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

by Devon Price

“It was really hard to convince my mom to let me stay home that much,” Crystal says. “And eventually I hit the limit of how many sick days I could have without getting in trouble. But for as long as I could I got ‘stomachaches’ and stayed home, which really kept me sane.”

faking sickness was an essential part of her mask. It could get her out of the overstimulating classroom and provide her some much-needed rest.

Crystal had already observed that if she asked for help with something that neurotypical people found “obvious,” she wouldn’t get assistance. They’d just find her exhausting, or think she was asking questions just to waste time. But Crystal genuinely didn’t know what role x played in a linear equation. She didn’t understand what “show your work” meant in a math context, so she’d write long paragraphs explaining her thought process in words, and describing exactly which buttons on the calculator she’d pressed. Her teacher took this as some kind of personal insult, and wrote Crystal up for it. She cried in the detention hall the entire time, baffled that her best attempt at showing her work had somehow been rude.

“Even my mannerisms like speaking bluntly or directly, or matter-of-fact. I still have to mask because I want to tell the truth. But it’s not about what I say, it’s about what people interpret. And I have gotten into trouble because of what people interpret.”

We say the wrong thing, misread a situation, or fail to play along with a neurotypical joke, and our difference is suddenly laid bare for all to see. Neurotypical people may not know we’re disabled, but they identify in us some key flaw that is associated with disability: we’re childish, or bitter, self-absorbed, or too “angry,” or maybe we’re just awkward and make people cringe.

Autistic people frequently are stereotyped as immature, unintelligent, cold, or out of touch. And each of our masks helps to cover up the Autism stereotypes we felt we needed to resist the most. 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.

Someone might verbally camouflage by forcing themselves not to speak too much about their special interests,5 for example, and socially compensate by researching a friend’s Facebook posts before meeting up with them, so they’ll have a good idea of what to chat about.6 A person might camouflage their auditory sensitivities by gritting their teeth through the pain and never complaining about it, or they might compensate for it by wearing subtle noise-canceling earbuds that don’t stand out as unusual.

I was initially drawn to academia because I believed it was a place where I could dress however I liked, keep my own hours, and be eccentric without consequence.

I compensated by developing skills and credentials that would allow me to be valued for my mind rather than my looks or poise.

months. In a few key areas we may appear to be functioning highly, but that façade requires we let everything else in life fall apart.

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 anxiety7 and depression8 at elevated rates. If the only food you ever get to eat is what you can steal, you’re gonna move through the world feeling undernourished and hypervigilant.

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. The Autistic children who present the biggest hassle are the ones most likely to be referred to services, whereas those who can conceal their struggles are granted tentative approval—but risk never being understood or empathized with.

What the researchers found was that parents did not accurately perceive the level of their kids’ suffering. Instead, parents based their ratings of Autism “severity” on how much their kids’ behavior bothered them and required a lot of their time and attention. Many children described by parents as “high functioning” were quietly coping with debilitating sensory pain, or were falling behind academically or socially in significant ways. This carries over to how Autistic adults are perceived, and the expectations that neurotypical institutions place on us to appear “normal.”

ABA therapists train children to camouflage their Autistic traits using a system of rewards and punishments. ABA patients get sprayed in the face with water (or on the tongue with vinegar) for failing to make eye contact, or for talking too much about their special interests. If a child engages in echolalia (phrase repeating), chews on their fingers, or flaps their hands, they’ll be punished, even if they find these impulses painful to restrain. ABA patients are also forced to rehearse compensation strategies. They’re made to sit still for hours until they parrot back a conversational script correctly, and aren’t allowed to get up and play until they provide an “adequate” amount of eye contact.10 They may be asked to repeat conversational niceties like “please” and “thank you” over and over until they hit on the correct tone of voice, or be told to stand up and sit down repeatedly while the therapist snaps their fingers at them like they’re a trained dog. When Autistic kids act out or demand attention, ABA therapists are supposed to withdraw, leaving the room or ignoring their distress. This teaches the Autistic child not to expect any help from the outside world.

