Unmasking Autism: Discovering the New Faces of Neurodiversity

by Devon Price

Many of us identify with the items we love, and even feel a degree of empathy for them, as if they were alive. Psychologists call this phenomenon object personification, and Autistics exhibit it at an elevated rate compared to the neurotypical population.[6]

“Almost all of the standard measures of time that we now take for granted—the way our hours and days and weeks are structured—are based on a factory model of work. I call this Industrial Time…. There are other ways of thinking about time. Seasonal ways. Cyclical ways. Ancient ways.”

On a practical level, how can an Autistic person learn to embrace spiral time? Marta Rose says it comes down to two points: Expand the time frame you use to gauge productivity and success. Take the “long view” of your life. Don’t be afraid to cycle back to old projects, or let a passion go when it’s not serving you. Slow down. Stillness helps neurodivergent minds process the huge quantities of data we take in.

In many ways, masking is psychologically similar to codependency, a relational pattern of seeking to manage or control the reactions and emotions of other people that usually results from abuse.[1]

Most masked Autistics need a lot of practice developing a strong sense of discernment, which is essentially using our own beliefs and perceptions to guide our behavior, rather than deferring to everyone else’s fleeting reactions and impressions. Maskers tend to get very distressed when people are unhappy with us, because disapproval has been so dangerous and painful for us in the past. Many of us will do nearly anything to keep other people satisfied. Learning to tolerate the distress of upsetting someone is crucial to developing reliable self-advocacy skills.

It’s normal and healthy to be considerate toward other people, but masked Autistics tend to devote so much energy to people pleasing that we have almost no cognitive space left to think about (or listen to) ourselves.

Autistics have been observed to exhibit what’s called an anxious-ambivalent attachment style at rates that are elevated compared to the neurotypical population. People with an anxious-ambivalent attachment are difficult to soothe and reassure, and don’t see close loved ones as a safe, “secure base” they can find comfort in when lost or threatened. As adults, people who are anxious-ambivalent tend to get into patterns of intense emotional dependency, combined with insecurity. They yearn to be accepted yet doubt that they can be.

When I was younger, many of the people who took an interest in me were women who wanted to help “teach” me how to be better at womanhood.

For many Autistic people, including Reese, self-acceptance looks less like flawless and serene self-love and more like a “fuck it, let them deal with it” attitude that helps her shake off the desire to hide.

The voice in my head that tells me it’s pathetic that I don’t cook is not my voice; it’s society programming, speaking from within me, and I don’t have to listen to it. Instead, I can call forth the side of myself that loves reading, writing, dance parties, and video games, and acknowledge that if eating a lot of snacks and fast food gives me more time to honor that person, it’s a worthwhile trade.

Throughout history and across many different cultures, most individuals did not cook for themselves.[13] Food was prepared communally, or by specialized workers, because it was a labor-intensive, time-intensive task. Fast food and street carts have existed since ancient times! Traditionally, most private residences did not even have dedicated kitchens, because people were less isolated and the responsibility of food prep was spread across the community. It’s perfectly okay that I need help staying fed. If I were living in a time and place where individuals weren’t held responsible for all their own food prep, my struggles with such things wouldn’t be disabling at all.