Unmasking Autism: Discovering the New Faces of Neurodiversity

by Devon Price

Therapy that is focused on battling “irrational beliefs,” such as cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), doesn’t work as well on Autistic people as it does on neurotypicals.[72] One reason for that is many of the fears and inhibitions of Autistic people are often entirely reasonable, and rooted in a lifetime of painful experiences. We tend to be pretty rational people, and many of us are already inclined to analyze our thoughts and feelings very closely (sometimes excessively so). Autistics don’t need cognitive behavioral training to help us not be ruled by our emotions. In fact, most of us have been browbeaten into ignoring our feelings too much.

Another thing that jumps out is the way he equates holding down a job with having a life of value. In this commenter’s view, I am a high-functioning Autistic because I can hyperfocus on something that makes money. Autistic passions that aren’t moneymaking are, as he says, “trivial” and “irrelevant.” That word irrelevant is also particularly striking—it’s as if the Autistic person’s own feelings and pleasure do not matter at all, only how their life is received by others.

Capitalism is the worst

When neurotypical people equate “functioning” with being less disabled, they fail to recognize the immense, hidden labor that goes into appearing normal. It also misses just how oppressive having to seem normal is by itself. It’s reminiscent of when I see a fat person proudly identify themselves as fat, only to be corrected by a thin person with a dismissive, “You’re not fat! You’re just curvy! You’re so pretty!” That kind of response betrays discomfort with fatness and fat pride, and reveals a latent belief that one can’t be fat and beautiful at the same time.

Furthermore, some people don’t “function” independently in any area of life at all, and that shouldn’t detract from their value and the respect they receive, either.

Generally speaking, if an Autistic person was verbal from a young age and could fake some social niceties, they were likely to either be considered “high functioning” as kids, or they weren’t identified as Autistic at all.

Many people who either were labeled as having Asperger’s in the 1990s or are considered “high functioning” now have similar stories of being hyperverbal toddlers. It often led to us being filtered into gifted education programs rather than special education, which came with both advantages and its fair share of poorly boundaried, objectifying experiences.

The very concept of “functioning status” is predicated on the logic of capitalism and the legacy of the Protestant work ethic, which both have trained us to believe that a person’s productivity determines their worth.[94]

Many Autistic people find it challenging to transition between activities. Each change requires a lot of what psychologists call executive functioning, a skill linked to planning and initiating behavior.[1] Most Autistics find it relatively easy to give a task we enjoy our unbroken attention, but we find it challenging to gear shift.

I wonder if this is why i was always the last one out of the hockey locker room?

I think for most masked Autistic people, there are key moments in childhood or adolescence where we learn we are embarrassing or wrong.

“Adults” are supposed to be independent, though of course no person actually is. We all rely on the hard work and social-emotional support of dozens of people every single day. You’re only seen as less adult, and supposedly less of a person,[3] if you need help in ways that disrupt the illusions of self-sufficiency.

Behind each mask, there sits a deep pain, and a series of painful beliefs about who you are and what you must never allow yourself to do. Consequently, a big part of unmasking will mean facing those qualities you loathe the most in yourself, and working to see them as neutral, or even as strengths.

In the psychological literature on the subject, Autism masking is said to consist of two classes of behavior:[4] Camouflaging: attempting to hide or obscure Autistic traits in order to “blend in” with neurotypicals. The main goal of camouflage is to avoid detection as disabled. Compensation: using specific strategies to “overcome” challenges and impairments related to disability. The main goal of compensation is to maintain the appearance of high, independent functioning.

Most of us have to mask everything from our information processing style, to our lack of coordination, to our limited food preferences, to the fact that we require more rest than neurotypical people are expected to.

Holy shit the food thing

Regular life is more cognitively and emotionally demanding for neurodiverse people than it is for neurotypicals, but we have to hide that fact from other people on a daily basis. To prop up our façade of being “high functioning,” we build a messy, unstable scaffolding of flawed coping mechanisms. It’s no wonder we report anxiety[7] and depression[8] at elevated rates.