The electroshock devices used in ABA therapy were briefly banned by the Food and Drug Administration 2020,12 before being reinstated in 2021.13 Today, the Association for Behavior Analysis still vocally supports the use of such “aversives” to discourage visibly Autistic behavior. In 2012, an ABA-trained special education teacher came under fire for coating her young students’ crayons in hot sauce, to discourage chewing.14 That case wasn’t a random act of violence. It reflects the core philosophy of ABA. The founder of ABA, Ole Ivar Lovaas, used to coerce children into providing hugs and kisses to their therapists by giving them candy.

Forty-six percent of Autistic adults who underwent ABA therapy as kids report having Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as a result of the experience.16 Many experience deep shame even naming the subjects they feel passionate about, because they’ve been punished for having special interests. Some are unable to appreciate the emotional and psychological benefits of fidgeting or stimming because the importance of having “quiet hands” was so deeply drilled into them. Many don’t know how to refuse an unreasonable demand, or how to express emotions like anger or fear. One former ABA therapist confessed on an anonymous blog that she worries she conditioned her patients to be easy to manipulate and abuse.

“Upset about being treated like a circus animal? Not my problem, kiddo,” she writes. “I’m here to lure you with candy and manipulate you into doing my bidding, no questions asked. Which will make you excellent prey for sexual predators, abusive teachers, caregivers, and partners later in life.”17

For many Autistic kids, learning to obscure your pain often becomes a primary survival strategy; for masked Autistics, this isn’t taught within ABA therapy, but as part of regular life. I didn’t go through ABA, but friends’ parents did yell at me for squirming awkwardly in my seat. No one forced me to rehearse “normal” conversational scripts, but kids laughed and walked away from me when I spoke in an inappropriately loud voice or quoted movies to express how I felt.

we still receive endless conditioning that says our unfiltered selves are too annoying, unusual, awkward, nonconforming, and cold to fit in.

I coped by folding my arms tight across my chest and screwing a pissed-off expression onto my face. The grimacing, somewhat irritated expression that Autistic climate activist Greta Thunberg is now famous for20 is very similar to how I used to react to loud noise and social chaos. I had already started to cultivate a grumpy, goth persona to protect me from seeming weak. Instead of showing that I was overwhelmed, my mask told other people to stay far away.

An Autistic person who was mocked for being needy and intense as a child may camouflage as hyperindependent and emotionally avoidant,

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.

I impressed teachers with my wit and racked up debate trophies and merit-based scholarships, which fed into my sense that I was better than other people, and that my intelligence was the real reason I was alone.

But more importantly it dulled the razor-sharp edges of reality enough where I could be in a crowded loud area. Because I really couldn’t bring myself to do that without alcohol.”

a good job and could maintain a sixty-hour workweek, but was sneaking drinks and coming to work hungover. He had a partner, but they barely spoke to one another. His home life was a mess. Through it all, he remained convinced that alcohol was the only thing keeping him sane. He couldn’t fall asleep without it, desperately needed it to prop up his otherwise unsustainable life masquerading as a neurotypical person.

Research shows that Autistics who mask tend to suffer from intense social anxiety,1 and some of us learn to self-medicate that anxiety with drugs or alcohol. We may also reach for substances to help blunt our sensory issues or help us pretend to be more confident. Alcohol, weed, and other depressants are also an appealing and socially acceptable way of unwinding after a stressful day of constantly gaming out how every move we make will be received by other people.

a variety of flawed strategies in order to relax, mute our most disruptive behaviors, or conform with neurotypical standards.

Some self-harm in order to regulate their anxiety or sensory overwhelm.

It’s hard for many masked Autistic people to recognize that being a hard-drinking party animal who routinely gets swept away in abusive relationships can be a sign they are struggling with an unrecognized disability. When we compensate in those ways, we often believe it’s because we’re just toxic, weak-willed people.

