What were some of the costumes you dressed up in for Halloween as a kid?
One of my favorites was Tinkerbell. I always joke with my friends that if I don’t get enough attention, my light will go out like Tinkerbell. (Anyone else relate?)
At the time, I thought I was pretending to be someone else. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t hiding, I was exploring. Costumes let us step into the qualities we admire. For me, Tinkerbell was more than glitter and wings. She was everything I longed for: light, magic, and loyalty.
The Light, the Magic, the Loyalty
Tinkerbell glows. She’s literally the light in the darkness. As a child, I was constantly searching for light in the darkness of my own mind.
Tinkerbell’s magic depends on belief. To survive, I was always looking for something (anything) to believe in that could help me make it through another day.
Tinkerbell’s light fades without attention. I knew that feeling too well. I was silently waiting for someone to notice me, to see the pain I carried inside.
Tinkerbell is fiercely loyal. She shows up for Peter Pan no matter what. I longed for that same kind of connection, the safety of knowing someone would stand beside me through the storm.
The Masks We Wear
Most of my life, I wore a brave face. I smiled, laughed, and carried the image of the bubbly blonde cheerleader. No one knew I was falling apart. They didn’t see the nights I lay under my bed crying, or the daydreams I escaped into where my favorite TV characters became my friends. It wasn’t just on Halloween that I was pretending. I wore a mask every other day of the year.
And that’s the thing about masks: we wear them to feel safe. Masks let us fit in. They protect us from judgment. They shield us from rejection. But over time, the masks we wear so often can begin to feel like who we are. We forget that underneath the smile, the strong front, or the “I’m fine,” is someone longing to be seen as they truly are.
I’ll never forget the first time I truly took my mask off. On July 29, 2019, I published a blog about my suicide attempt and my involuntary hospitalization in the psych unit. It was the first time I shared my story publicly (or with anyone outside my immediate friends and family). And it was terrifying. Writing that post meant letting go of how people might react: their opinions, their judgments, even their silence. It meant choosing my healing over my image. For the first time, I allowed the world to see the pain behind my smile.
Although most people were supportive and even started sharing their mental health struggles with me, someone told me that I had ruined my life by talking about it. I had a choice: I could delete the post and put the mask back on, or I could decide to remove that mask forever. I’m sure you know which choice I made, because I have not stopped talking about my mental health journey since that day.
Taking off the mask is scary, but it’s also liberating. It’s the moment you allow yourself to be vulnerable, to be real, to be loved for you. Removing the mask doesn’t mean weakness. It means trust. It means courage. It means reclaiming your own face, your truth, your voice.
Returning to Playfulness
When I reflect on my childhood, I realize that Halloween taught me something important: it was never about hiding, it was about exploring. As kids, we naturally embrace playfulness and curiosity, whether through costumes, coloring, daydreaming, or imagining new worlds. These moments give us permission to experiment, to try on new ways of being, and to discover parts of ourselves we might not yet know.
For me, Tinkerbell was not just a character. I was practicing bravery, light, and believing in my own spark. As an adult, I’ve carried that same playful curiosity into my healing journey. Sometimes it’s through writing, sometimes through coloring my encouragement cards, or other small acts of creativity. Playfulness is not childish; it’s a tool for self-discovery, a way to reconnect with the curiosity, courage, and light that have always been inside me.
What if healing asked us to return to that same childlike exploration? To let ourselves play, create, imagine, or experiment in ways that reveal who we truly are? To step into joy, courage, or self-love, even in small ways, just to see what fits? To explore who we might become instead of clinging to who we’ve always been?
Tinkerbell reminded me that even the smallest spark of light can be powerful. She taught me that belief matters, and that loyalty, love, and connection are worth holding onto.
So, as we head into this Halloween season, I invite you to ask yourself:
What masks have you been wearing to feel safe?
What would it feel like to gently take one off?
And what qualities are waiting to be explored if you give yourself permission to play again?
You don’t need costumes, magic, or approval to shine. You don’t need special powers to discover who you are. The light, courage, and joy you’ve been seeking have always been inside you. You don’t need to play a role to be seen, because your true self is already enough.