A more “severely” Autistic person is not necessarily a person who experiences more interior suffering, but rather someone who suffers in a more disruptive, annoying, or disturbing way.

but we still receive endless conditioning that says our unfiltered selves are too annoying, unusual, awkward, nonconforming, and cold to fit in. We also witness how other nonconforming bodies and minds are treated. When the entire world shames people for being into “childish” things, having odd mannerisms, or simply being irritating, you don’t need ABA to program you into compliance. Everyone around you is already doing it.

An Autistic person who was mocked for being needy and intense as a child may camouflage as hyperindependent and emotionally avoidant, for example. On the flip side, an Autistic person who has repeatedly been told they are selfish and robotic might instead wear a mask of helpful friendliness, and become a compulsive people-pleaser or teacher’s pet.

Wait what if I'm a hyperindependent people pleaser?

Clueless, Pathetic Independent • Nodding or laughing, even when I have no idea what’s going on • Developing unique, private habits and “hacks” that make it possible for me to hold my life together • Making sure my life looks “put together” on paper, even at the expense of my health or happiness •

Also ope yup

Sensitive Strong • Not voicing my needs • Feeling ashamed whenever I wanted to cry or express anger • Fighting internally with every “disruptive” emotion I felt

Ope yup

Others become so lonesome they seek out approval from high-control groups and cults, or find themselves trapped in abusive domestic relationships they are unable to escape.

Explains away feelings of gender dysphoria or physical dissociation

Sounds like someone i know

Detachment and Dissociation • Prevents rejection by disengaging first • Blunts painful emotions such as grief, sorrow, and regret • Allows the Autistic person to focus only on what they’re naturally “good” at • Removes the pressure to learn challenging emotional or social skills • Silences needs and emotions others find bothersome • Preserves limited energy

Sometimes we are forced by circumstance to ignore our physical and mental health because maintaining our job or housing situation is the most pressing thing. When we lack a clear understanding of our disability, and no one around us recognizes us as disabled, we make do the best we can.

Neurotypical brains engage in sensory adaptation and habituation: the longer they are in the presence of a sound, smell, texture, or visual cue, the more their brain learns to ignore it, and allow it to fade into the background. Their neurons become less likely to be activated by a cue the longer they are around it. The exact opposite is true for Autistic people: the longer we are around a stimulus, the more it bothers us.[2]

As I’ve already mentioned, our neurons are also “hyperexcitable,” meaning our senses get set off more easily by small input that neurotypicals don’t even notice, such as a hair falling into our face or a pile of mail being left on our desk.[3]

We’re better at noticing small details and changes in our environment,[4] which can be a real advantage for meticulous work (like programming, Thomas’s profession), but we are also more prone to being startled or distracted.[5]

My over active startle reflex!

What non-Autistic folks often don’t realize is that Autistic people experience intense sensory input as if it were physical pain.[6]

When a friend on the debate team told me that I seemed like a “robot” because I never seemed to sleep, eat, or like people, I felt an immense sense of triumph. My mask was solid steel.

Autism and eating disorders are highly correlated, especially among women,[20] trans people,[21] and maskers diagnosed late in life.

We often seek out clear “rules” for good behavior, which we then adhere to rigidly, hoping they will keep us socially safe and finally render us worthy.[23]

Not eating behavior for me but other things for sure

Detachment and Dissociation To cope with the pressure of masking, many Autistics disappear into our own heads. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard an Autistic person say they wish they could just be a floating brain in a jar, or a dark, sentient mist with no physical form.

Dissociation is also a means of controlling the social and sensory data we’re taking in, ignoring inputs that have become too intense.

*Is* this why I don't notice my corporeal form? I have Questions.

