I love watching elite sports people give it their all, whether on the track, court or slopes. I’m fascinated by their pre‑ and post‑event language, tone and behaviour and how these can shift so dramatically.
With athletics in particular, I’m struck by how many sprinters approach the starting blocks with their “game face” on. For some, it’s a hard stare and a deliberate taking up of space. For others, it’s an exaggeratedly relaxed swagger and a smile. Some change their hairstyles or makeup into something bolder, more striking, more defiant than their usual look - almost like war paint.
A game face is deliberate, strategic and performative. It sends a message to competitors, to the cameras, and to the athlete’s own nervous system: I am here. I am ready. I am unstoppable. I often wonder what is beneath the game face; I imagine adrenaline, focus, determination - and perhaps also fear and doubt.
Game face protects athletes from showing vulnerability in a context where vulnerability won’t help them with their immediate goal. It’s a shield. Athletes don’t drop the mask until the event is done and they’re psychologically safe. When they do, emotional intimacy often emerges - collapsing into the arms of a coach or family member, telling interviewers about the sacrifices made and the relief felt, displaying camaraderie and generosity with the very competitors they were stonily eyeing earlier. They appear more animated, but also softer, especially facially.
I want to be clear that vulnerability isn’t always helpful. It’s powerful in the right context and unhelpful, and even unsafe, in the wrong one. Athletes choose not to show vulnerability when they’re trying to win, and to show it when they’re trying to connect relationally.
This got me thinking about masking more broadly - something we all do, whether for politeness, social smoothing or ‘professionalism’. We adopt ways of being that help us survive (or thrive) in different contexts. In my former corporate career, there was a “manager” version of me that was different from the “friends” version or the “hanging out with my dog” version. All were genuinely me, but I chose to show only certain aspects of myself in certain contexts – the aspects that I believed (rightly or wrongly) would most likely gain me belonging, acceptance or promotion.
Families and social circles also shape which masks are acceptable. In some families, “be strong” is essential, and vulnerability is criticised as weakness. In others, the opposite is true; we might hear that it is “unfeminine” to be too tough, or “arrogant” to show our intelligence openly.
Masking has a very specific meaning in neurodivergent communities: it’s the labour of hiding what is divergent and showing what is expected in order to fit communication and social norms. It differs from the universal masking described above because some neurodivergent people feel they must do it continuously, in all contexts, with all people. That’s exhausting, and explains neurodivergent burn out.
The bottom line, as I see it, is that people — neurodivergent or neurotypical — mask when they don’t feel fully safe. Assessing safety is a crucial step for anyone considering unmasking. Doing so “for the sake of it” is rarely wise; doing so where there is genuine psychological safety can be liberating.
So what is psychological safety, and how do we recognise it? More importantly, how do we avoid finding out too late that it was not safe to show whatever was beneath a particular mask we were wanting to put down?
For me, psychological safety is the sense that you can show different aspects of yourself without being judged, mocked, ignored or sidelined, and without it being stored up to be used against you at a later point. It’s that recognition that you don’t need to perform or hide but can be authentic - and still be accepted.
When assessing the presence or absence of psychological safety, it may help to focus a person’s or company’s patterns of behaviours, including:
- Responses to low‑stakes disclosures: how do they deal with small reveals such as “I didn’t understand that” or “I’m a bit out of sorts today”. Is the response shaming or supportive? Disinterested or kindly curious?
- How do they handle other people’s vulnerability: do they speak respectfully about others’ mistakes, or gossip and belittle?
- Consistency: psychological safety isn’t demonstrated in a single interaction. What does the overall pattern of this person’s or company’s behaviour tell you?
- Physiological cues: does your body feel jittery and on edge, or calmer and more settled around them?
- Whether difference is allowed: is conformity required to be accepted or can they tolerate or welcome different opinions and perspectives?
- The ability to repair: can this person or organisation acknowledge when they’ve got things wrong, make amends, and actually learn from it?
So where does this leave us and the masks we all wear? Some masks are essential. They help us navigate a world where not everyone has our best interests at heart and they also help us function in contexts where vulnerability would simply get in the way. Athletes aren’t unsafe at the start of a race, but unmasking there wouldn’t serve them. The same is true for many of us: sometimes we need focus, professionalism or containment more than openness; on a very practical note, most of us need to pay our bills and may accept that a requirement for being able to do so in certain organisations is to mask.
Unmasking is not inherently desirable, it’s only meaningful when the environment is genuinely safe and when the moment allows for connection. What matters is noticing where those conditions exist. Pay attention to the places and the people with whom you’re your nervous system relaxes, where you feel seen rather than sized up, and where difference is allowed and welcomed. Those are the contexts in which you can experiment with letting a mask slip a little, or completely - not because you “should” but because the conditions make authenticity possible. When that happens, connection tends to deepen, and we may feel we are giving more of ourselves the space to breathe.
If you’re exploring your own masking patterns, therapy can be somewhere to do that slowly and safely. This is the work I do with clients – we look together at where it’s safe to unmask and where keeping the mask on is what allows them to function.
Photo by Fer Troulik on Unsplash
