Who Am I Without the Mask? Neurodivergence and Identity

There's a question that seems to surface time and again for many neurodivergent people, though it's rarely asked directly at first: "Who am I when I'm not masking?"

It can emerge gradually. Feeling drained after social situations, constantly checking and rechecking what they've said, a persistent sense that everyone else received a manual for being human and their copy must be lost in the post. Underneath it all, there's the feeling of being a stranger to yourself.

This is what masking does. Today I'd like to talk about the impacts but also the role it plays in surviving a world that isn't always kind to difference. Let me start by exploring what masking actually means.

What Masking Actually Is

Masking isn't simply about being polite or making an effort. It's the often-unconscious act of adapting, suppressing or reshaping natural neurodivergent characteristics and adopting neurotypical behaviours to avoid judgement, rejection or harm.

Ellie Middleton defines masking as "when an autistic (or otherwise neurodivergent) person attempts to appear non-autistic (or neurotypical) by covering up their autistic (or neurodivergent) characteristics. It was initially and is most commonly used to explain specifically the autistic experience but it has also been adopted by other neurodivergent communities in order to explain their similar experiences of covering up their neurodivergent characteristics in order to appear neurotypical." (Middleton, 2023)

Masking can look like forcing eye contact when it feels uncomfortable, rehearsing conversations before they happen, or suppressing the urge to stim or move your body even when that's what you really need. It might mean laughing at jokes you don't find funny, pretending to follow conversations that lost you three tangents ago, or hiding or downplaying your interests for fear of judgment.

For those who mask, it often begins early and automatically. It's often not a conscious decision; rather, it's something learned through experience. It becomes "just how I am in public."

At a training workshop recently, while reflecting on my own experiences, I described masking as "a way of surviving in a world not designed for me, and a way to protect myself from social rejection." That instinct to survive is intelligent. It shows adaptability and resilience. But over time, it can come with hidden costs.

Image used under license from Shutterstock.com.

Why Masking Develops: A Response To Social Trauma

The concept of the double empathy problem, first proposed by autistic researcher Damian Milton in 2012, offers a helpful insight into why some of us mask. Traditionally, autism has been framed as a deficit in social communication, understanding and empathy. However, modern research and understanding now suggests something very different: that the communication gap does in fact go both ways.

Autistic and non-autistic people can struggle to understand each other whilst being otherwise effective at communicating with people of the same or similar neurotype. Not because one group lacks empathy, but because they communicate and process the world differently. To use a computer processor analogy, it's like one group is operating on Windows and the other on a Mac. This is the double empathy problem. Neither are deficient or superior; they are just different.

When we then factor in that neurodivergent people are in the minority and therefore hold less power and privilege in society, this translates to communication difficulties between the two groups being attributed to a deficit in the neurominority group. The result of this is that neurodivergent people frequently experience social rejection, othering and exclusion, as well as being blamed for this.

"Most autistics today constantly receive the message, again starting in very early childhood, that the way they naturally think, feel, move, and communicate are all wrong; that who they are is wrong." (Walker, 2021)

This painful and traumatic repetition of social rejection means social interactions can begin to feel threatening or unsafe.

Identity Erosion

When you spend years, sometimes decades, adapting to fit an acceptable version of yourself, something subtle can happen. The adaptation becomes automatic, and it can be difficult to tell where survival ends and authenticity begins.

Simple questions can feel complicated: "How do I really feel about this?" "What would I do if no one were watching?"

It's not a sudden identity crisis. It's erosion, slow, quiet, and cumulative. Each small adjustment feels reasonable: softening your tone, adjusting your expressions, hiding the things that make you come alive. But after years of these small edits, it's natural to wonder: Who am I beneath all of this?

The Energy Masking Takes

What others often don't realise is that masking isn't just tiring in the moment; it can be exhausting on a much deeper level. It's not only about managing how you act, but often about managing the gap between who you are and who you feel you're expected to be.

