When people say, “You don’t seem autistic,” it’s meant as a compliment, but it doesn’t feel like one.
What they don’t realize is that the reason they don’t “see” my autism is because I’m hiding it—and hiding it is exhausting.
The Art of Masking
Masking is the act of suppressing autistic traits to blend in with neurotypical society. It’s not a conscious choice—it’s a survival mechanism.
For me, masking looks like:
- Forcing myself to make eye contact, even though it feels unnatural.
- Mimicking other people’s tone of voice and facial expressions.
- Memorizing “scripts” for small talk so I don’t say the wrong thing.
- Suppressing stims, even when my body is begging to move.
Masking is both an art and a burden. It’s how I’ve learned to navigate the world, but it comes at a cost.
A Day in the Life of Masking
Take a typical workday. From the moment I walk into the office, the mask goes on:
- I smile at my coworkers, even if I’m not in the mood.
- I nod and laugh at jokes I don’t understand.
- I keep my hands still during meetings, even though I desperately want to stim.
By the time I get home, I’m completely drained. The mask feels like a second skin I can’t peel off.
Why Masking Is So Exhausting
- Cognitive Overload: Constantly monitoring my behavior takes a huge amount of mental energy.
- Emotional Disconnect: Masking often means suppressing my true feelings, which can lead to emotional numbness.
- Loss of Identity: When I mask too much, I start to lose sight of who I really am.
The Cost of Hiding
Masking might help me fit in, but it also contributes to:
- Burnout: The mental and physical toll of masking often leads to autistic burnout.
- Anxiety and Depression: Suppressing my true self makes me feel isolated and misunderstood.
- Missed Accommodations: When people don’t see my autism, they assume I don’t need support—which couldn’t be further from the truth.
A Memory of Masking Gone Wrong
At a friend’s wedding, I spent the entire evening smiling, chatting, and playing the role of “normal guest.” By the end of the night, I was so overstimulated and exhausted that I broke down in tears in the car.
My friends were shocked. One of them said, “You seemed fine all night! I had no idea you were struggling.”
That’s the thing about masking—it hides the struggle, but it doesn’t erase it.
Why I’m Learning to Unmask
Unmasking is terrifying. It means letting people see my quirks, my stims, my authentic self. But it’s also liberating.
When I unmask, I’m able to:
- Be honest about my needs, like taking breaks or avoiding sensory triggers.
- Form deeper, more genuine connections.
- Save my energy for the things that truly matter.
What I Wish People Knew
- Masking Isn’t Flattering: When you tell me I don’t “seem autistic,” it dismisses the effort I’m putting into masking and the toll it takes on me.
- Unmasking Is Vulnerable: Letting my guard down means risking judgment, but it’s also a step toward self-acceptance.
- Support Helps: When people create safe spaces for me to unmask, it’s a gift beyond words.
Quotes That Resonate
- “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson
- “Hiding who you are is exhausting; being who you are is freedom.”
Visual Snapshot
I’m sitting on my bed, my favorite fidget toy in hand, the day’s makeup half-wiped off. The mirror on my dresser reflects my unmasked self—messy, tired, but finally at ease.
The room is quiet, save for the hum of the fan, and I take a deep breath, letting go of the day’s performance. This is me, unfiltered and free.
FAQ
Q: Why do autistic people mask?
A: Masking helps us navigate a neurotypical world that often misunderstands or stigmatizes autistic traits. It’s a survival strategy, not a choice.
Q: Is unmasking always possible?
A: Not always. Some environments aren’t safe or supportive enough for unmasking, but it’s important to find spaces where you can be yourself.
Q: How can I support someone who’s unmasking?
A: Be patient, nonjudgmental, and willing to learn. Celebrate their authenticity and respect their boundaries.
Final Thoughts
You might not see my autism, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Masking is a part of my life, but it’s not the whole story.
If you’re someone who masks, know this: you’re not alone, and you’re not wrong for doing what you need to survive. But don’t be afraid to let the mask slip every now and then. You deserve to be seen, just as you are.
And if you need me, you’ll find me here—unmasked, sipping tea, and learning to love the parts of myself I used to hide.