In one study of Autistic agency, Autistic and non-Autistic people were both asked to manipulate a cursor on a screen as part of a computer game.[30] Random time lags and movement glitches were added to the game, so that players didn’t always have full control over what the mouse was doing. Players were told to attempt to win the game, and were also asked to report when they thought they had control of the mouse and when they didn’t. Neurotypical people were pretty accurate in judging when they had control of the mouse. They could tell when a mouse movement was caused by a lag or glitch rather than their own hands. Autistic players instead struggled to tell the difference. They tended to believe they were more in control of the game when they were winning, and that they were not in control when they were losing, even when the two were unrelated. In particular, this result appeared to be driven by Autistic people trusting internal cues less: they didn’t trust their own feelings of whether they were in control or not, so much as external benchmarks of success in the game.

Oh my GOD this is a nightmare and also explains my feelings at Erie and that thing in the recovery room and oh my god.

We rely on external signs of success (winning a game, getting praised by another person) to guide us, rather than trusting our perceptions and power of discernment.

Research shows that most Autistic people have a reduced sense of the body’s warning signals, or interoception.[31] Most of us tend to feel like our bodies are not really our own, and struggle to draw connections between the external world and how we feel inside.[32] For example, a neurotypical person might notice that their coworkers are leaving for lunch, and then check in with their own body and recognize they’re hungry, too. An Autistic person might instead be lost in their own head, and fail to draw a connection between their coworkers departing and the need to check for hunger within themselves. It’s unclear how much this is caused by a neurological feature of Autism, and how much it’s a by-product of masking and social pressure. After all, masked Autistics are socially conditioned to silence the physical needs we do notice. If I have to suppress my desire to pace around the room and sing songs to myself because doing so makes me look like a “freak,” how am I supposed to know that listening to hunger or tiredness is fine?

Though Autistic people tend to be hypersensitive to sensory input, most are relatively numb to physical pain.[33] It may sound paradoxical, but it makes sense when you recall the research showing that Autistic brains are generally detail oriented and hyperexcitable. When my shirt gets untucked, I cannot stand the little burst of cool air I feel hitting my belly. It’s a persistent, small stimulus that is too annoying to ignore. Yet I’ve walked for miles with bleeding fissures on my heels and barely felt a thing. Masking also tends to involve swallowing your anguish in order to keep the neurotypicals around you happy. Complaining about discomfort that no one else is experiencing can make you seem “crazy” or “demanding.” Many of us become quite adept at ignoring pain, just as we neglect our own hunger or thirst.

Unfortunately, this isn’t just true of physical pain. It extends to emotional pain, too. Research by psychologist Geoff Bird indicates that about half of all Autistics suffer from alexithymia,[34] or the inability to recognize and name emotions.[35] For those of us with alexithymia, we may know in a vague way that we’re distressed, but might not be able to name a specific feeling like jealousy or resentment. We also struggle to figure out why we’re feeling emotions. This trait is yet another reason that neurotypicals stereotype us as unfeeling and detached. Alexithymia may arise, in part, because Autistics aren’t given the tools to understand how emotions feel in our bodies, and because we are taught to prioritize others’ feelings above our own. Growing up, we’re told how neurotypical emotions look and feel. We’re encouraged to track other people for signs of discomfort or disapproval, so we can change our actions and become more pleasant or compliant. Our own facial expressions, nonverbal signals, and perceptions of our bodies and surroundings are different, and neurotypicals frequently ignore them. So when we’re upset or uncomfortable, we often fail to recognize it until we’re nearly on the verge of a complete meltdown. As we begin to unmask, we stop monitoring the reactions of other people so closely and with so much hypervigilance; this allows us to check in with our bodies more. Our reflexive self-censorship may begin to reduce, allowing us to notice our discomfort an...

Some research suggests that Autistics who disclose their disability at work often regret having done so, because they don’t get many useful accommodations and may be underestimated or othered.[38]

We'll find out! Guess it's good i didn't know until I'd been there long enough to already give people an impression of me and i just keep stubbornly moving ahead.

