UNMASKED
Expression without performance. Vulnerability without fixing.
About
I was the quiet one. The "calm" one. The pressure kettle who never caused a scene because I did what was expected. Inside, I was anything but calm.
It took until my 40’s to see it:
the one who was calm was just the one wearing the mask.
The people pleaser.
The one who'd learned expressing emotion meant causing ruptures — so I didn't.
Until relationship triggers wore me down. When that happened, poetry found me.
Words started flowing from somewhere deeper than my thinking mind. But immediately, my intellectual defenses tried to override them. I second-guessed myself. When I posted them to Instagram, the wound had nowhere to hide.
That activation became the medicine.
Sitting with what arose.
Letting go.
Surrendering.
When I stopped controlling what the poems should be and just let them come, something shifted.
The pressure released.
The mask started coming off.
That's what what this is.
UNMASKED is where I share this practice:
I post poetry and document how it arrived — what I was feeling.
How the poem moved through me.
I invite you to do the same.
Write, use the journal to track your process [the journal is free and linked below].
This isn't about becoming a poet. It's about expressing what's been locked inside and watching what happens when you make it visible.
If any of this resonates - perhaps poetry is medicine for you too.
Who is this for?
This is for:
The unworthy, the judged, the over-thinkers, the one’s who wish they had the courage to say something but didn’t know how.
The man in his 40s who just realized he's been performing his whole life
The woman who cries in the shower because it's the only place she feels safe expressing emotion
The person who writes in their journal but never shows anyone because they're terrified of being seen
The person that asks themselves - “What will they think of me?” - before doing anything
If you recognize yourself in any of these - you are in the right place.
HOW IT WORKS
What You Do (If This Calls to You)
1. Write
Let it come. Whatever wants to move through you.
Don't edit while it's arriving. Don't make it "good." Just let it land on the page. Notice if the intellectual mind is trying to soften it, edit it, make it rhyme. It’s OK if it does and it’s OK to edit after it arrives, but the practice is letting the heart speak, not the mind.
2. Post It
Make it public. Instagram, Facebook, your own blog, wherever you have an audience you wish to view it.
This is where it gets real. The vulnerability of being seen. That activation is a main part of this practice.
3. Track the Process
Use the journal I built with Claude AI (link below - it's free). After you write and post, document what actually happened. The journal guides you and it will auto-save. Export as plain text or PDF. Keep it private or share it - your choice.
4. Share Your Process (Optional)
If you want, post your poem and journal entry in the Substack comments (as plain text export from journal). Not for critique. Just to make your process visible. To practice being seen.
Or, submit it to be featured as a full post on Instagram and Substack (see below).
5. Submit to Be Featured
Want your voice amplified? Send me:
Your poem
Your complete journal entry
An image (optional)
How you want to be named (real name, pen name, anonymous)
Email: artissurrender@proton.me
Subject: Community Voice
I'll post it. No selection process. No curation. If you did the practice and want to be heard, you get heard.
This isn't about your poem being "good enough." It's about showing the process - the arrival, the surrender, the shadows, the vulnerability of posting.
6. Gather for Workshops
I am still contemplating these sessions. I envision them to be:
10 minutes: Drop into body, quiet the mind, tune in to what comes through
10 minutes: Write what comes without editing. It can be profound and deadly serious, it can be about chickens and ridiculously playful. It is all welcome
40 minutes: Share and witness each other's process
TBD - announcements posted on Instagram and Substack when workshops are finalized.
That's it.
Follow the practice. Use the journal. Share if it calls. Submit if you want your voice out there.
This isn't about becoming a poet. It's about expressing what's been locked inside and watching what happens when you stop performing and start being seen.
The journal auto-saves as you type. Export as plain text (for Substack comments, if it calls to you) or PDF (to keep). No account needed. File is local, no cloud storage. Track your patterns over time.