Imagine for a moment that you are a kid. As far as you’re aware, you’re like every other kid, but as you go throughout your childhood and adolescence, people start pointing out parts of you that seem a bit…off. Maybe your interests are strange or inappropriate; maybe the way you talk and move is off-putting or annoying; maybe you’re just far too emotional – either way, the people around you make it clear that there’s something different about you. As you get older, you try to change these behaviors to fit in better, and for the most part, it works – but people can still see that something isn’t quite right.
Then you find out about autism.
As an adult, you manage to get a diagnosis, and everything starts to make sense. All those ‘weird’ behaviors you grew up with were just early indicators of your place on the spectrum. Gradually, you start to see more and more people talk about their experiences with autism and how receiving a proper diagnosis allowed them to get back in touch with a part of themselves they had to hide to be a part of a neurotypical society.
There’s just one issue, though: when you try to do it, it feels basically impossible. No matter how hard you try to be unashamed of your interests or more compassionate towards your unique needs and younger self as a whole, you just can’t bring yourself to do it.
You are unable to stop masking.
If you’re autistic or are active within autistic spaces, there’s a likely chance you’ve heard the term masking before. Masking is defined as “the conscious and unconscious suppression of natural responses and adoption of alternatives,” particularly in regard to socializing, movement, sensory responses, and general behavior (Pearson & Rose, 2021). While masking acts as the more general term, recent studies into autistic behavior suggest that it is split into three parts (Hull et al., 2019):
- Compensation – making up for social failings
- Masking – actively hiding autistic characteristics
- Assimilation – trying to fit in with others
While technically everyone performs these behaviors, for people with autism, they are imperative to surviving in a neurotypical world and those who can’t suffer for it.
When I was growing up, nobody knew I was autistic. In the 2000s and 2010s, knowledge of autism amongst the general public was limited. As a generally well-behaved child or just by merit of being a girl (Hull, Petrides, & Mandy, 2020), I slipped under any kind of time-appropriate radar for being on the spectrum. However, that doesn’t mean there weren’t signs – and it certainly doesn’t mean people didn’t notice. My high emotional sensitivity and conformity to schedules and rules got me called ‘bossy’ and a ‘drama queen’ when I was little, while my intense and unique interests and social ineptitude got me called a ‘weirdo’ in high school. Teachers and family would praise my high intelligence and creativity, but it would often come with some kind of caveat, usually in relation to the aforementioned social difficulty.
As a result, I quickly learned that I had to start changing my behavior if I wanted to be perceived differently. Over the years, I started trying to be less open about my interests and emotions whilst also being more personable and sociable. After all, if everyone else could do it, why couldn’t I? However, this didn’t always work out the way I wanted it to. It turns out that pushing down fundamental parts of yourself makes you a bit stressed and causes you to come across as wildly anxious instead of normal and cool.
By the time I was 21, I had been masking – albeit mostly unintentionally – for years, and as I entered young adulthood, it had served me well. I was able to talk to people and make friends, I was maintaining a romantic relationship, and I had gotten through my entire undergraduate degree and started a master’s degree without issue – but then I got diagnosed with autism.
While I wasn’t exactly surprised that I was autistic, actually seeing it on paper and taking the time to think about it was a very emotional experience. I had to go back and reassess every single thing I had ever done with the new perspective that I was autistic the entire time. It explained a lot, but I found myself angry and upset that no one had noticed anything. It hurt thinking that I could have had this knowledge sooner. Instead of growing up knowing that I was autistic and that I just naturally would function differently from others, I went through life thinking that there was something inherently, fundamentally wrong with me and that it was my job to change it.
After a few months of assessing these feelings on a personal level, talking a lot with my partner and friends, and going to therapy, I was able to be a little kinder to myself regarding my diagnosis, but then another unique issue raised its head. Most, if not all, of my friends are neurodivergent in some way – including my partner, all diagnosed at varying stages of life with entirely different experiences and support needs. While we all get along exceedingly well, I started noticing how I reacted to certain things they did. If a friend was too excited about their interests or more vocal about the ways they needed to accommodate themselves, I would get an almost anxious, aggravated feeling in my gut. If I was out with a friend and they suddenly couldn’t control their volume, I would immediately tell them and try to keep them quiet. I didn’t like the fact that I did this, but I was also unable to stop it, and I didn’t know why.
Then it hit me: I was still masking.
Despite getting my diagnosis, despite thinking I understood myself more, I was entirely unable to take the mask off. I couldn’t help but hold myself and my autistic peers to neurotypical standards. Even if I did give myself a rare moment to unmask, usually by rambling about my interests or partaking in self-regulating behavior, I would feel immense embarrassment afterward. I even experience it when I’m completely alone like someone’s going to jump out of my wardrobe and tell me I wasn’t being ‘normal’ enough. Even though I’m more confident and content than I’ve ever been, the years of having my autistic traits criticized and not receiving the correct accommodations still affect me to this day. I can’t really say I know the real me, the me I was, or the me I could have been if I didn’t feel the need to mask from childhood.
As I said, most of my friends are autistic, but the restrictions I’ve placed upon myself due to growing up undiagnosed make it hard to fully connect with them. At the same time, I can never truly relate to neurotypicals because – even when I mask – I can’t hide the fact that I’m on the spectrum. It puts me in an unfortunate situation, often feeling like I don’t really fit anywhere, and, judging by recent research, I’m ironically not alone. Many autistic individuals have discussed how prolonged masking has permanently damaged their sense of self, exhausted them, and made it nearly impossible to know who they truly are or what they need, which makes attempting to unmask an emotional, arduous task (Miller, Rees, & Pearson, 2023).
My inability to rip the mask off has become an unfortunate truth I’ve had to face as a late-diagnosed autistic adult. I can’t partake in the same autistic joy some of my friends indulge in, and I struggle to give myself the grace my partner gives herself – but I’m still trying. I’m definitely not the first person on the spectrum to struggle with unmasking, and I certainly won’t be the last. Even if the best I can do is live alongside the mask I’ve created, I can still appreciate the support system I have and take some joy in the journey to rediscover and craft my own identity.
Ly Stewart is a British BA(Hons) Broadcast Journalism and MSc Media Psychology graduate with 25+ bylines to their name. Ly’s mix of creative and analytical backgrounds has given them a passion for research, especially in regard to autism, media, and internet culture.
Ly can be reached at emilyrosestewart7@gmail.com
References
Hull, L., Mandy, W., Lai, MC. et al. (2019) Development and Validation of the Camouflaging Autistic Traits Questionnaire (CAT-Q). Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 49, 819–833 doi.org/10.1007/s10803-018-3792-6
Hull, L., Petrides, K.V. & Mandy, W. (2020) The Female Autism Phenotype and Camouflaging: a Narrative Review. Rev Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 7, 306–317 doi.org/10.1007/s40489-020-00197-9
Miller, D., Rees, J., & Pearson, A. (2021). “Masking Is Life”: Experiences of Masking in Autistic and Nonautistic Adults. Autism in adulthood: challenges and management, 3(4), 330–338. doi.org/10.1089/aut.2020.0083
Pearson, A., & Rose, K. (2021). A Conceptual Analysis of Autistic Masking: Understanding the Narrative of Stigma and the Illusion of Choice. Autism in adulthood: challenges and management, 3(1), 52–60. doi.org/10.1089/aut.2020.0043