When you have never been able to move through the world comfortably, you’ll seek relief and meaning where you can get it. For a subset of Autistic people, that means falling into abusive, cultlike communities. For others, it takes the form of rationalizing or excusing abuse in private relationships. Many of us mask through compulsive people pleasing and compliance.

Finch writes that when he really wants to connect with another person, his instinct is to censor his real self and “mirror” the other person: “The more invested I was in an emotional connection, the less likely I was to criticize that person, vocalize when my boundaries were crossed, express unhappiness with their behavior, or share anything that I felt might damage that relationship.”

It is weird when you don't realize you are mirroring.

I don’t know how to say no to people.

Getting better

I feel responsible for managing other people’s feelings and reactions, even when they don’t involve me.

Yes! But again getting better.

I closely monitor social situations to see when conflict is brewing, and try to stop it before it starts.

Interesting and sometimes very much

I find it easy to correct a coworker if they make a factual statement that’s wrong, but when I was trapped in an abusive relationship with a person I deeply loved, contradicting him terrified me. Just the idea of telling him that he’d treated me unfairly made me want to sputter and flee the room. Years later, I still have trouble criticizing people, including those who make me feel safe and accepted. My brain knows better, but my body expects a rage outburst all the same. Autistic people are at an increased risk of domestic abuse, in part because we tend to be a bit gullible or overly trusting, and are quick to alter ourselves to placate others.[58] When you’re trapped under the mask, all love feels conditional. It’s hard to know which needs are acceptable to voice. It’s also easy for us to feel responsible for serving as an intermediary or peacekeeper when any tension arises between other people, because for us, conflict can be very dangerous.

WELL OK THEN

Almost every neurodiverse person I’ve spoken to for this book shared that discovering they were Autistic was a powerful aha moment, one that prompted them to rethink every narrative they’d believed about who they were. Painful labels they’d carried around inside themselves for years suddenly didn’t seem as relevant: it wasn’t that they were stupid, or clueless, or lazy, they were just disabled. It wasn’t that their efforts had never been enough, or that they were fundamentally wrong or bad. They simply hadn’t been treated with the compassion they deserved, or given the tools that would have allowed them to flourish. Naming their position in society as a disabled person helped them to externalize that which had long been internalized. It proved that none of their suffering had been their fault.

Finally, unmasking demands that we look back on our past selves with a spirit of grace, gradually learning to see that the sides of ourselves that we were told were too loud, too stilted, too weird, or too much are actually completely fine, even wonderful, and absolutely deserving of love.

“Sensitivity,” despite being a sign of attentiveness and discernment, is frowned upon when you’re good at detecting things people would rather you not see. Today, Bobbi is in a place where their sensitivity is seen as the boon it really is. They help children by using that sensitivity to recognize and resonate with their pain.

Almost WORD FOR WORD what i said about how my trauma + autism makes me really good at my job

Reframing Autistic Stereotypes

Chart

Another powerful step in the unmasking process is learning to reclaim our passions and special interests. Most of us have been stifling all our large feelings for years—not just distress and discomfort, but joy as well. By happily delving into our special interests and reveling in our Autistic capacity to hyperfocus, we can help retrain our brains to see our neurotype as a source of beauty rather than a mark of shame.

Interestingly, adults are only shamed for having an obsessive interest if that interest is a bit too “strange,” and doesn’t come with the opportunity to rack up a lot of achievements or make a lot of money. People who routinely complete eighty-hour workweeks aren’t penalized for being obsessive or hyperfixated; they’re celebrated for their diligence. If an adult fills their evenings after work learning to code or creating jewelry that they sell on Etsy, they’re seen as enterprising. But if someone instead devotes their free time to something that gives them pleasure but doesn’t financially benefit anyone, it’s seen as frivolous or embarrassing, even selfish. In this instance, it’s clear that the punishing rules imposed on Autistic children reflect a much broader societal issue: pleasure and nonproductive, playful time are not valued, and when someone is passionate about the “wrong” things, that passion is discouraged because it presents a distraction from work and other “respectable” responsibilities.