The Mask: Hiding in Plain Sight
March 22, 2021
For a very long time, I’ve known that the way I think is unlike those around me; my brain simply works differently than others’. I've never understood why this is. Nonetheless, I have always been painfully aware of the fact. As a child, I learned very quickly that my way of thinking was not only different, it was the wrong way of thinking... I was the wrong way of being. With the basic survival instinct to blend in with the pack or be thrown out in the cold already built into my DNA, I quickly shifted to learning how those around me thought and behaved, the facial expressions they used, the tone in their voices, their body language. With that information, I slowly began to build my mask, a mask that, while vital for my survival, would soon feel like an inescapable prison. My life has been the world's best performance that will never be awarded or even recognized. Because no one knows I’m acting or who I truly am behind the mask... and after 30 years of wearing it, I’m not sure that I know either.
It was less than a year ago when I first came across an article written by a young woman recently diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. While I resonated deeply with her writing, I dismissed it pretty quickly because “I’m not Autistic.” By 30 years old, you don’t expect to be still receiving large pieces of essential information about yourself, and yet, on the cusp of my 30th, I learned that I had Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). While I have always had ASD, I never received a diagnosis as a child, nor was it something I even thought of as a possibility for myself. Like many, I had a minimal idea of what autism was and assumed that just couldn’t be me. It wasn’t too long after that first story that I stumbled upon another article, this one by a woman diagnosed with ASD at 40 years old. While also exploring her journey to discovering she was Autistic as an adult, her story reflected on her childhood with the newfound lens of autism. She wrote about difficulty controlling intense emotions, trouble with eye contact and connecting with other children, and so often being labeled as too “shy” or “sensitive” by adults, as I was. These memories of childhood characteristics really stuck with me and began to open my eyes to what perhaps was always in front of me. So I decided to dive deep and do some research - specifically about autism in girls and women.
After spending weeks scouring the internet and reading everything I could find in relation to Autism in girls and women, masking, and late diagnosis, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that this was me, that I am Autistic. Anxiously, I shared with my therapist and psychiatrist long lists of autistic traits I identified with and reasons why I was so sure that this diagnosis was correct for me. It didn’t take much convincing for them to both agree that I am Autistic. I’m now awaiting a more thorough Autism evaluation that I’ll be going through this Summer.
Women with Autism Spectrum Disorder are less likely to be properly diagnosed for a number of reasons. Autism can present differently in girls than in boys, who are historically the far more studied gender in ASD. Girls are also more likely to “mask,” or suppress and hide, their autistic behaviors in an effort to blend in. And may try to mimic “normal,” socially acceptable actions. While young girls with autism can present in many different ways for me, I struggled most with: eye contact, socializing, talking to and connecting with others, insistence on sameness and routines, sensitivities to light, sound, and fabrics, difficulty controlling my emotions and experiencing very intense emotions.
It doesn’t take long, especially once you’re exposed to other children, to learn what you need to do to be accepted by the others. As a kid, I did the best I could, connecting and interacting with others in the way they expected, and chose to struggle silently inside. I didn’t understand why all the things I was supposed to like, I actually hated, as they just drained all the energy from me. Nevertheless, I persisted and continued to internalize all my pain, discomfort, and struggle while I pretended to be something I was not. Because as a kid, not fitting in with anyone or having any friends seemed worse, even though I have never personally had much interest in making friends or maintaining relationships.
Other expected social behaviors, such as eye contact, have always made me uncomfortable. I seldom made eye contact with anyone except my immediate family until I was about nineteen. The boy I was dating at the time derived great joy from making fun of me for rarely making eye contact with anyone. Since then, I have consciously and uncomfortably forced eye contact when speaking with others as much as I can.
I’ve always spoken very bluntly, honestly, and matter of factly, often being told my words or tone are too harsh or mean, even if the words I was speaking were valid. Constantly, I was told to “tone it down.” I never understood, and still don’t, the need to sugar coat everything we say to each other. Why can’t we just be straight forward with each other, honest, and to the point? We waste so much time flowering up conversations, even in places where we should be as efficient as possible, like the workplace. “I need this information,” “here is the answer,” straight, to the point, and efficient. So why must I spend ten extra minutes going back through each email I write before I can hit send just to sprinkle some “Good Mornings,” Hope you had a wonderful weekends,” and at least one inane smiley face just to make sure my words don’t get misinterpreted.
