daylight has a way of glossing over. So, instead of always asking, “When will the lights come back on?” it's worth shifting to, “What can I see here that I can’t see anywhere else?” It quite literally turns darkness from punishment into a gift.

Your shadow side has a voice

Most of us are taught from the time we're children to simply ignore it. “Cheer up,” “move on,” “don’t dwell.” But your anger, grief, fear, and longing are signals and very important ones at that.

They’re like a smoke detector that keeps going off in the middle of the night. Yes, it's irritating, but it's also trying to keep you from sleeping through your own death. A suppressed shadow doesn’t vanish. All it does is create pressure that compounds until it explodes. Learning to listen instead lets you manage difficult emotions in much safer, healthier ways.

The Compromise I Refuse

As far as where I'm currently at? I'm honestly pretty tired of splitting myself between the version I know people can handle and the version that actually feels true to who I am. I'm getting old and no longer have the energy (or the inclination) to feed both.

Granted, I’m hardly saying I’m going to unleash my unfiltered, midnight musings in business meetings or start monologuing about Lucifer in the produce aisle or anything (although, frankly, part of me wants to see what would happen).

But in the spaces that matter — my writing, my creative projects, my relationships — I'm about showing up whole these days. Darkness included, melancholy included. And the hard-earned wisdom that comes from finally allowing myself to sit in peace with my shadow? Definitely included, because honestly, that’s where whatever magic I could be said to possess has always come from.

Advice for Fellow Mask Wearers

So, if you’ve been nodding along because you, too, are growing tired of wearing your own mask? Here’s what I’d personally like to offer you as a takeaway.

Start small

You don’t have to rip off the mask in one cinematic gesture, especially one you've been wearing long enough to be super used to it. (This isn’t a Scooby-Doo villain reveal where the townspeople gasp in horror.)

Start with one small act of honesty or personal integrity. Share a raw thought you’d normally edit to death. Admit to a friend that you’re tired, scared, or angry. Post a piece of writing that feels a little riskier than what you'd normally put out there. Everyone has to start somewhere.

Find your people

Not everyone can handle your unfiltered self, but don't mistake that for a reflection of your worth. The wrong audience will always call your shadows “too heavy” or drop into silent horror the minute you say the "wrong" thing.

The right audience will call those same shadows “resonant.” The key is learning not to waste your energy trying to convert the wrong people. (It's honestly not possible. Trust me, I've tried.) Your people are out there, and they’ll breathe easier when they see you breathe easier.

Use humor as a lantern

Embracing personal darkness doesn’t necessarily mean wallowing in misery every day. Believe it or not, I'm actually a very fun-loving, humorous person underneath all this.

Humor is how I move through my life and a lot of the unfairness it's brought my way without stumbling. It’s how I say the heavy thing, but still invite others to sit with me while I say it. Think of it like whistling while you walk through a haunted house. The ghosts aren't going to leave, but the whole situation starts feeling less like doom and more like an adventure.

Remember the payoff

Living behind a mask takes energy and quite a lot of it. It calls for constant editing, constant performance. I personally got tired of that many years ago, and giving myself permission to step away from it was one of the best decisions I've ever made.

The moment you stop hiding, you free up that energy for something else. Maybe that thing is your writing, your relationship, or your personal joy. Yes, it's scary, but you'll also realize the mask wasn’t protecting you as much as it was quietly smothering you while you were too busy holding it up to notice.

The Lantern in the Dark

Yes, my darkness unsettles a lot of people, and I'm quite sure it will continue to. And yes, I still sometimes soften myself around the edges to make myself easier to sit with. But I’m also dead tired of apologizing for something that's been such a big part of who I am throughout my life.

So, if my darkness bothers you, that’s okay. You can look away if you want, but I'm going to remain here happily unbothered. This is the place where all my best work, strongest truths, and weird, haunting beauties begin.