Unmasking: Why We Shrink to Survive

The Art of Shrinking: How We Learn to Disappear

There are rooms we enter where we instinctively lower our voices.

There are meetings where we nod silently, even when we disagree.

There are compliments we deflect, opinions we withhold, dreams we edit down to fit the space we’ve been given.

This isn’t modesty. It’s muscle memory.

We have been taught — directly or indirectly — that being too visible, too loud, too ambitious, too brilliant is dangerous. That it invites ridicule, rejection, or retaliation. And so we shrink. For safety. For acceptance. For survival.

Shrinking doesn’t always look like silence.

Sometimes it looks like people-pleasing.

Sometimes it looks like self-deprecation.

Sometimes it looks like overachieving, perfectionism, or overthinking every word before we speak.

This is not a personal flaw. It’s a social inheritance.

Black and bi-racial women across the globe have mastered the art of shapeshifting — shrinking in boardrooms, classrooms, hospitals, and homes — not because we lack power, but because we were conditioned to believe we should dim it.

But the cost of that shrinkage is steep.

When we disappear parts of ourselves just to be tolerated, we lose touch with our fullness — our ideas, our brilliance, our joy, our voice.

Today, we begin the unmasking.

We’ll explore the roots of this learned invisibility, the ways it shows up in our lives, and how we can begin to take up space again — unapologetically, intentionally, and together.

Where It Begins: The Early Conditioning of Black and Bi-Racial Girls

Shrinking starts early — long before we recognize it as shrinking.

It starts in the classroom, on the playground, at the dinner table, and in the glances we receive when we show too much brilliance, boldness, or emotion.

“You’re too much.”

Too loud. Too opinionated. Too assertive. Too sensitive.

We learn to interpret this feedback — sometimes unspoken — as a signal:

Tone it down. Make yourself smaller. Blend in.

In schools, Black girls are more likely to be disciplined for “attitude” or “defiance,” even when displaying age-appropriate emotion or disagreement (Crenshaw et al., 2015). What is labelled as confidence or leadership in others is often perceived as threat in us.

In families, especially those shaped by generational trauma or religious conservatism, expression is sometimes met with:

• “Don’t talk back.”

• “Be grateful.”

• “Keep your head down and work hard.”

Even compliments are sometimes tempered:

• “Don’t get too big-headed.”

• “Stay humble.”

• “Remember where you came from.”

These messages may come from love, but the result is often internalized shame.

We begin to question our voice, our intuition, our place in the world. And we adjust — often by contorting ourselves into what feels safer.

Cultural Codes and Colorism

For bi-racial girls and lighter-skinned Black girls, the messaging can become even more complex. You may be told you’re “not Black enough” in some rooms, while still facing racialization and exoticization in others.

You learn to read the room before you speak.

You code-switch before you know the word for it.

You absorb the silent hierarchy that says whiteness is neutral — and anything else must be explained, softened, or made more palatable.

Add to that the pressures of beauty, hair politics, and body image — and many girls quickly learn that the more invisible they become, the more “acceptable” they are.

It’s not just emotional shrinking — it’s physical, psychological, and spiritual.

But this isn’t protection. It’s erasure.

And it follows us into adulthood in ways we’re only now beginning to name.

Shrinking in Adulthood: The Polished Silence of Professional Survival

By the time we enter adulthood, shrinking has been internalized as a strategy — so seamless we barely notice we’re doing it.

In the Workplace

You’re in a meeting, and someone talks over you.

You had the idea first, but it’s rephrased by someone else — louder, more confidently, and suddenly it’s applauded.

You want to challenge a biased comment, but you fear being labeled “aggressive,” “emotional,” or “difficult.”

So you second-guess your tone.

You rehearse emails before sending.

You smile more than you feel.

You apologize — for simply existing in power.

This is shrinking in its most socially rewarded form: professional poise.

But behind it is often exhaustion, hypervigilance, and the quiet grief of not being fully seen.

In Relationships and Community Spaces

Shrinking isn’t limited to boardrooms — it seeps into personal dynamics, too.

