Not This Time
By Michelle Labine, PhD
November, 2025
For years, I’ve walked into situations like this one: high stakes, structured, full of unspoken expectations. I know the drill; prepare, rehearse, anticipate what people will need from me, and then push through, no matter the cost. It’s what I’ve always done: mask, manage, and make it look easy. But this time, something in me resisted. A small, steady voice whispered, I can’t keep doing this the same way.
I have an upcoming commitment that requires me to present myself in a particular way to perform competence, confidence, and clarity on cue. In the past, I would have spent nights leading up to it scripting every word, trying to tame the swirl of thoughts and images in my mind into something linear and “professional.” I’d rehearse, over-prepare, anticipate every possible misunderstanding. And still, no matter how hard I tried, I’d leave feeling misunderstood, off-script, or like I’d failed at something invisible but important.
When that small, steady voice spoke up, I realized this wasn’t just about me, it was also about an opportunity to model. It was a way of showing myself and the people I work with that unmasking isn’t just a concept or a conversation, it’s a practice and it’s embodied. It’s the choice to live the truth I so often teach that advocacy can begin with small, deliberate acts of honesty.
Saying no to performance was really an act of self-leadership. It was me learning, in real time, to trust that my authenticity could coexist with professionalism. That asking for support didn’t make me less capable. That maybe, by choosing differently, I might give quiet permission for others to do the same.
This time, I didn’t perform. I said what I needed instead of pretending I didn’t have needs.
I said: I’m different, and I can succeed but only if I have these things. I didn’t say the word disabled aloud, but I finally let myself name it inside. I am disabled by environments that demand performance instead of presence and by systems designed for people who don’t have to calculate the cost of simply existing within them.
I asked for accommodations. Small, reasonable adjustments that would let me participate without depleting myself. It was one request, one moment of choosing self-preservation over self-erasure. And though it might sound simple, for me it was monumental. Because asking meant breaking a lifelong pattern of masking, of pretending I could manage, and paying the price later in exhaustion and shame. This time, I chose to protect myself before the crash.
When I made the request, I wasn’t expecting miracles, just a conversation and maybe some curiosity and some willingness to listen. Instead, I was met with polite resistance. Rational explanations for why things couldn’t be adjusted and invitations to “just do it their way.”
It was disappointing in that familiar, weary way, unsurprising, and still painful. When I finally spoke my truth, I wasn’t met with understanding. And yet, even then, I didn’t abandon myself. I didn’t apologize for asking. I didn’t backpedal or make it easier for them. I stayed with the discomfort, the disappointment, the truth that I had finally chosen myself, even if no one else did.
That moment became a small fracture in the old system and a place where light can begin to come through. Maybe that’s what unmasking really is. Not one grand act of revelation, but a series of small, steady choices to stay true to yourself in moments that invite you to disappear.