My daughter and her friends are going to be Minions for Halloween. I have been invited to join them as a banana, and I am delighted. At nine, she moves between seeming sixteen and six, wanting to make her own plans while still checking where I will be. For Halloween, for now, there is a place for parents in the group. I am happy to take it.
We make our costumes by swapping with other families and taking several trips to Michaels. Watching them come together brings back memories of my fourth-grade Halloween, when I was Garfield.
In the ’80s, it seemed every costume came from a box with a molded plastic face held on by birthday-hat elastic. The whole ensemble looked pretty flammable, and I am still slightly traumatized by the memory of my breath recirculating behind that mask while I tried to keep the eyeholes lined up.
Those uncomfortable masks got me thinking about the ones that feel protective. In her Psychology Today essay, “The Masks That We Wear,” Susan Sparks describes the emotional disguises we use to hide insecurity and protect ourselves from rejection. I wonder how early our children begin trying them on.
A girl who is outspoken at home might agree with everything certain friends say. Another might pretend a hurtful joke didn’t bother her. Hiding a little can feel safer than risking rejection, especially when a friendship matters.
Of course, adjusting to different situations is part of growing up. A girl can bring her competitive side to softball and her gentleness to a teammate’s mistake. She is learning when to soften some qualities and amplify others. All are part of who she is.
The harder distinction is when adjusting becomes disguising. Enjoying a friend’s interests leaves room for her own; pretending she dislikes something to avoid being teased can mean hiding what matters to her. Can she tell her friends what she really thinks without worrying they’ll leave her out?
We can begin by asking when she feels most like herself. Can she be silly, suggest a different game, or say a joke bothered her? We can share times we agreed with someone to fit in, even though we felt differently.
If she admits she does that too, I can understand why belonging matters. We can explore whether the “mask” gives her time to decide what she wants to share or keeps her from saying something she wishes she could. I want her to know she can keep some things private without feeling she has to hide who she is to be accepted. Together, we can find the words she could imagine actually using.
At nine, everyday moments with friends give us somewhere to practice. Learning to express a preference or disagree kindly now gives her skills to draw on when relationships and conversations become more complicated.
And when she needs somewhere to take the mask off and work out what she thinks, I hope she knows she can come to me.
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