• You don’t say what you need, because you’ve been taught your needs are too much

• You avoid expressing anger, because you fear being mischaracterized

• You water down your dreams, so you don’t “intimidate” others

• You give grace to everyone — and leave none for yourself

Even in activist or “liberated” spaces, you may feel the need to shrink in different ways — to fit into specific ideologies, aesthetics, or cultural expectations. You become hyper-aware of how much space you’re taking up, and how it might be perceived.

The Cost of this Camouflage

Shrinking isn’t free. It comes with a cost:

• Chronic stress and burnout from emotional labor

• Missed opportunities because you didn’t advocate for yourself

• Disconnection from self — forgetting what you even sound like when you’re not filtering every word

• Loneliness — because performing “okay-ness” pushes others away from your real experience

We don’t shrink because we are small.

We shrink because the world has made smallness a condition for survival.

But survival is not the same as living.

And silence is not the same as peace.

Taking Up Space: What Expansion Looks Like in Real Life

Unshrinking doesn’t happen in one radical act.

It happens in quiet decisions — layered, intentional, and often uncomfortable.

But each time we take up space — emotionally, physically, spiritually — we begin to recover the parts of ourselves that shrinking tried to silence.

1. Taking Up Space in Conversation

Speak your truth.

Not perfectly. Not polished. Just honestly.

Taking up space can be as simple as:

• Saying “Actually, I disagree.”

• Claiming credit for your work

• Naming when something felt off

• Refusing to over-explain or soften your tone to make others comfortable

This doesn’t mean becoming confrontational — it means becoming authentic.

⸻

2. Taking Up Space in Emotion

Cry. Rage. Laugh loudly. Feel deeply.

Your emotions are not a liability — they are data. And denying them for too long creates disconnect.

Taking up emotional space means:

• Giving yourself permission to rest before you’re burnt out

• Saying “I need help” instead of pushing through

• Showing up without the mask of constant strength

It means choosing self-trust over self-sacrifice.

⸻

3. Taking Up Space in Your Body

From a young age, many of us were taught to shrink physically — to cross our legs, pull in our stomachs, avoid “doing too much.”

Expansion might look like:

• Wearing bold colors when you’ve been told to fade into neutrals

• Dancing in public without apology

• Walking into a room without scanning for approval

• Taking up space at the table without minimizing your body or presence

There is power in no longer apologizing for existing fully in your skin.

⸻

4. Taking Up Space in Your Story

So many Black and bi-racial women censor their own narratives — either to avoid judgment, or to make their success palatable to others.

But your story is sacred.

Tell it loudly. Write the book. Post the truth. Name the trauma. Celebrate the win. Say:

“This happened to me. And I’m still here.”

Not in spite of it — but because of how I showed up for myself in it.

⸻

Expansion is Not Ego. It’s Homecoming.

Taking up space isn’t arrogance.

It’s alignment.

It’s remembering who you were before the world tried to cut you down.

It’s stepping back into your voice, your brilliance, your boundaries, your joy.

And it’s knowing that by expanding — you give others permission to expand too.

We rise individually, yes.

But expansion is a collective act.

Unmasking Is a Return to Wholeness

We were never meant to shrink.

We were never meant to perform smallness in order to be safe, loved, or tolerated.

The world may have taught us to disappear —

But our ancestors endured so we could expand. So we could stand taller, speak louder, love deeper, and rest without guilt.

Unmasking doesn’t mean discarding every strategy that once kept us safe.

It means choosing, each day, to be more of who we truly are — not less.

It means rejecting invisibility as the price of belonging.

It means taking up space as a sacred birthright, not a burden.

And in that space, we find truth.

We find breath.

We find each other.

---

Further Reading & References

• Crenshaw, K., Ocen, P., & Nanda, J. (2015). Black Girls Matter: Pushed Out, Overpoliced and Underprotected.

• Lorde, Audre. (1984). Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches.

• Davis, A. (1981). Women, Race, & Class.

• bell hooks. (1994). Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom.

• Bryant-Davis, T., & Ocampo, C. (2006). “Racist Incident–Based Trauma.” The Counseling Psychologist.

• Mohammed, M. (2020). “The Politics of Shrinking: Black Women, Safety, and Surveillance.” The Atlantic.

• Mental Health Foundation UK. (2022). Black and Minority Ethnic Mental Health Report.

• Black Ballad. (2021). “The Cultural Weight of Silence in Black British Women’s Lives.”