Unmasking Autism: The Power of Embracing Our Hidden Neurodiversity (Unmasking Autism Series)

by Devon Price

I had no idea I’d need to make friends.

The few relationships I did have were enmeshed; I took responsibility for others’ problems, tried to manage their emotions for them, and lacked any capacity to say “no” to unreasonable requests.

I believed I was incapable of really being loved.

had to get completely hammered to overcome my inhibitions and seem “fun.”

How could I go about connecting with others, when every effort was so unsatisfying? What did I actually enjoy or care about? Around people, I felt I had to censor every natural reaction, and pretend to have interests and feelings that were normal. Plus, people were so overwhelming. They were all so loud and erratic, their eyes like painful laser beams boring into me. All I wanted to do was sit in the dark and not be bothered or judged.

I believed something was fundamentally wrong with me. I seemed to be broken in ways I couldn’t explain, but which everyone else could see at a glance.

I spent several more years languishing like this, working myself to the point of burnout, having emotional breakdowns, relying on romantic partners for...

I never considered asking for help or sharing with anyone how I felt. I lived by a very narrow set of rules, and remaining independent and invulnerable was chief among them.

None of us could handle talking about our emotions and mostly interacted using a surface-level script.

We rambled on and on about the subjects that interested us, even if it bored others to tears. We were easily overwhelmed by change and rarely went out into the world to have new experiences or make friends.

I’d already felt broken for years.

obsessively reading about Autism. I inhaled journal articles, blog posts, YouTube videos, and diagnostic assessment materials.

trait common among Autistics; we tend to latch on to subjects that fascinate us and focus on them with a fervor others find weird. After being mocked about our passions, we become secretive about our special interests

scared and exhilarated me.

overwhelmed by loud sounds and bright lights.

To other people, my tears were immature tantrums and my opinions were condescending diatribes. As I grew up, I learned to be less intense, less embarrassing—less me. I studied other people’s mannerisms. I spent a lot of time dissecting conversations in my head, and I read up on psychology so I could understand people better.

That was why I’d gotten a PhD in social psychology. I had needed to carefully study the social norms and patterns of thinking that seemingly felt natural to everybody else.

Real Social Skills)

Neurowonderful

I found out there were thousands of Autistics just like me, who discovered their disability in adulthood after years of confused self-loathing. As children, these Autistic folks had been visibly awkward, but they were mocked for it instead of given help. Like me, they had developed coping strategies to blend in. Things like staring at a person’s forehead to simulate eye contact,

Many of these stealthily Autistic people fell back on their intellect or other talents to gain acceptance. Others became incredibly passive, because if they toned down their personalities, they wouldn’t have to risk being too “intense.” Beneath the inoffensive, professional veneers they had developed, their lives were falling apart. Many of them suffered from self-harm, eating disorders, and alcoholism. They were trapped in abusive or unfulfilling relationships, with no clue how to feel seen and appreciated. Nearly all of them were depressed, haunted by a profound sense of emptiness. Their entire lives had been shaped by mistrust in themselves, hatred of their bodies, and fear of their desires.

often had their traits ignored when they were young, or have symptoms of distress interpreted as “manipulative” or “aggressive.”

without access to mental health resources.

knowledge about the disability was so limited during their childhoods.

Jenara Nerenberg’s Divergent Mind and Rudy Simone’s Aspergirls

When an Autistic person is not given resources or access to self-knowledge, and when they’re told their stigmatized traits are just signs that they’re a disruptive, overly sensitive, or annoying kid, they have no choice but to develop a neurotypical façade. Maintaining that neurotypical mask feels deeply inauthentic and it’s extremely exhausting to maintain.

Masking is a state of exclusion forced onto us from the outside.

All people are assumed to think, socialize, feel, express emotion, process sensory information, and communicate in more or less the same ways. We’re all expected to play along with the rules of our home culture, and blend into it seamlessly. Those of us who need alternate tools for self-expression and self-understanding are denied them. Our first experience of ourselves as a person in the world, therefore, is one of being othered and confused. We only get the opportunity to take our masks off when we realize other ways of being exist.

My eating disorder was a way to punish my body for its unusual, Autistic mannerisms, and a means of making it conform to conventional beauty standards, protecting me from negative attention. My social isolation was a way of rejecting other people before they could reject me. My workaholism was a sign of Autistic hyperfixation, as well as an acceptable excuse to withdraw from public places that caused me sensory overwhelm. I got into unhealthy, codependent relationships because I needed approval and didn’t know how to get it, so I just molded myself into whatever my partner at the time was looking for.

