Before realization and diagnosis, I was a super-masker.
My Face
I have a flat facial expression, although I prefer the word “neutral” to flat. In a high masking scenario, I’m smiling more than I’m actually comfortable with and it feels forced and awkward.
People seem to like me better when I smile. Men have always felt free to tell me that I’m prettier when I smile. Even when I was little. Gross. I’ve also been told I look like a bitch or a snob when I’m not smiling.
Facial masking for me was facial awareness and control to the point of hating my own face. I hate having my picture taken.
My Voice
My voice is naturally monotone, but there’s a higher pitched, sing-songy voice that, in hindsight, I used in my former corporate life for the most part. When I think about that now, I’m grossed out.
In Social Settings
I’m an extrovert. Yes, autistic extroverts exist!
I love people. People are my #1 interest. However, I still experience social overwhelm so its a constant balancing act that can quickly burn me out if I’m not maintaining an awareness of how full my cup is. How I recover from socialization *looks* like introversion, but it’s not. Even my DNA profile says I’m an extrovert. My Dad was the same way.
When I go into retreat mode, it’s to recover from extroverted socialization and sensory overwhelm.
Because masking takes more energy than is reasonable or sustainable without negative consequences, I spent a lot of time alone before I was diagnosed. I had a history of not committing to plans because I knew when it came to the day-of there’d be a good chance I would not have the social bandwidth to show up as a genuine version of myself. Showing up would require more masking, which would send me nose diving into what I now know was a state of burnout. Or, I’d go to the social event and have too many cocktails to cope with the social overwhelm.
Before discovery and diagnosis, I had no way of explaining these behaviors to myself, let alone others. I had no way to advocate for myself.
In Intimate Relationships
In the past, sustaining relationships required its own kind of masking. It left me feeling hollowed out and alone. Since unmasking, the level of work that it has taken for me to be where I am now – in a healthy, functioning relationship with someone I love beyond measure – is ongoing and energetically taxing at times, but absolutely worth it.
I am constantly explaining myself and advocating for myself for the health of my marriage.
Aside from loving me, nothing about being married to me is easy or comes naturally to anyone. Being married to me calls for a level of devotion, patience, willingness to learn, open mindedness and a degree of mental fortitude that I’m lucky to have found in my husband.
The Physical Health Impacts
Masking eventually led my body into a nearly constant state of inflammation. Holding back the overwhelm and the potent emotions I carry sparked and fueled it. I deal with a number of mysterious digestive challenges. Diagnosis at age 44 allowed me to finally start connecting some of my lifelong health-related dots, and begin supporting my system properly.
The Dissociation
Masking for me also shows up as dissociation. There was a lot of holding back the truth before diagnosis and “the big burnout”. In a situation where there’s (to me) obvious toxicity in the culture (I’m referring to some work environments) I am totally distracted and disturbed by it. So to cope with what I felt intuitively so I could do my job, I had to dissociate. I only see this now in hindsight.
After diagnosis and lots of inner work I came out of a lifetime of dissociation. Where I used to feel numb I am now more sensitive than ever. Freedom is a double-edged sword, I suppose.
I’ve noticed that society has demonized dissociation based on its most extreme forms. “Soft dissociation” is actually pretty nice, and can show up as daydreaming and mental rest.
Self Abandonment & Its Mental Health Impacts
Before diagnosis, masking (for me) was a lifetime of abandoning some of my biggest strengths and personal convictions, suffering in silence, and attempting to hide my biggest weaknesses and support needs in exchange for acceptance and inclusion based on neurotypical standards.
A long term cycle of self-abandonment is traumatic, and one of many reasons why a large portion of autistic and otherwise neurodivergent people suffer with Complex PTSD, anxiety, depression and low self-esteem that adds to the challenges that already exist in relationships, social interactions and the workplace.
Masking, for me, is forced self abandonment.