Reflections can be painful. They can also be genuinely liberating, which is the only reason I am willing to share this one.
During late 2011 into early 2012, I was completing an external clinical rotation at an inpatient rehabilitation hospital as part of my Master of Communication Sciences and Disorders program. The hospital had a stroke and TBI unit, which made it an excellent placement. I was learning a great deal.
I was also in a crumbling marriage.
And the head of the rehab unit where I was completing my rotation was my husband at the time.
The Performance
Eight hours a day, five days a week, for three months, I showed up to that unit and performed happily married. His staff of physical therapists, occupational therapists, nurses, and other clinicians all thought he was wonderful. I heard variations of the same sentiment regularly: "Dr. Kean is so nice. You are so lucky." And I would smile and say something warm and appropriate, like, "He is a wonderful dad," all while internally wishing I could say everything I actually felt.
I did not once cry at that job site. I did not once have a one-on-one personal conversation with him while we were there. I sat in weekly team meetings and kept my face neutral while he led them. I filled out my documentation. I asked good clinical questions. I learned how to conduct modified barium swallow studies and write proper reports. I performed.
And at the end of every shift, I went to my car and exhaled.
The Part That Matters Most
I am not telling you this story to recommend living a lie. Lies create distance and kill authenticity. Truth and honesty build bridges. I know this.
What I am saying is that in that specific situation, my professional performance was genuine, even when my personal life was not something I could share in that space. I did not let the pain of what was happening at home become an excuse to do my clinical work poorly. That was the only version of integrity available to me at the time, and I held onto it.
The marriage eventually ended, so truth was spoken there too.
The Question Worth Sitting With
What would it feel like to stop performing and just tell the truth about how you are doing?
I want to add an important qualifier to that: not everyone is worthy of your truth. Guard your circle of trust carefully. There are professional environments and personal relationships where vulnerability is not safe, and knowing the difference is real wisdom.
But here is what I want to say more than anything else: you must always be honest with yourself. Whatever mask you are wearing for the outside world, make sure you are taking it off somewhere. Whether that is in a journal, with a therapist, in a conversation with a trusted friend, or on a quiet drive home. You deserve a place where you do not have to perform.
Pretending to be okay is exhausting work. It has a cost. And when the performance goes on long enough without any release, it tends to show up somewhere else in your body, your relationships, or your spirit.
Find your honest space. Protect it.
