Boo! Did I scare you, Reader?
Halloween is just a few days away, which means we are entering that wonderful time of year when people willingly spend money to dress up as something they are not. Some people spend months planning elaborate costumes, complete with makeup, accessories, and enough detail to make a Hollywood production jealous. Others grab a pair of sunglasses, throw on a hat, and announce that they are a character from a movie nobody remembers. I tend to appreciate the second group. There is something admirable about committing absolutely no effort to something and still expecting everyone to play along.
What I have always found interesting about Halloween is how much freedom a costume gives people. Someone who is normally quiet suddenly becomes the loudest person in the room. A person who would never dream of dancing in public has no problem doing it while dressed as a giant inflatable dinosaur. For a few hours, the usual rules seem to disappear. People laugh a little louder, act a little stranger, and worry a little less about what everyone else thinks.
Of course, the best part of Halloween might be getting home and taking the costume off. The mask comes off, the uncomfortable shoes get kicked into a corner, and the elaborate outfit that seemed like such a great idea three hours earlier becomes tomorrow's laundry problem. You get to return to being yourself, probably while eating candy you were supposed to be handing out.
But somewhere in that thought, I started wondering about the people who don't get to take their costumes off.
...and it got me thinking.
We spend a remarkable amount of our lives adjusting who we are based on the people around us. We change how we speak, how much enthusiasm we show, what emotions we allow others to see, and sometimes even how we respond to situations that make us uncomfortable. Most of us do this without giving it much thought. We have a version of ourselves for work, another for family, another for friends, and perhaps one more for the people we barely know but still feel the need to impress.
To some degree, that is simply part of being human. We understand that different situations call for different behaviors. I probably shouldn't talk to my college students the same way I talk to my closest friends, and I certainly shouldn't use some of my volleyball coaching vocabulary while standing in line at the grocery store. There is a difference between understanding the environment and adjusting appropriately, and feeling as though the person you naturally are is somehow unacceptable.
That second part is where things become interesting to me.
In my work with athletes, I have started paying more attention to the amount of energy some people spend simply trying to appear comfortable. We often look at someone and make assumptions based on what we see. The athlete who makes eye contact must be listening. The one who sits quietly must be focused. The player who doesn't react emotionally must have excellent composure. Meanwhile, the athlete who looks away, fidgets, asks repeated questions, or responds differently than expected might be labeled distracted, difficult, or even disrespectful.
But what if the behavior we are evaluating has very little to do with what is actually happening inside that person's mind?
This is especially important when we consider neurodivergent athletes, including those with ADHD or autism. Some learn early in life that their natural responses do not always match what other people expect. They may discover that looking someone in the eye is considered respectful, even when doing so makes it harder to concentrate on what is being said. They may learn to suppress movements that help them regulate attention, hide confusion rather than ask another question, or imitate the social behaviors of teammates to avoid standing out.
This is often described as masking. It is the process of hiding or changing parts of ourselves to fit the expectations of the environment. For some people, it is a conscious decision. For others, it becomes so automatic that they may not even recognize how much effort they are putting into it.
And that effort comes with a cost.
Imagine going through an entire practice while constantly monitoring not only what you are doing, but how everyone else might interpret what you are doing. You are trying to learn a new skill, remember instructions, anticipate the next play, and respond to feedback. At the same time, you are reminding yourself to make eye contact, keep your hands still, control your facial expressions, and make sure nobody thinks you are upset or uninterested.
Now imagine doing that every day.
I wonder how many athletes finish practice mentally exhausted, not because of the demands of the sport itself, but because of the energy required to appear like the athlete everyone expects them to be.
What makes this especially challenging is that the masking can actually be rewarded. We praise athletes for being quiet, compliant, and easy to coach. We celebrate the player who never questions instructions or shows frustration. Sometimes those behaviors reflect genuine understanding and emotional stability. Other times, they might simply reflect someone who has become exceptionally good at hiding what they are experiencing.
That distinction matters.
I have been thinking quite a bit about the environments we create in sports and how often we confuse conformity with commitment. We say we want athletes to be themselves, but we sometimes have a very specific picture of what that version of themselves should look like. We want personality, as long as it isn't distracting. We want communication, as long as it happens in the way we prefer. We want athletes to take ownership of their development, but we can become uncomfortable when that ownership includes asking why we do something a certain way.
The message can become confusing. Be yourself, but make sure it looks like everyone else.
I don't believe most coaches intend to create that kind of environment. In fact, I think many would be surprised to learn how much energy some athletes spend trying to meet expectations that were never clearly explained. A coach might interpret silence as agreement when an athlete is actually overwhelmed. A player might be struggling to process several instructions at once but has learned that asking for clarification leads to frustration from the adults around them.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize this extends well beyond sports.
How many adults walk into work every morning and put on the version of themselves that is easiest for everyone else to deal with? How many people have learned to say they are fine because explaining that they are not fine feels like too much work? How many of us have become so accustomed to managing other people's comfort that we have stopped noticing our own discomfort?
I am not suggesting that we should abandon expectations or that every environment needs to accommodate every possible preference. Structure, accountability, and shared standards still matter. But I do think we need to become more thoughtful about which expectations actually serve a purpose and which ones exist simply because they make us comfortable.
There is a meaningful difference between asking someone to meet a standard and asking them to become someone else to meet it.
Maybe the bigger question is not whether someone is behaving the way we expect. Maybe it is whether the environment allows them to contribute, learn, and perform without spending so much energy pretending to be someone they are not.
And perhaps that is where real belonging begins. Not when everyone learns to act the same way, but when people no longer feel they have to.
As Halloween approaches, I keep coming back to the image of someone arriving home after a long night in costume. They walk through the door, pull off the mask, and finally relax. Nobody asks them to keep pretending. Nobody tells them they looked better with the costume on. They simply get to be themselves again.
I wonder what it would look like if more of our classrooms, workplaces, and athletic environments offered even a little bit of that same relief.
There is one final Halloween tradition that I have always found entertaining. Every year, someone answers the door wearing an elaborate costume, and a small child stands on the porch trying to figure out whether the person behind the mask is friendly or terrifying. Eventually, the person lifts the mask, smiles, and the child realizes there was nothing to be afraid of.
I think there is something worth remembering in that moment. Sometimes the most important thing we can offer another person is the opportunity to see us without the costume. And sometimes, even more importantly, we can let them know they don't need one either.
Of course, if you are actually wearing an inflatable dinosaur costume this weekend, I fully support keeping that thing on as long as possible. There are certain opportunities in life that simply shouldn't be wasted.
Until next time, thanks for riding along!
Dan
A quick word from this week's sponsor
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