Masking begins early for many autistic and ADHD adults – often long before we have the language to describe what we’re doing. It starts as a survival strategy: watching others closely, copying what seems “normal,” adjusting our reactions, softening our needs, hiding our discomfort, rehearsing social scripts, and suppressing the parts of ourselves that feel too intense for the world.
Masking isn’t lying about who you are.
It’s protecting yourself in an environment that hasn’t yet learned how to see you.
And while masking helps us survive, it also comes with a cost – one that many neurodivergent people don’t recognise until years later.
What masking really is
Research often breaks masking into three areas:
- camouflaging (copying social behaviour to blend in)
- compensation (using learned strategies to cover difficulties)
- concealment (hiding traits that may be misunderstood, like stimming or sensory overwhelm).
But the lived reality is far more human.
Masking can mean laughing along even when you don’t understand the joke, forcing eye contact that feels painful, or suppressing stims even when your body is desperate to move. It can mean smiling through sensory discomfort, acting “easy” even when your needs aren’t met, freezing instead of asking for help, or apologising for things that aren’t your fault. It can mean performing a version of yourself that feels safer than the real one.
Masking is self-editing in real time – often without conscious awareness.
Why neurodivergent people mask so much
Most people don’t begin masking because they want to fit in.
They mask because they’ve learned that standing out feels unsafe.
For many neurodivergent children, the world teaches this through messages repeated over and over:
“Don’t be so sensitive.”
“Stop overreacting.”
“Why can’t you just focus?”
“Don’t be weird.”
“Try harder.”
These comments accumulate in the nervous system. They teach us that acceptance is conditional, that our natural ways of being may lead to rejection, and that asking for support risks being labelled “difficult.” Masking becomes second nature long before adulthood. It becomes the safest available strategy – until it isn’t.
The emotional and physical cost
Research consistently links long-term masking with autistic burnout, chronic exhaustion, anxiety, depression, identity confusion, reduced self-worth, difficulty recognising personal needs, and delayed or missed diagnosis.
Emotionally, masking can feel like disappearing piece by piece – until the world knows a version of you that isn’t truly you.
Many neurodivergent adults eventually reach a breaking point where maintaining the mask becomes impossible. For some, this happens during a major life shift – parenthood, burnout, work stress, trauma. For others, it’s simply the exhaustion of pretending.
And this is where unmasking begins.
Unmasking isn’t a personality change – it’s a return
Unmasking is not about dropping every coping strategy or refusing to adapt.
It’s about learning which behaviours help you survive – and which ones quietly erase you.
It’s allowing your sensory needs to matter.
Accepting your communication style without shame.
Setting boundaries.
Stimming without apology.
Saying “this is too much” before you reach collapse.
Choosing environments and relationships where authenticity feels safe.
Unmasking is slow, layered, and deeply personal. It isn’t a transformation into someone new – it is a homecoming to who you’ve always been underneath.
How masking shows up in everyday life
Masking appears in subtle, everyday moments.
You might hide overwhelm rather than naming it. You might appear calm while your mind is in chaos. You might imitate expressions you don’t feel, push yourself through overstimulation, or mirror others to avoid conflict. You might downplay your pain, rationalise mistreatment, or shrink yourself to seem easier.
Many neurodivergent adults eventually recognise a truth that feels both painful and liberating:
“I’ve spent my whole life being a version of myself that other people find easier.”
That realisation becomes the beginning of change.
Why unmasking matters
Unmasking creates more energy, because you’re no longer draining yourself with constant self-editing.
It brings more clarity, because your preferences and limits become visible.
More truth, because you begin trusting your own experience.
More connection, because relationships become real rather than rehearsed.
More safety, because your nervous system finally gets to exhale.
Masking kept you safe when you needed it.
Unmasking helps you live.
And you are allowed – fully and unapologetically – to build a life where you do not have to shrink to be accepted.
A personal note
As someone who is both autistic and ADHD, unmasking has been one of the most transformative and challenging parts of understanding myself. I didn’t even realise I was masking until burnout forced me to confront the split between who I was and who the world expected me to be. Unmasking for me has meant slowing down, honouring sensory limits, letting go of performance pressure, and choosing relationships where my real self is welcome.
I am still learning, still unlearning, still peeling back years of adaptation – but every step feels like breathing more deeply.
Unmasking isn’t a single moment.
It’s a lifelong permission to be.
Chantal