Humans—parents included—have their dark moments, even dark periods. Children, on the other hand, have an inherent right to a cheerful environment, provided their basic needs are met. Their natural propensity for joy almost demands it. As parents, the first instinct is often to pretend everything is fine, masking negative thoughts and feelings. But children are perceptive, attuned to non-verbal cues that betray what’s really going on. It doesn’t take much for them to sense that something isn’t quite right.

At seven, Johnny’s perceptiveness amazes me. When I attempt to hide my negative emotions, I feel like a fraud. He knows. He senses it. The same can’t yet be said for Despina, who’s only three. Her awareness isn’t as advanced, and she’s easily reassured with a little pretend excitement, a few hugs, and kisses.

As I approach middle life—more on that in a future entry—I’ve realized that navigating adulthood successfully is often about mastering the art of wearing and swapping masks, depending on the context and audience. When I was younger and first exploring love, I had this absolutist belief that love equalled unfiltered honesty. Now, my perspective has shifted. Honesty isn’t about saying everything that comes to mind; it’s about understanding what to share, when and with whom. It’s about being authentic while also being considerate of the needs and expectations of others. There’s more room for it with your spouse than with, say, your coworkers, but that doesn’t make one less genuine than the other. Each role carries its own expectations, and the way we communicate reflects that balance.

Sometimes, though, my psychological state feels unsettled. Two feelings prevail in these moments. At times, I crave solitude, particularly after a long day of meetings where I’m speaking nonstop or when physical exhaustion pushes me into a strange state of emergency. Other times, I’m overwhelmed by futility—driven by what I witness working in the humanitarian sector and my deep interest in global politics, in a world where fundamental human rights are under siege. In these moments, keeping the “right” mask in place becomes a struggle. Occasionally, my cracks show, and the “bad self” slips through.

So, is adulthood just about being dishonest? I don’t think so—not in the sense of lying or deceit. Instead, it’s about managing your emotions and reactions responsibly, even when things aren’t perfect. It’s about putting on a good face at work while dealing with unreasonable demands, keeping your spouse relatively happy, reassuring your kids that the world is safe, and making sure your parents don’t worry unnecessarily. These efforts aren’t dishonesty but acts of care. They reflect the understanding that who we are isn’t just what we feel in a moment—it’s shaped by what we routinely say and do, and how we uphold the commitments that define us.

The level of intimacy we share with those around us dictates how much we allow them to peek behind the mask. And that’s precisely why I feel guilty about pretending in front of Johnny. I know—or at least I hope—that it’s in his best interest. Parents are supposed to be consistent and reliable, providing stability and predictability. But what if he already knows? What if he’s aware that, during my darker times, I’m just bluffing?

I don’t have an answer. I only know that, someday, I’ll need to “show my hand.” I’ll have to expose my vulnerabilities and let him see the real me. That time hasn’t come yet—it’s still too soon. When it does, I hope it will be a moment of learning for him, a lesson in acknowledging and processing emotions. I hope he won’t dismiss me as weak. Knowing Johnny, I’m fairly certain it will be the former.

This is part of a series of entries titled Fatherhood Diaries where I record thoughts on life as a new dad. Click here for all the Fatherhood Diaries.