My kindness is a mask for my hope, born of desperation to keep others from suffering as I have. My hope is a mask for my grief, renewing my love for myself after years of unfeeling apathy and shock even as it aches. My grief is a mask for my despair, haunting me even now with every moment I spend remembering the ways our world overlooks and exploits the most vulnerable. My despair is a mask for my shame, which followed me into a difficult time in my life as I struggled to understand why I could not fulfill the expectations that were decided for me. My shame is a mask for my anger, blazing with indignation at authority figures who bind their charges through countless decrees, yet do not lift a finger to protect them. My anger is a mask for my fear, the last uncomfortable line of defense in a suit of ill-fitting emotional armor insulating a terrified child from the demands of a society that would have her grow up early, exactingly, obediently, and wrong. These turbulent layers of emotion, these masks upon masks, have calcified somewhat upon old wounds quick to hurt but agonizingly slow to heal. Many of these feelings are themselves painful, even difficult to process, but all serve a purpose. I did not willingly choose them all, but I do have the power to choose the outermost layer; and every act of kindness, every smile I bring to someone’s face, every time I remind my loved ones I’m here for them, is an affirmation of the truism that my inner child, while still frightened, will nevermore be helpless.