For some, there's constant monitoring: "Was that all right?" "Did I hold eye contact for long enough?" "Did that sound convincing?"

When the mask finally comes off, after the work day, the social gathering, the family visit, the fatigue that follows can be more than physical. It's emotional. For many, it's that hollow, rubbed-away feeling that comes from living slightly apart from yourself.

Recovery might not be just about rest. It can also mean reinhabiting your own skin: stimming freely, speaking in your natural rhythm, letting your face move the way it wants to. It might mean the freedom to hyperfocus on something that absorbs you completely, to zone out without guilt, or simply to exist without having to engage or speak. For some, it feels like a kind of homecoming.

Masking and Connection

One of the most complex aspects of masking is this: it often begins as a way to connect, to fit in, to be accepted. But when it becomes constant, it can also block genuine connection, because people respond to the version of you they can see, not necessarily the one you truly are.

That can create a quiet loneliness, even in loving relationships. You might find yourself wondering, "Would they still like me if they saw me without the mask?"

That fear isn't irrational. Neurodivergent individuals have often experienced rejection or misunderstanding when they've shown their unmasked selves. The mask was built for a reason. It deserves respect, even gratitude, for what it's helped you survive.

Image Credit Ruthson Zimmerman https://unsplash.com/@ruthson_zimmerman

Late Recognition: You Mean This Isn't "Normal"?

For those who discover their neurodivergence later in life, there's often a moment of shock: realising that not everyone is constantly monitoring and editing themselves. You thought everyone else was adapting this much. You thought social life was meant to be this tiring. Learning that this isn't universal can bring both relief and grief.

It's okay if that recognition stirs confusion: "Which parts of me have I not yet had the chance to explore?" "How much of my life has been built around adaptation?"

These are deeply human questions, not signs of failure, but signs of awakening.

Moving Towards Choice and Compassion

If you're recognising yourself here, you might be sitting with mixed feelings: sadness, anger, relief, curiosity. All of that makes sense. There's no roadmap for "unmasking," and full unmasking isn't necessarily the goal.

The real work is about choice: knowing when, where and why you mask, and having safe spaces where you don't have to. Some masks were protective and still serve you. Others might simply be habits you no longer need. Either way, awareness brings freedom.

Sometimes, there's grief: for the energy spent, for the times you felt unseen, for the relationships built around what felt safe to show. That grief deserves space. But that isn't the whole story. It's also worth acknowledging that understanding of neurodivergence is growing, and more spaces, professional, social, therapeutic, are beginning to create room for people to show up as they truly are.

Living in the Questions

Masking tells a story of resilience. You adapted to survive in systems that weren't built with you in mind. Acknowledging the cost doesn't mean you did anything wrong; it means you're beginning to see the fullness of your own experience.

There's no single "true self" waiting to be uncovered underneath everything. Identity isn't something you find; it's something you build, one moment of self-awareness at a time.

Perhaps the more helpful question isn't, "Who was I before masking?" but, "What becomes possible now that I understand it?"

That's not a question with a quick answer, but it's one worth exploring, with gentleness, curiosity, and the knowledge that the mask, too, was part of how you made it here.

If You're Beginning to Explore This

If you recognise yourself in any of this, you're not alone. It can take time to work out what feels safe, authentic and right for you. Counselling can offer a space to explore these questions at your own pace, without expectation, and without having to mask.

Counselling Room

This article reflects general themes observed in neurodivergent experiences and professional contexts. It does not draw on or describe the experiences of any individual client.

References

Middleton, E. (2023) Unmasked: The Ultimate Guide to ADHD, Autism and Neurodivergence. London: Dorling Kindersley.

Milton, D. (2012) 'On the ontological status of autism: the "double empathy problem"'. Disability & Society, 27(6), pp. 883–887.

Walker, N. (2021) Neuroqueer Heresies: Notes on the Neurodiversity Paradigm, Autistic Empowerment, and Postnormal Possibilities. San Francisco: Autonomous Press.