Later-Diagnosed Autism
Masking against the world is easier to unravel than masking against myself
From the beginning of my autistic journey, from before my formal diagnosis, even before I suspected I might be autistic, I knew I was masking. Masking was a frequent theme in my pre-diagnosis therapy; I came to my therapist with thoughts and feelings of wearing masks, suits of armor, of being the chameleon. I knew I was masking. I knew some person lay behind the masks, but whom? And what was to be done about it?
After I was diagnosed, learning about autistic masking became a deep interest for me. If only I could unmask, my “true self” would unfold, and my life force would radiate up to the heavens. Initially, I thought that unmasking would involve becoming more myself with other people. This is challenging enough. What might be even harder, at least for me, is confronting how I mask against myself.
Masking against myself
By “masking against myself,” I mean that my autistic mask turns inward. After so many years, this mask is seamless, invisible, identical to my own face reflected in a mirror. I have so effectively masked and hidden myself from myself that I fear I don’t know who I am. This may sound like teenage angst, but I feel it in my bones. It’s almost like I am a disassociated body, free-floating in a world of neurotypical people. And free-floating from my neurodivergent self.
Alexithymia-like
I wonder whether masking against myself is a form of alexithymia, or at least analogous to it. Alexithymia, from Greek words literally meaning “lack of words for emotion,” is difficulty identifying, describing, and expressing emotions. I have emotional alexithymia (which is on a spectrum, like autism itself). Perhaps knowing what we want and need is related to knowing our emotions about those things. If I struggle to identify and describe my emotions, are the same neural pathways making it difficult to see myself clearly? I’m uncertain of the science, but it seems like there is a connection.
Perhaps self-masking and alexithymia are siblings. When someone asks me what I want, or when I ask myself that question, only vague whispered answers come to me. Just as I can’t name my emotions, I struggle to name what I want.
Or, ask me what I need. Ask what self-care looks like to me. I can easily spout answers about what I think I am supposed to need. It’s what other people typically require: love, companionship, friendship, intimacy, sex, food, shelter, spiritual connection, meaning, etc. I see value in each of those, but do I need them? Or do I need some of those things, but also need other, less typical things? Like the invisible, mystical world, those liquid spaces that have called to me all my life. I do need that; I cannot tell you why.
Help from Helen Olivier
I reflected more on masking after reading a wonderful article by Helen Olivier (AuDHD) titled “I Need to Unmask If I Want to Save My Creativity.”
I resonate with her entire article, but several quotes drew me in:
I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be accepted. So I started to be more and more self-conscious, monitoring and controlling my behavior.
So true! We wear the mask to fit in, to protect ourselves against being judged and bullied and outcast, to have friends or even a single friend, to have romance, to have a job, to live a valued life. We wear the mask so we don’t have to face the truth that we are different, that the world often perceives us as broken, that so much of life is harder for us than for neurotypical people. Who can blame us for wanting to wear such a mask?
Helen continues:
I have grown up into adulthood with that mask on and sometimes it’s impossible to tell what is a mask and what is the real me. It had become so fused with my face that I don’t know what is my real skin and what is the disguise that covers it.
Helen gets it. This fusion well-describes my masking against myself. Self-masking is insidious. Often we later-diagnosed autistics have worn our masks so long that we do not know who we are beneath them.
Later in her article, Helen quotes from a letter she wrote to her friends on Facebook:
This is a plea for help. *** I want to unmask now. I need to unmask now. And that means I’m gonna be weird. Maybe very weird. Please help me. Please accept me as weird. Even if you don’t understand.
I had to stim as I read this! What an honest, vulnerable, beautiful request. Quite moving for me. What if I were to follow Helen’s lead, open myself, be honest with myself and other people? Be honest in this article itself? Even a scintilla of honesty? Am I willing?
I Wrestle with opening more to honesty… I’m rocking, pressing against my thighs, moving in seated circles, stimming. I will try… .
Self-Masking as self-protection
I wonder whether self-masking is, for me, another form of self-protection. When I attempt to unmask from myself, Demi-demons show themselves: weaknesses, faults, things that bother me, things that I am ashamed of, things that I have never wanted to do but did anyway. Much self-loathing.
When I remove my self-mask, grief tumbles into consciousness. Grief against the many years I worked in a field that traumatized me. Grief against the decades of numbing myself with alcohol. Grief against not knowing enough about myself to pursue my true interests, talents, wants, and needs. Grief against what feels like such a waste of my life. Grief against a lifetime of not knowing I am autistic. Mourning for what might have been. Many of us late-diagnosed autistics share this grief.
Baby-stepped unmasking
Reflecting more carefully, I realize that slowly, in drips, I peek around both versions of my masks. Often I don’t like what this has revealed, but other times it has been liberating.
Like a toddler learning to walk, I stumble and fall, rise only to fall again. Then again, rise. Although I’ve begun to understand masking, and to take baby steps towards being more authentic with others and with myself, I doubt that I have dropped my masks enough to make any substantial difference. What lies beneath those masks seems distant, blurry like a camera lens smeared with sunscreen.
Sorry, Helen, I fear I lack the courage and self-understanding to unmask as fully as you are doing. I haven’t told the people in my life that I am trying to unmask. Perhaps I should tell them; surely they see it: my increased stims, my blunter talk, ever greater literalism, my working less hard at being the person everyone thinks I am. Why do I hide myself so?
Continuing journey
Always there is hope. Alexithymics can learn better to recognize and name their emotions. They can link how they feel in their bodies to named emotions consistent with those feelings. Can I do the same with unmasking? Perhaps if I feel into my body, if I turn my native sensitivity towards my subtle internal feelings, I can perceive what I want. Perhaps in the same way I can learn what I need and how I might meet those needs. I lack confidence; this path is long, and I fear my legs are not strong enough to travel it.
If I am to progress on this autistic journey, I will need to be patient with myself, with my diagnosis, and the challenges that come with it. What the neurotypical world calls happiness may not lie in my future. Yet perhaps “happiness” for me is to live my remaining years with truth and authenticity, vulnerability and transparency, kindness and compassion, deep values and meaning. Steeped in Authentic Autistic Joy, not in masked neurotypical happiness.
In writing and publishing this Medium article, I have unmasked more than a scintilla to the world beyond the borders of my body. My journey continues, if only baby-stepped.
PostScript
It has been a rocky path to arrive here. My original theme was to discuss autistic masking generally, then how I mask in public. I would reflect on how I mask against myself and how it has blinded me to myself, to my wants and needs. I was going to conclude that I have made genuine progress, gained in self-understanding, and even earned victories against the mask. Nice tidy essay. Nice arc: pain to progress. But the more I wrote and revised, I realized this arc is not true, at least not yet. To say it plainly, I was masking while writing this very article! I wanted to appear knowing and clever and interesting and all the things, to my readers and to myself.
Once I recognized this, I took my metaphorical red editing pen, slashed and rewrote, and tried to bring openness and honesty back into my words. The article you are reading now is far different from what I originally wrote!
Thank you for reading this far. Please leave your comments. I’ll do my best to reply to you.