Problem Drinking or Substance Use • Dulls sensory sensitivities • Provides “liquid courage” for intimidating social situations • Relaxes inhibitions and filters • Provides energy to get through an overly demanding world • Stimulates the senses • Entertains an anxious or preoccupied mind • Silences the inner critic

Prevents rejection by disengaging first • Blunts painful emotions such as grief, sorrow, and regret

Preserves limited energy

Makes a confusing reality feel more understandable and concrete

Translates vague social norms into specific expectations

Earns the Autistic person praise • Offers a false promise of acceptance • Simplifies complicated relationship dynamics

Flattens social interactions into one easy rule: always say “yes” • Validates the Autistic person’s belief they should ignore their feelings and needs • Minimizes conflict and reduces anger

With the help of a therapist who actually understood the comorbidity between Autism and alcoholism, Thomas was finally able to make progress in dealing with his addiction.

“I came to figure out I have had massive social anxiety and sensory issues all my life, and I was using alcohol to numb them,”

One of the most common and subtly debilitating experiences Autistics have...

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.

But for most of my life, people were unsympathetic to my sensory complaints. They acted as if I chose to be distracted and furious every day.

private. In recent years, I’ve learned how to prevent these meltdowns before they occur, by giving myself lots of quiet time alone, and extricating myself from stressful situations before they make me bubble up with anxiety. The second I feel myself suppressing frustration that I feel I don’t deserve to voice, I know I need to get out of the area. However, once a true meltdown hits there’s very little I can do—I need to either escape the situation, or find an outlet for all my energy. Drinking is really the only release valve neurotypical people can respect—as long as you present it as a fun habit, rather than a compulsion.

A survey of more than five hundred Autistic adults published in the journal Autism in Adulthood found that the most commonly reported reasons for binge drinking were social reasons, and to boost positive feelings.11 Alcoholism and substance use can mask Autism super effectively, because most people still believe Autistics are buttoned-up geeks who prefer to stay home. If you’ve been unaware of your disability for a long time, or been in denial about it, you may have used getting high or drunk to cover up your suffering, or to give you the energy to socialize. You may believe, for example, that you can’t be interesting or fun without the aid of substances. If you have trauma related to abuse you’ve endured as a masked Autistic person (or from other sources), you might use substances to self-medicate post-traumatic stress.

When a substance use disorder co-occurs alongside other mental health conditions, such as post-traumatic stress or depression, research shows most patients prefer and benefit from an integrated treatment approach that addresses the multiple, interlocking issues at the same time.12 Autism isn’t a disorder that needs to be treated, but most Autistic people do have mental health struggles related to living in an unaccepting neurotypical world. For Autistic people who do have substance addictions, exploring an integrated treatment program is likely to be a good fit.

In Thomas’s case, cutting back on alcohol laid bare the sensory sensitivities and anxiety that lingered underneath. It also rapidly became clear that he couldn’t maintain a high-stress, high-stimulation job that would be more likely to provoke him to drink. Today he manages his sensory issues using noise-canceling headphones, and he forces himself to take regular breaks away from busy, noisy settings. He’s working from home, and learning to recognize when he’s getting overloaded by anxiety or noise. There’s less need for him to camouflage his Autistic traits now, and thus less desire to drink. He’s now been completely sober for several years.

In a lot of ways, I became a more autistic person when I got sober.”

In order to get sober, sometimes you have to be willing to be more Autistic.

“I knew innately from a very young age I find life harder than other people,” they say, “but there was never any reason. It was always just you are lazy; you are being lazy.”

Dorian says they had many clear Asperger’s Syndrome traits. They inhaled books and sat off alone in the corner at family gatherings. They spoke “like a thesaurus” and did well on IQ tests, but found daily classwork hard to keep up with.

“My parents were told, there’s nothing wrong with your kid. . . . Your child is going to go far! Your child has nothing that’s going to ever get in their way.”