“Am I supposed to be making more faces to show how I am feeling?” I asked this question about two years before I was finally diagnosed as autistic. I’d had countless frustrating experiences of feeling something authentically, expressing it honestly, and then hearing that I was giving off a completely different vibe than how I actually felt. It didn’t help that women are often expected to be more emotive (think being told to “Smile!!” by strangers).
So I began to consciously project my emotions on my face and in my voice. It was taxing, and felt inauthentic. To be clear, the emotions were real; but I was translating them into body language, vocal inflection, and facial movement that did not feel natural to me. In a way, it was like learning a second language.
I recently learned that there is a word for this autistic experience: masking. Masking is the act of covering up autistic traits and/or projecting a more neurotypical persona, often to feel safe, avoid judgment, or succeed at school or work. I’ve talked about some of the forms masking takes for me. This time, I’m focusing on how it has affected my mental health. Read on for some of the top consequences I’ve experienced from heavy masking, and what I’ve learned about masking in autistic women.
The following is my personal experience. You may experience masking differently, or not mask at all; you may mask and not be autistic. Also note that there can be negative consequences for unmasking, especially for autistic people of color, which is an injustice. Unmasking is not always safe or available for everyone. See also this 2021 study on masking in autistic and non-autistic adults.
Burnout and Anxiety
The most obvious effect of masking for me is burnout. It is noticeable how much less energy I have for socialization than the average person. In part, this is because I have tended to put extra energy into appearing more neurotypical when I’m around people, especially strangers.
I didn’t fully realize just how much I was doing in “manual mode” until I started having conversations like the one I cited in the intro. Only by broaching the subject did I learn that not everyone experiences these facial expressions and inflections as “extra things” to do. Sure, many people adjust their expressions for different situations, but for me it was on a level that far exceeded the average.
I used to be constantly aware of my body language in work meetings and when teaching, for example. This detracts from the attention I can give to the task at hand. And if others are not expending this energy, I have less capacity to participate. I might lose track of the conversation or let the mask slip, leading to anxiety-inducing moments. Sometimes in college I’d be afraid to leave my room, afraid that people would “see through me” in some way that I couldn’t even identify at the time. Now I can see that I was dreading the extra effort I felt I had to exert for the sake of fitting in.
The 2019 Camouflaging Autistic Traits Questionnaire (CAT-Q) calls this compensation, or “mimicking and copying allistic [non-autistic] social norms.” This term makes sense to me, since I experience it as a taxing addition to my interactions. After compensating for so long in social settings, I can feel desperate for alone time where I can let myself go with the flow of my natural expression and body language.
Sensory Dysregulation
The CAT-Q also includes hiding autistic traits in the definition of camouflaging. For me this might include suppressing or modifying stimming, leaving sensory supports behind, or pretending that certain sensory inputs are not bothering me when I’m actually uncomfortable or in pain.
The reality is that I feel calmest with sensory support from hats, hoodies, earplugs, headphones, a stuffy, a bendable toy or pipe cleaner, and ideally dim lighting and low noise levels. I’ve been in countless fluorescent lit spaces over the years, and only now allow myself to make use of these supports. I used to feel too self-conscious.
While I still on certain occasions don’t use my sensory support in order not to draw attention to myself, I’m no longer willing to tolerate sensory overwhelm on a regular basis. And it’s not fair that unmasking in this way is not equally safe for everyone.
Disconnection and Dissociation
TW: panic and derealization
It hit me hard when Phoebe Bridgers sang, “I’ve been running around in circles / pretending to be myself.” That’s because after long periods of masking, I can start to feel like I’ve been performing a fake version of myself. What do I actually want? How do I actually feel? This can become mysterious after focusing so intently on how I appear from the outside. It can even persist after the socializing is over and I’m alone. This can lead to a chronic disconnect with my own needs, one potential problem with masking heavily.
It can also lead me to feel disconnected from others. Have you ever wondered, “What if they knew the real me? Would anyone like me?” I carried this fear without fully putting it into words for years. It came out in thoughts like, “I can’t go out there. What if they see through me?”
Combined with the anxiety of being undiagnosed and chronically overstimulated, this disconnection sometimes led to dissociation. At times, it even escalated to brief periods of derealization, usually after a period of increased panic attacks.
Now that I’m able to unmask in more situations, I feel more connected to myself and others. My friends and family know me better, and I have more faith and trust that it’s safe to be me.
Imposter Syndrome
The irony of masking undiagnosed autism for so long is that when I realized I was likely autistic, I sometimes felt like a fraud. I was neither neurotypical, since none of this felt natural to me. Nor did I fully feel like I could own this new piece of my identity, since I had hidden so many aspects of it for so long. I worried people would question my diagnosis or refuse to believe me. And yet, as I discussed things with my inner circle, then even with people at work, I largely received validation. I had so many kind conversations with the people who know me best. They supported my decision to be assessed. They confirmed what I was observing in myself without unnecessary judgment or stereotyping. They’ve been crucial to my unmasking journey!
And yet imposter syndrome still made the diagnosis process more drawn out. My assessor had to gather more information from people around me to feel confident in my diagnosis. I made eye contact in the call and reciprocated my assessor’s small talk. I held back on discussing the details of my special interests and still hadn’t found most of the sensory supports that now make me more visible as a neurodivergent person. Overall, it was hard to drop the mask in a long Zoom call. It honestly felt like a job interview, which has always been the highest-masking type of event in my life!
Learning about High Masking
This is where the CAT-Q has been extremely helpful. The assessment was not a formal part of my evaluation, but the results I received on my own were telling. I scored above the 90th percentile in every category. In a more detailed breakdown, I even scored high compared to other autistic people in the initial study.
And unlike the general autism screenings I had taken before, this one was clear to me. Do I monitor my body language to feel relaxed? Yes, almost constantly. Compare that to vague questions like, “Would you rather go the library or a party?” It was a relief to get the results, and to have a more straightforward experience with the questions themselves.
You can find the CAT-Q I took here. Note: I’m not associated with this site, I just like the breakdown of the information you receive. It does require an email address, FYI.
I’ve since learned that lots of autistic women and non-binary folks feel added pressure to mask heavily due to social and gender norms. It’s a large part of why it took me so long to get a diagnosis. Ultimately, though, as the demands of my life increased, my ability to mask through it all eroded. While I am grateful to my past self for getting me through that period, I’m so relieved to have some safe spaces to unmask in, and a better understanding of my authentic self.
Are you high-masking? What does masking feel like to you? Let me know in the comments!
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