The Other Night at Five Below
The other night, Kelli and I took our niece, Ava, and two of her friends to Five Below so they could pick out some Halloween pajamas. I was struck by the sheer number of costumes lining the aisles—masks and makeup for every possible identity a child could imagine.
Watching them laugh and try things on got me thinking about the masks we wear as people, and especially as teachers. Not the plastic kind, but the invisible ones—the smiles we put on to cover what’s really going on inside, to keep things steady and professional for our students.
I remember going through a particularly rough patch in my personal life while I was still teaching. Each morning, I’d pull into the parking lot, take a deep breath, and slip on that familiar teacher’s smile. In some ways, it was a relief to set my personal worries aside for a few hours. The rhythm of the classroom—the chatter of students, the hum of lessons—offered structure, even solace.
But there were days when that mask felt heavy. Holding it in place took energy I didn’t always have. And while I knew it was part of the job—to be steady, to show up with grace—it also carried an emotional toll that few outside the profession ever really see.
The Psychology Behind the Mask
Sociologist Arlie Hochschild once described something she called emotional labor—the quiet, often invisible work of managing our feelings to create a certain emotional climate for others. She studied flight attendants who smiled through turbulence and customer frustrations, but her insights fit teachers just as well.
Every day, teachers perform this kind of labor. We’re asked to project calm when we’re overwhelmed, patience when we’re frustrated, and enthusiasm even when we’re running on empty.
Psychologists call this surface acting—presenting an emotion that doesn’t always match what’s inside. It’s not dishonest. In fact, it’s often rooted in care. We know our mood shapes the classroom. We know students need consistency, even when our inner world feels anything but consistent. But over time, that gap between what we feel and what we show can wear us down.
Research backs this up. Studies by Christina Maslach, Alicia Grandey, and others have found that teachers who frequently engage in emotional labor—constantly managing and suppressing emotions—are more vulnerable to burnout and emotional exhaustion. It’s not the caring itself that drains us; it’s the constant effort to appear okay when we’re not.
I remember standing at the whiteboard one afternoon, trying to explain something simple—supply and demand curves, I think. The students were quiet and attentive, but my thoughts kept drifting elsewhere. Something personal was weighing heavy that day, yet I smiled and carried on, as teachers do. Later, a student lingered after class and said softly, “You seem tired today, Mr. Bradley. You okay?”
That small moment hit me. Even when we think the mask is perfectly in place, our students can see the outline of what’s underneath.
Teaching Through the Mask
From the first days of teacher training, we learn how to “perform calm.” It’s almost instinctive: the professional posture, the even tone, the reassuring smile. These behaviors protect the learning space. They help students feel safe.
But they can also distance us—from our emotions, from our colleagues, even from the authentic self that first brought us to teaching. When the mask stays on too long, it can become a kind of armor.
And yet, we’ve all had those rare days when the armor cracks just a bit—when we admit to a class that we’re having a hard day, or when we laugh at our own mistake instead of hiding it. What happens in those moments is almost always the same: connection. Students lean in. The room relaxes. Humanity returns.
I’ve come to believe that part of our growth as educators is learning when to wear the mask and when to gently set it down. The mask helps us hold the space. But authenticity—the willingness to be seen—helps that space become sacred.
(Related post – learn more about holding space in the classroom)
The Spiritual Lens: The Freedom of Presence
There’s a passage in The Courage to Teach where Parker Palmer writes, “We teach who we are.” That line has stayed with me over the years. It’s a reminder that teaching isn’t just a performance of knowledge; it’s an expression of our inner life.
There’s also a verse in 2 Corinthians 3:18 that echoes the same truth: “And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed…” I’ve always loved that image—the unveiled face. To teach with an unveiled face is to bring our full, honest presence into the room.
Authenticity doesn’t mean unloading our burdens on students or colleagues. It means showing up with a heart that’s real. When we let our presence, rather than our performance, guide us, we invite others to do the same.
(related post – how presence shapes the deeper curriculum we teach)
In that sense, authenticity becomes a spiritual practice. It’s a way of saying: I can be steady without pretending to be perfect. I can care deeply without hiding my humanity.
A Perspective Shift
Maybe the goal isn’t to get rid of the mask altogether—it’s to know when and why we wear it, and to choose.
Some days, that smile we put on is a bridge of kindness, a way to hold space for others when they can’t hold it themselves. But there are other days when the most honest act of teaching is to let the smile soften, to let the truth of our tiredness or grief be quietly seen.
What if the most powerful thing we can model for students isn’t composure, but honesty handled with grace?
When we choose presence over performance, we teach something beyond the lesson plan—we teach courage, compassion, and the freedom that comes with being real.
Reflection Prompts
- When was the last time you smiled through a hard day at school? What did that cost you?
- What emotions do you most often mask at work—and why?
- What helps you return to your authentic self after a long day?
- How might showing a bit more of your real self deepen trust with students or colleagues?
- What spiritual or reflective practice helps you stay centered beneath the mask?
References
- Hochschild, A. R. (1983). The Managed Heart: Commercialization of Human Feeling.
- Brotheridge, C. M., & Grandey, A. A. (2002). Emotional labor and burnout: Comparing two perspectives of “people work.” Journal of Vocational Behavior, 60(1), 17–39.
- Maslach, C., & Leiter, M. (2016). Burnout: A Multidimensional Perspective.
- Palmer, P. (1998). The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life.
