Revealing the Hidden Self: On Shame, Identity, and the Power of Story

Acclaimed journalist and author Melissa Petro, who is also a former sex worker and survivor of sexual exploitation and media humiliation, investigates the modern epidemic of shame in our society — and helps others through the transformative truth-telling process of embracing their concealable stigmatized identities: “Authenticity, in all its messy, imperfect glory, is what allows us to fully step into our lives.”

‍

What do people see when they look at you?

They see what’s on the surface — your gender, age, the color of your skin, how you dress, speak, and carry yourself. From there, they form assumptions about who you are: what kind of life you’ve led, how educated you are, what you believe, how much you earn. These assumptions may be flawed or incomplete, but they arise quickly and unconsciously. Our brains are wired to categorize what we see and to draw conclusions based on surface cues. It’s an adaptive instinct — one that helps us make sense of the world — but it can also obscure the complexity of who people truly are.

Beneath what’s immediately visible, many of us carry aspects of our identity that remain hidden, whether by choice, necessity, or fear. These are the stories not easily read on the body, the truths we don’t always share. 

In sociological terms, these are referred to as concealable stigmatized identities (CSIs), aspects of ourselves that carry social stigma but can be hidden or selectively revealed depending on the context or our personal choice.

Concealable stigmatized identities include histories of addiction, mental illness, sexual trauma, abortion, incarceration, financial instability, living with HIV, being in recovery, neurodivergence, undocumented status, queer identity, or having done sex work. Some parts of who we are may surface in certain contexts, or be known to a select few — but they’re not readily legible to the outside world. 

Often, we choose to keep a concealable stigmatized identity to ourselves, or we do our best to. We might carefully manage how, when, and to whom we reveal them, if we reveal them at all. That act of containment can offer a sense of control, even safety. But it also carries a cost.

I know this experience intimately. As a writer and educator, I’m afforded a certain social permissibility, a respectability that allows me to exist comfortably in public spaces. But I’m also a former sex worker, a part of my history that doesn’t fit the conventional narrative of what a "respectable" woman should be. For a long time, that part of my life was something I kept hidden. Fearing judgment, rejection, and the professional consequences of disclosure, I worked hard to compartmentalize my past. 

Secrets have a way of surfacing. Even when you think you’ve buried them deep enough, hidden them behind success or silence, they seep through — into your relationships, your choices, your sense of self. Even if no one else sees it, you feel the weight of what’s unspoken. I started writing about my past because silence was no longer sustainable. The effort it took to hide such a central part of my story was exhausting, and the shame I carried had begun to shape how I saw myself. Writing gave me a way to make meaning of my experiences — to integrate what I had once compartmentalized. It was a way to reclaim my voice, and, ultimately, my power.

When a concealable stigmatized identity becomes known, you risk losing the relationships, opportunities, and social standing that depend on being perceived a certain way. The cost of disclosure can be profound, especially in a culture quick to judge and slow to forgive. When my sex work past became known, I was publicly humiliated in the media and ultimately forced to resign from my career as a public school teacher.

And yet, what I gained through the process of telling the truth has proven far more valuable than what was taken. By claiming my story — on my own terms — I reclaimed my integrity, my agency, and a deeper sense of personal freedom. I stopped living in fear of being found out. I began the difficult but transformative work of letting myself be seen.

Is there something you’re hiding? Something that longs to be seen, heard, or known? Are there parts of yourself that live in the shadows — quietly shaping how you move through the world, relate to others, and understand who you are? When we keep these aspects of our identity hidden, we may feel protected, but we also distance ourselves from authenticity. True liberation begins when we stop running from our truth and instead choose to embrace it, creating space for connection, self-acceptance, and healing. Authenticity, in all its messy, imperfect glory, is what allows us to fully step into our lives.

Melissa Petro is a freelance writer and the author of Shame on You: How to Be a Woman in the Age of Mortification. As a workshop facilitator, she has helped hundreds of people push through fear to write, share, and even publish their most vulnerable stories while guiding others to re-envision their lives by making meaning of their past and transcending traumatic experiences.