No More Hiding
There was a time when I thought I had to be many versions of myself at once. The careful, polished version for the world. The obedient version for God. The dreamy, faraway version who longed for places I had never seen. And somewhere underneath all of it, the part of me that just wanted to breathe. The real me, before the world demanded explanations and performances.
For years, I split myself into pieces, thinking that keeping each part carefully hidden — tucked away, sometimes only slightly visible — was how I would survive. How I would be safe. How I would be acceptable. But the truth is, no matter how beautifully I edited myself, no matter how much I rehearsed the right words or built the right image, I wasn’t living. I was merely performing existence.
It’s exhausting to live that way. Every day feels like a balancing act on a wire that might snap at any moment. Every choice is filtered through fear, obligation, or the quiet question: Will this make people like me? Will this make God like me? Will this make me enough? And you know what? It never does. Not really.
The turning point, for me, came quietly, in small, unremarkable ways — a sudden laugh that escaped without warning, a deep sigh in the middle of a sleepless night, a flash of feeling that I couldn’t quite pin down. It was subtle, but persistent. A whisper I had ignored for years that was finally starting to get louder: You are not meant to hide anymore.
At first, I resisted. Fear is cunning. It’s easy to mistake hiding for safety. It’s easy to tell yourself that if you stay behind the masks, no one can hurt you. But here’s the truth I had to learn: hiding doesn’t protect you. It only keeps you small. It only keeps you lonely. And it only prolongs the pain you’ve already endured.
For a long time, I thought I could merge all my personas into one coherent self. The English dreamer, imagining rolling hills and quiet streets I had never walked. The dutiful, fearful version who measured her every word to ensure it pleased God. The mundane, unseen self, the one who woke up, worked, and slept in an endless loop of predictability. I tried to live in all of them at once, to honor all of them equally, because I thought giving them attention would somehow make me complete.
But the real me — the part that hums quietly under the surface — was waiting. The part that remembered joy without apology. The part that laughed even when the world didn’t. The part that dared to claim space, even when it seemed impossible. And slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, I began to listen.
It started with small acts of alignment. Allowing myself to enjoy what truly resonates with me, even if it made no sense to anyone else. Giving myself permission to pursue interests that felt like home to my soul, regardless of whether they fit neatly into the versions of me I thought I had to maintain. Speaking the truth of my thoughts, even if they trembled with uncertainty. Sitting in silence and simply noticing how it felt to exist without pretending.
And in those moments, I felt alive. Not the safe, cautious life I had built for myself, but a life pulsing with energy, curiosity, and raw possibility. I realized then that hiding had been a habit, one I had practiced for decades, but it was not destiny. I could step out from behind the masks. I could let the world see me without editing every detail. I could finally claim the space that is mine.
Of course, stepping into authenticity is terrifying. There’s fear in letting yourself be fully seen — even when the only people who will read you are strangers scattered across screens. Fear whispers that you are too much, that you are not enough, that you are breaking some unspoken rule by existing on your own terms. But here’s the thing about fear: it is a signal, not a command. It tells you where your power lies, if you are brave enough to listen differently.
I have learned that authenticity does not require exposure. You can be profoundly real without sharing everything. You can reveal your heart and your lessons without revealing private corners of your life. You can speak your truth in ways that resonate, heal, and inspire without surrendering safety. That balance — raw yet safe — is what allows transformation to flourish.
Opening up, even just a little, is like breathing fresh air after being underwater too long. You gasp at first. It feels shocking. It feels vulnerable. But gradually, it becomes a rhythm, a necessary part of life. And you realize that hiding was never about protection — it was about fear. And fear, when named and faced, loses much of its power.
For me, no more hiding means embracing the parts of myself I used to tuck away. My passions, my curiosities, my joys. The interests that light me up, even if they make no sense to anyone else. The grief I carry and the lessons it has given me. The rage, the disappointment, the moments I failed and yet kept standing. All of it belongs to me, and all of it deserves space in my life.
No more hiding also means choosing myself without apology. Choosing the path that resonates with my soul, even when it feels radical, even when it makes others uncomfortable. Choosing to live as the woman I am becoming, not the version the world has shaped me into. And choosing to rise, again and again, when life threatens to keep me small.
The journey is ongoing. Every day offers opportunities to step further into authenticity, to notice where hiding still lurks, and to claim more of my voice. It is not linear, and it is not always graceful. But it is real, and it is mine.
If you are reading this and feel a part of yourself that has been hiding, I want you to know something essential: it is safe to step forward. You do not have to reveal everything. You do not have to explain yourself to anyone. You only need to give yourself permission to exist fully, to honor your inner truth, and to rise in your own way.
No more hiding is not a destination. It is a practice. It is a choice. And it is a reclamation. Every small act of honesty, every moment of courage, every whisper of your true self breaking through the shadows — these are the sparks that ignite your transformation.
I am choosing them. I am choosing myself. And I will keep choosing, no matter how many layers I have shed, no matter how much fear whispers in my ear, no matter how many times life threatens to dim my flame.
I am here. I am real. I am unapologetically becoming who I am meant to be.
No more hiding.
Until next time,
Eimi Mishel