I met Autistics who’d at first been diagnosed with things like Borderline Personality Disorder,

By spending time with other Autistic people, I began to see that life didn’t have to be all hidden anguish. When I was around other Autistics, I was more able to be blunt and direct. I could ask for accommodations, such as dimming the lights or opening a window to dilute the stench of somebody’s perfume. The more other people around me relaxed, spoke passionately about their special interests, and rocked in place excitedly, the less shame I felt about who I was, and how my brain and body worked.

before we examine our masks and learn to take them off, we must first recognize that the version of ourselves we’ve been hiding from the world is somebody we can trust.

strange, or somehow impossible to love. You probably also recognize that there are real, material risks to letting your disability be visible, particularly if you occupy a marginalized position in society. You might associate authenticity with being unsafe for incredibly rational reasons, and not be sure how and when unmasking could be worth it for you.

As damaging and self-defeating as it can be to camouflage one’s disability status, it is by no means a paranoid act. It’s a rational reflection of the prejudices disabled people face.

how painful and self-destructive hiding your disability can be. He had erected an entire life around hiding who he was, and his defensive mechanisms had slowly killed him.

“Now I know I’m Autistic, but I kinda found out about it too late,” she says. “If I tell people, they don’t want to believe me. I have my life together too much for them to realize how hard it all is. Nobody wants to hear now about how hard it’s always been, always still is, frankly.”

A child exhibits early signs of difficulty, but their families and teachers balk when disability is raised. Parents or grandparents who themselves have Autism spectrum traits dismiss the child’s complaints, claiming that everybody suffers from the social stress, sensory sensitivities, stomach issues, or cognitive fuzziness they themselves experience. Everyone in the child’s life views disability not as an explanation of how a person functions (and what help they need in order to function), but a sign of damage. So they push the label away, and tell their child to stop making such a fuss. Believing they are helping their child “rise above” a limitation and be tough, they encourage the child not to be visibly odd, or to ever ask for assistance.

They work hard, demand little, and play by society’s rules as closely as possible. They grow into an adult who is even more self-effacing, and even less capable of voicing how they feel. Then, after decades of forcing themselves into a restrictive neurotypical box, they have some kind of breakdown that finally makes all the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface impossible to ignore. It’s only then that they discover they’re Autistic.

a months-long case of Autistic burnout. Autistic burnout is a state of chronic exhaustion where an Autistic person’s skills begin to degrade, and their tolerance to stress is greatly reduced.

why basic-seeming tasks like running to the bank or sitting through a two-hour lecture left her too tired to think or speak. Regular life actually did require more willpower out

Rain Man: he’s institutionalized as a child because he’s profoundly disabled and too “difficult” to have at home, he never gives eye contact, wanders off dangerously when not closely watched, and has a preternatural talent for math that his nondisabled brother exploits for personal gain.

inclined to zero in on small details, even when those details don’t jibe with the overall “big picture” that a non-Autistic person might see.

This high degree of attention to detail also applies to how we navigate social situations: we focus on the small features of a person’s face rather than taking in their likeness or emotional expression as a whole, for instance.

This helps explain why many Autistic people have prosopagnosia (the inability to recognize faces),

This slow, deliberative style of processing comes with its fair share of downsides. We can’t always pick up on irony or “obvious” implied meanings people haven’t said explicitly. Allistic people often accuse us of overthinking things, or being too slow and hesitant to come up with a response. We also get overwhelmed when presented with mountains of data, which neurotypical people find much easier to just ignore.

Because the neural and cognitive features of Autism are so pervasive, it affects almost every aspect of a person’s body and brain. It’s related to coordination and muscle tone, the ability to read emotions on people’s faces, communication skills, reaction time, and even how a person recognizes feelings of pain or hunger.

Autism can influence how intensely we focus on an activity, and how we perceive textures, tastes, and sounds.29 Autism can predispose a person to having fanatical interests (often referred to as special interests)30 and to following rules very rigidly. Many of us have trouble identifying sarcasm or reading nonverbal signals. Disruptions to our routines or expectations can make us panic. Learning new skills may take us far longer than other people.

chewing one’s fingers until they bleed.

Stimming is an important means of self-regulation. It helps soothe us when we’re anxious or overloaded with stress, and it helps us express joy and enthusiasm.

Because we find the external social world so unpredictable, most of us prefer consistent routines.