By Libby Farren, MS, TLLP
It’s that time of year again. The wind has chilled, the leaves have turned and fallen, and this past weekend people of all ages took to the streets in costume, calling out “trick or treat” and hunting for candy in the true spirit of Halloween. For those who stayed in, maybe you held a themed costume contest or rewatched your favorite slasher film. However you celebrated, Halloween is a holiday of costumes and masks: we transform ourselves into someone or something we are not, borrowing the look of our favorite musicians, celebrities, cultural icons, and horror legends.
All of us occasionally put on a “mask” and hide our true feelings from the people around us. But for neurodivergent folks, masking is more than a creative act reserved for one night a year. It is an exhausting, ongoing strategy for avoiding stigma, rejection, and the perception that we are anything other than “normal.”
So, what is masking?
Masking is an umbrella term for the many ways neurodivergent people, including but not limited to autistic individuals and those with ADHD, monitor and adapt their mannerisms, interests, preferences, and facial and emotional expressions to meet the social expectations of the people around them.
For some, masking looks like holding eye contact longer than is comfortable; over-animating or suppressing emotions, facial expressions, gestures, and interests; or mirroring the behaviors and opinions of others. It can also show up as rehearsing what to say and how to act before a situation, keeping your passions to yourself for fear of judgment, and feeling unable to assert yourself, whether that means asking for help or voicing a sensory need.
Sometimes masking is a conscious choice, like concealing stimming around coworkers to avoid being bullied. Other times it becomes so habitual that it feels almost natural. Either way, masking acts as a tight-fitting, (in)visible “social camouflage” suit that neurodivergent people like me wear to avoid rejection, to sidestep negative evaluations at school or work, to compensate for social and emotional differences, and to pass in a world that was never designed with us in mind. If you were assigned female at birth, grew up as a girl or woman, and/or are queer like me, you are even more likely to mask, and that suit can feel even more confining.
What masking costs
Masking can be a form of protection and a genuine coping strategy. But when we wear the mask for too long, our energy runs out. The result can be shutdowns, heightened anxiety, and, for some, autistic burnout, along with deepening isolation, disconnection, and shame. Constant masking dims our authenticity as we separate from ourselves in a seemingly endless, compulsory effort to “blend in.”
For neurodivergent folks like me, masking carries far more weight, emotion, and complexity than a Halloween mask ever could, even if the metaphor fits.
Who I’m writing this for
I write this to my neurodivergent community, to say that I, too, feel, carry, and am exhausted by the weight of neurotypical expectations. As someone who discovered my own neurodivergence later in life and am only beginning to explore it, I write to those who know how daunting and uncertain it can feel to start unmasking and stop performing.
I write this to parents, friends, partners, coworkers, and anyone who wants to compassionately understand neurodivergent experiences, and who also knows the pain of not “fitting in.”
I write this to those who are radically embracing their neurodivergence: relishing their interests with enthusiasm, expressing their emotions, respecting and affirming themselves, and building relationships aligned with their values, needs, and boundaries.
And I write this in the hope that we can create safe, trusting spaces, relationships, and a broader culture where neurodivergent people can explore who they are and unmask for themselves, on their own timeline, in ways that feel affirming and authentic.
So I’ll leave you with a question. The day after Halloween, does any part of that mask remain? Or do you unexpectedly find yourself picking up a mask you never noticed before?
If so: we see you, wherever you are on your journey, and we welcome you with open arms.
Clinically reviewed by Mel Whalen, PhD, LP — Licensed Psychologist, Michigan #6301015759.
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