I once wrote an article about the poor quality of education in the new high school I was attending. My journalism teacher was practically knocked over by how “harsh” my words were, “But it’s true!” I said, and I never understood why that wasn’t enough. Not that I was claiming to be an expert on education, but I was an exceptional student with a high GPA who had skipped a grade. And through interviews with teachers and staff I learned that I was not the only one with this opinion about the school’s quality of education, just perhaps the only one daring enough to say something about it. After completing comparisons of test scores, graduation rates, and other statistics, I came to the conclusion that the curriculum and practices at my new school would not set most students up for success as they went on to college or the workforce. And that just didn’t sit right with me, so I had to write about it.
Even though my journalism teacher agreed with everything I wrote, we still had to spend weeks working to “tone down” my article. And in the end, the principal still wouldn’t let it run in the school paper, as he considered my words to be too “inflammatory.” I could not understand why honesty and freedom of speech weren’t allowed simply because my words were not wholly positive or exploding with sunshine and rainbows. So I took my article elsewhere for publishing.
I also used to be a favorite of teachers as I would correct them when they were wrong. From trying to whitewash and tell a different version of American history to being flat-out incorrect about how the REM cycle works, I would always be the first to let them know that they were, in fact, wrong. At the time, I didn’t understand how it was necessarily rude or, more so, why I should even be considering feelings when a teacher was actively giving out false information.
I have been learning the “tone it down” lesson or, more appropriately, the “mask it up” lesson all my life. With each parent, teacher, or employer who insisted I needed to add unnecessary words, tones, and facial expressions, or that I needed to do, like, be, or participate in certain things because “that’s what you’re supposed to do”... I lost a little bit of myself. I feel like my whole life, everyone has been forcing me into this small box of who they expect me to be, who they want me to be, but it’s not who I am, and now I’m struggling to get out.
Learning that I am Autistic has been life-changing for me; it has answered so many questions I’ve had about myself; it’s explained so much of me. While learning that I’m Autistic hasn’t changed any of the things I struggle with, it has put them into context; it’s given them a reason and a name. And despite some of the ignorant reactions I’ve received, such as one likening my autism diagnosis to that of terminal cancer, for me, learning this information has been a pure celebration.
For the first time in my life, I actually understand myself. Let me repeat that: For the first time in my life, I actually understand myself. I cannot overstate how huge that is. It’s quite challenging to put into words, but I’ve found I can describe it best like this: Imagine going through your whole life feeling like an alien. You know you’re different from everyone around you, even your parents and the kids at school. You want to be accepted; it’s vital for survival. So in your best effort to blend in, you spend endless amounts of time learning how to act like the other inhabitants of this planet in hopes that no one will become suspicious that you may not be one of them. But it’s difficult; acting and pretending to be someone you’re not day in and day out is exhausting And internalizing all your true feelings, struggles, compulsions, and emotions takes a heavy toll. Despite all the time you spend pretending, nothing you do will change who you are. Nothing you do will ever make you one of them. You feel isolated, alone, and unnatural. Then one day, you learn that you are, in fact, an alien, but that’s okay because there are others of your kind here as well, and they think the way you think, and they struggle with the same things you do. And even though you’re still an alien on a planet mainly composed of humans, there are other aliens here too, and suddenly, you’re not alone anymore.
I have a lot of work ahead of me. Receiving this rather large piece of information about myself has truly flipped the script. I feel like my healing can finally begin now that I understand the wounds a little better. I’m taking time to reflect on my whole life through my newly found lens of autism. As I do, I hope I am able to grant myself the patience, understanding, and grace that I should have received from the start. I am learning that it’s okay to be different; it’s incredible actually to have a divergent brain. I’m learning to embrace my strengths while allowing space for my struggles. Slowly, I am learning to take off the mask, and as I do, I’m discovering who I am underneath it.
