Neurodivergent masking – what it is and how it feels

Masking in the context of neurodiversity is when a person suppresses or changes their behaviour to conceal neurodivergent traits that might attract judgement or negative attention. It’s a way of adapting yourself with the aim of creating an outward persona or appearance that fits with social expectations.

It can include concealing or suppressing stimming, making eye contact when it’s not comfortable, or communicating in ways that aren’t natural to the person, but are considered ‘normal’.

‘Camouflaging’ is another useful term here, which incorporates masking as just one element of three:

• Masking: trying to conceal neurodivergent traits. Like suppressing stimming or forcing eye contact even if it’s uncomfortable.
• Compensation: figuring out strategies for adaptation. Like memorising scripts for small talk, or focusing intently on social cues to avoid missing them.
• Assimilation: adopting behaviours that aren’t natural in order to fit in socially. Pretending to be interested in conversations that you find boring, adopting mannerisms or slang that doesn’t come naturally to you.

How masking in neurodivergence can be misrepresented

Before fully getting into neurodivergent camouflaging, I’m going to pre-empt an objection that often comes up in conversation. Because of the ways that some people talk about masking on social media (and probably offline too), it can get misrepresented. You see someone posting about masking and – understandably – think that people are just giving a fancy neuro-blah word to something distinctly ordinary – social adaptation in the name of fitting in. 

It’s a part of healthy socialisation and cultural transmission to be aware of what’s happening around us, and adapt our behaviour and communication accordingly. It serves an evolutionary purpose (in terms of bonding, reproduction, survival), and even somewhat dysfunctional versions (like hypervigilance to social exclusion, or excessive social competitiveness) are commonplace survival strategies rooted in childhood experience.

Living with social adaptations that – whilst fundamentally rooted in survival – are causing us pain, is not limited to neurodivergent people. A quick dip into the field of attachment theory and developmental trauma shows us how stress and the strategies we employ to deal with it  (fight, flight, freeze and fawn) can profoundly impact our relationships, neurodivergent or not. 

The intersection of neurodivergence and trauma is a complex one, and camouflaging is intrinsically connected with stress response cycles. Suffice to say for now that the neurodivergent experience of camouflaging is distinct from – whilst connected to – both the relatively painless process of social adaptation, and the ways we adapt ourselves as part of a chronic stress or trauma response. It is employed in a different way, and has different outcomes too. 

So let’s talk about it.

How masking affects neurodivergent people

General behavioural adjustments that we make based on social context (adapting how we talk when we’re at work vs. a party, for example) don’t generally take us a lot of effort or energy. In fact, they’re often unconscious, and don’t impact our self-concept or identity. Neurodivergent masking, on the other hand, can be totally exhausting. 

For example an autistic person trying to fit into a conversation by rehearsing what they’re going to say, or closely mimicking other peoples’ communication to try to avoid judgement or rejection. That process is highly intensive in terms of cognitive load. It’s draining, and often comes with memories of past mistakes, and the very real risks of social or professional exclusion and judgement. Or an ADHD person suppressing their need to fidget and move; or putting on their ‘I’ve got it together’ mask, whilst working overtime to try to mask their executive functioning challenges.

Camouflaging isn’t all bad. For those who can do it (as not every neurodivergent person can), it can open up a level of social acceptance, participation, and career advancement that wouldn’t otherwise be possible. It can smooth things out socially, and just make life easier.

But it takes its toll, in the form of mental health struggles and burnout. For those who are ‘highly masked’, it can lead to difficulties in getting accurate diagnoses and support.

There’s also a complex impact on self-identity and authenticity. When you’re camouflaging, your focus is external – what’s expected here and how do I fit in? As a result you can lose touch with your authentic self, to the point that you’re not even sure what that even means anymore.

What about ‘unmasking’, or stopping camouflaging?

Of course it seems ideal to just ‘be yourself’; to take off the mask and be fully authentic. In reality, it’s complicated. ‘Unmasking’ isn’t as simple as allowing yourself to behave more naturally. Much of the camouflage may have become unconscious – you know it’s hard and exhausting, but you don’t have a felt sense of any alternative.

It’s an intersectional issue too. For example, people of colour dealing with racism may not be in a sufficiently secure position to be able to unmask without dealing with very real consequences. Then there are systemic elements around employment and survival, where returning to a more authentic self would actually result in us losing work, or finding ourselves isolated. ‘Being yourself’ in an ableist context where that doesn’t fit with expectations or demands can bring real-life consequences.

So let’s normalise there being a slow process around unmasking, one that doesn’t assume that ‘authentic is best’ in all situations. Having said that, there’s a lot of unmasking that can happen internally, before we take any risks in the outside world. This connects back to the issue of self-identity and authenticity.

It takes time to start noticing the signs that camouflaging is a struggle for you. 

Unmasking starts with self-awareness

You might start to realise that you’re strained, that you feel tired after social gatherings, or that you’re ‘bracing’ and working hard behind the scenes in social settings. It’s a big step to notice these things, even without making any changes. A great first step can be giving yourself compassion, and acknowledging that you might need some extra recovery time if you’ve been in a ‘high masking’ situation.

For example, I used to go to certain meetings or networking events, come home exhausted, then be hard on myself about how I’d acted. My focus was on the places where I’d ‘failed’ at masking, and I would be self-critical about needing recovery time afterwards (because I wasn’t aware of my neurodivergence at the time). 

So, even without changing my masking behaviour – which I might not always feel comfortable to do – I can celebrate myself for going to an event that feels tricky (assuming I want to be there because I gain from it in other ways). I can then bring compassion instead of vigilance, and be generous with myself in terms of post-event recovery. A whole different experience, without changing anything about my social behaviour.

Small steps towards unmasking

In terms of reducing those camouflaging tendencies over time, let yourself start small and subtle. You might pick a low-risk environment, or relationships where you know you’ve got space to experiment. You might get support through coaching or therapy to better understand what it might be like to be more ‘you’ in social situations, perhaps practicing here before you bring it into other relationships.

As and when you’re ready, here are some specific ideas that have been part of unmasking for me and my clients:

• Letting people know if you’re having sensory struggles. Asking someone to turn the lights down, or change the music.
• Telling a close friend that you’re experimenting with unmasking, even though you’re not sure what it looks like yet.
• Being upfront in a conversation if you run out of spoons or need to take some space. You don’t even need to say why.
• ‘Toning down’ the act of assimilation. Not trying quite so hard to act the same way as other people. This can look like being a bit less overtly friendly, or not trying to ‘mirror’ the other person’s social style.
• Letting people know when your capacity is low. E.g. ‘I can come along to that event, but I might need to leave early’.

It’s a unique and personal process, and the biggest key is compassion. Compassion for the ways you’ve adapted yourself in the past – you might feel you’ve betrayed yourself somehow, but you did what you needed in order to get through it. You did the best you could. And compassion for yourself right now as you unravel the tightly bound knots of your own camouflage. 

Let it be slow. Let it be kind. Let it be as private – or as public – as it needs to be for you. And if you have friends, colleagues or family members who you sense might be camouflaging… is there a way that you can be a safe person to unmask around? Thank them if they’re honest about their experience, or bring a bit of encouragement when you notice them taking down the mask. 

A little acceptance and acknowledgement goes a long way.

Book recommendations on masking in neurodivergence

Autistic Masking: Understanding Identity Management and the Role of Stigma

Camouflage: The Hidden Lives of Autistic Women

UNMASKED: The Ultimate Guide to ADHD, Autism and Neurodivergence eBook: Middleton, Ellie

Unmasking Autism: The Power of Embracing Our Hidden Neurodiversity