Photo by ES
The Masks We Wear
Yet, in our increasingly fragmented society, even our masks are cracking under the strain. We are bombarded by forces that tell us who we should be, how we should look, and what we should value. Social media—a simulacrum of connection—rewards conformity and punishes authenticity. Jia Tolentino writes in Trick Mirror about the dissonance of living in an age where “selfhood” is not just performed but commodified. We curate identities for the gaze of others, only to feel hollow inside.
This disconnection from self manifests in our inability to connect with others. Text messages strip away tone, gestures, and the subtle dance of human expression. Research confirms what we intuitively know: communication loses its nuance without the full presence of another. A 2018 study in Computers in Human Behavior notes that reliance on text-based communication leads to misunderstandings, eroding empathy. To truly see someone, we must be in the room with them—to watch their eyes soften when they speak of love, to hear the tremble in their voice when they name their fears.
The Fragility of Identity
Jung’s shadow whispers in these moments, asking us to confront the parts of ourselves that feel unworthy, broken, or incomplete. These whispers often feel like pain, but pain is an invitation to know ourselves more deeply. John O'Donohue, in Beauty: The Invisible Embrace, reminds us that “beauty isn’t all brightness; it can be heartbreaking because it heightens our awareness of loss.” To find beauty in the mundane—a tangerine sunset over Los Angeles, the laughter of a stranger in a coffee shop—is to brush against the divine. It is to be present, however fleetingly, in a world that urges us to numb.
On Falling and Rising
And yet, this rising is not linear. It is messy, nonlinear, and deeply human. As a therapist, I hold space for others in their descent, but as a human, I too feel the weight of hopelessness. In those moments, I remind myself of what Jung called the Self—the integrated wholeness of who we are, masks and shadows alike. Each fall is a return to the Self, a journey home.
The Banality of Joy
Someone recently asked me my favorite color. I said tangerine, not because of its vibrancy but because it reminds me of those sunsets, the ones that hold the paradox of endings and beginnings. In that moment, I felt both grief for the losses I’ve endured and gratitude for the life I’ve been given. This is the paradox of being alive: to feel everything at once, to be hopeless yet hopeful, lost yet found.
Becoming Our Own Home
The world is changing, as it always has. Polarized, fragmented, and overwhelmed by virtual echoes, we are tasked with grounding ourselves in what is real. Realness is messy, uncurated, and profoundly human. It is in the quiet spaces of face-to-face conversations, in the courage to confront our shadows, and in the small joys of ordinary life that we begin to heal.
In the end, we are all searching for home. But perhaps the search itself is the destination. And when I fall—because I will fall—I will rise, not as someone new, but as someone whole. I will rise, knowing that I am my own home.
Esther Son
Psychotherapist
November 18th, 2024