Autism Masking Runs Much More Deeply Than We Realize
When we discuss masking in autistic communities, we often describe it as specific, fragmented actions — creating scripts for social interactions, observing and copying social behavior, practicing facial expressions and body language, forcing eye contact, hiding stims and special interests, ignoring sensory overload, and withholding meltdowns. The list goes on.
We talk about how these components of masking can be detrimental to our mental health and cause identity confusion; how these behaviors are subconsciously adopted from such a young age that we’re not even sure who we are essentially.
But masking is much more than simply individual fragments. Those elements comprise an elaborate and complex whole — a mask that, sometimes, becomes nearly inseparable from our true sense of identity. We need to talk about the “why” of masking.
For me, that looked like being a high-achieving student and “good” girl. A shy people pleaser who never wanted to upset anyone and always kept herself smaller to make others comfortable. A girl who was always worrying about what other people thought of her and felt constant social anxiety, but nobody could really tell how much social confusion I constantly felt. A girl who was hyper-independent, responsible, extremely reliable, and always nice to everyone.
I had learned to create scripts to ease my social anxiety and blend in with the neurotypical girls. I spent hours preparing for social conversations and then spent hours analyzing them afterward, always looking for little cues I missed in the moment and finally processed later.
I observed and mimicked others’ behavior and laughed at jokes I didn’t understand just so I blended in — because I had learned that I, a literal thinker, became the true laughing stock when I didn’t get jokes.
I practiced facial expressions in the mirror and put in countless hours of research and study into body language — because I learned that I should “smile more,” even when I didn’t want to smile. Because I’m a girl, and we’re expected to always look happy and not “bitchy.”
I forced eye contact because I learned that I was “rude” if I didn’t look people straight in the eye — and nobody likes a “rude” girl with no manners or regard for others.
In fifth grade, I learned to hide my favorite stim — rocking side to side — once the whole class laughed and glared at me like I was an alien worthy of no human respect. Like I was a piece of garbage that they never wanted in that classroom ever again. And every girl knows that social survival IS survival — so I made myself more acceptable to fit in and avoid the profound shame I felt toward my natural need for movement and my own humanity.
Once I hit sixth grade, I hid my biggest special interest — Hannah Montana — because it wasn’t “cool” anymore. Because people told me I was “obsessive” and I shouldn’t be so fixated on one thing. Because that made me a “weird” girl, and nobody likes weird girls. I forced myself to cultivate a special interest in beauty, makeup, and fashion (and even created a YouTube channel) because that’s what all the other girls were interested in. But, again, I was teased and mocked about my intense passion for creating YouTube videos. I felt like I could never win.
I ignored my sensory overload and withheld my meltdowns because nobody likes an angry and emotional girl. It was “just bad behavior.” I was just “too sensitive.” I was “just a typical moody teenager” — yeah, right. That’s why I wasn’t diagnosed as autistic until I was 21. I couldn’t have sensory issues — only my brother could — because I was a girl.
So I forced myself to cry and melt down silently. I became unable to fully express my emotions even during a meltdown. I hid my meltdowns so often and so well that I almost lost my ability to truly sense overwhelm. I was constantly dissociated. I learned that if I ever tried to candidly talk to someone about my feelings, I would be invalidated. So I sat still, smiled, stayed quiet, hid in my room, buried my head in books, and pretended like I was fine. All while I felt like I was slowly dying inside.
I was the girl who had it all together. How could I possibly be autistic?
Image Attribution
¹ Image Attribution: MissLunaRose12, 2019. Presenting a false non-autistic face to the world — 25 October, 2019. [Online]. San Francisco: Wikipedia Foundation. Available under Creative Commons Licensing CC BY-SA 4.0 from https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Autism_Aspect_Masking_1.png [Accessed 17 August 2023]
