Let’s talk about my face. Specifically, the one it makes when I’m not actively arranging it for the comfort of the general public.

Apparently, that face says:

“I’m mad.”
“I’m tired.”
“I’m annoyed.”
“I’m such a bitch.”

Here’s the thing: I’m not mad. I’m not tired. I’m not annoyed. (Okay, sometimes I’m annoyed, but usually at my email inbox, not you.) This is just… my face. The factory setting.

But out in the world? I’ve spent decades running micro-adjustments like background apps—tilting my head just so, adding a soft smile, widening my eyes—to make sure I look warm, safe, and relentlessly pleasant. That’s the mask.

And holding that mask is like holding a plank for eight straight hours. You don’t notice at first… until everything aches and you realize you can’t stand up straight. By the time I get home, I’m wrung out. Tension headache. Nervous system on fire. Nothing left for the people I actually want to see.

And yet, the moment I drop it—the moment my face relaxes into its default settings—someone inevitably asks, “What’s wrong?” or “Are you okay?” or “Wow… you seem upset.” Which is code for: “Your face isn’t performing for me right now, and I find that unsettling.”

So how do we live with a face that gets misread without constantly performing? How do we stop spending energy we don’t have to make strangers feel better?

I don’t have a magic fix. What I have is a work in progress: practicing self-compassion, refusing to apologize for my expression, and—when I have the bandwidth—smiling just enough to say, “Nope. This is just my face.” Sometimes with a wink. Sometimes without.

Okay, sometimes I still apologize. I don’t even know why—I’m working on it.

Because after the last few years, I’ve realized I’d rather be misunderstood than worn down to nothing.

---

If you let your face drop into its true factory setting, what does it say to the world—and how wrong do they get it?