Masking, Anxiety & Depression
I had never heard the word ‘masking’ before. I knew what a psychological mask was; I had studied psychoanalysis, psychology and counselling in my university degrees and knew about the ‘masks we all wear’ in different situations. It was in my late 30s, however, that I came across ‘masking’ and how it related specifically to the neurodiverse.
Masking does not just apply to ADHD or AuDHD. People with ASD, Tourette’s, Dyslexia, DCD and all the various neurodiverse diagnoses also ‘mask’ or ‘suppress’ often automatically after years of practice. Masking the process of suppressing or hiding natural behaviours, reactions, and ways of being in order to appear more “typical” or socially acceptable to other people. It can look like copying how others speak or act, forcing eye contact when it doesn’t feel natural, holding back stimming, rehearsing conversations in your head, or adjusting your personality depending on who you are with. For a lot of neurodiverse people, especially when it starts young, it isn’t a conscious choice. It becomes something you just learn to do after years of picking up on what gets you accepted and what gets you rejected. Over time it can become so automatic that you stop noticing you’re doing it at all, and you start to lose track of where the mask ends and where you begin.
It can be a really useful survival tool in the short term, especially in childhood or school environments, but in the long term it often comes with a cost. Exhaustion, anxiety, and that deep feeling of being disconnected from who you actually are underneath it all.
For me, like so many, especially as a child and teen it became imperative. I remember hearing very early in my life that I was ‘weird’. It was strange, as I had always just been myself and responded and conversed with others in a way that felt usual and expected to me. I was a hyperactive, intelligent and inquisitive child and my ADHD was often on display for all to see. I was the “does that child ever stop talking or sit still?” kid who ran circles around parents and teachers. I was curious, I still am, loving to ask questions and gather knowledge then share it with others. This was a quality that you would think meant school was a positive place for me to be, but you would be wrong. I intend to write a blog about my experiences in the education system at some point, but for now I will focus on the social element of my younger years. You see, other children in class, right from my initial years at school, witnessed that my behaviour, language and my way of being was not appreciated by adults. They then saw me in the playground as I let out all my suppressed energy, and made judgements about what they meant about me as a person. My ASD was also present when I was younger, but came out in other ways. I was passionate about certain things and wanted to talk about them all the time. I was often confused by other kids my age as what they wanted to play or do was not what I wanted and they responded badly if I tried to lead a game or conversation my way. Socially, by the time I entered Year 2, at a new school with a new start, I had learned to sit on the sidelines and watch others. Watch what they were interested in, how they talked to each other, wore their hair, and copy that. Imitation of what I perceived to be the norm was now my main mask, and it was firmly in place. I was a smart kid, so I learned how to fit in well with peers and became skilled at not showing who I really was to the outside world, and by the time I was a teenager I believed that I could always be the mask I showed to others. I felt the ‘real’ me was a fault and the person I expressed in public was who I should be, the ‘acceptable’ me that allowed me to fit in better and not make waves.
My mask would slip sometimes, and I would get the look again, or be called weird, but I had worked ‘quirky’ and ‘stupid’ into my act like it was a personality trait, so often my unusual behaviour would usually be put down to that. Cracks always showed however, no matter how hard I tried to smooth them down and perfect my mask. I remember as a teen being made fun of and being totally confused as to why. For example, I wore my hair like the others and tried to make it perfect so I wouldn’t stand out, but was teased for being too perfect with my hair. My attempt itself stood out and became another ‘weird’ behaviour. I tried to muck around and sing with my peers to pop music I didn’t like at lunchtime, because that’s what they all liked to do, but I was mocked for singing too well and taking myself too seriously. Each time I was given feedback like this, I would adjust the mask to fit what I had learned. Let your hair be the same but a little messy sometimes, sing out loud with enthusiasm, but make it bad on purpose and don’t be too loud. It became harder and harder to fit and as I discovered my interests and passions as a teen, I had to hide so much that was not acceptable to the group I socialised with. My act and therefore label of ‘stupid’ had become a masking trick from an early age. With my executive function difficulties and my dyspraxia due to DCD, I couldn’t spell well or do times tables, I processed things differently, was too literal with questions from the teacher and often said the wrong word when reading out loud as my brain played tricks with what I saw on the page. Playing up to this and becoming the class clown was the logical answer for me. If I could make fun of myself first and get peers to laugh, then I wasn’t called weird, I was funny and quirky in a good way and I felt included, albeit sad that I had to act this way. However, by the later years of school I had grown and learned more about myself and I wanted to show that in some subjects I did know what I was talking about, that I was intelligent and had important contributions. Years of masking had made that impossible however and I can still hear a comment from a ‘friend’ after a conversation where I had tried to enter as my real self. “Why are you trying so hard to be smart? You’re not smart.” It was a blow to my self belief and days like these, I would come home and cry alone to let the pain and confusion out. My second last year of school I had made a connection with a person outside of my friendship group. She wasn’t ‘just like me’, but she did have elements similar to who I was that I wanted to let out. I began to hang out with her and act differently when I did. It gave me the confidence to challenge the peers I had been with for years and discredit elements of the person they believed me to be. That confidence did not last long. A peer I had been friends with the longest in the group, one the rest liked and followed, took me aside and let me know in no uncertain terms that if I wanted to be friends with them, to be ‘protected’ and not openly shunned and made fun of, I needed to go back to the person they believed me to be and spend less time with this new friend. She told me that if I didn’t, my peers would cut me loose and I would have nothing. As a neurodiverse 16-year-old, I did exactly what I was told. I couldn’t possibly survive the rest of high school without a safe peer group and learned that my mask was what was valued, the real me was not acceptable and needed to be hidden. That who I really felt I was inside was inconsequential, not wanted, strange and needed to be rejected.
“Unlike some of my behaviours or thoughts, my mood needed to be masked at all times, not just at school. It was exhausting.”
You may find this unsurprising at this point, but I was anxious a lot. The anxiety had begun right from my first year of school, in fact as long as I can remember. I know it began as worry because who I was didn’t seem to be alright with everyone else, but the anxiety followed quickly after as the masking grew. This is because once you start masking, you can’t stop. You need to think about it all of the time. Am I talking the right way? Did that answer sound normal? Did I look into their eyes too long? Am I supposed to like those things too? And on and on it goes. I was struggling so hard to fit in and survive that by 14 I had my diagnosis of generalised anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder, had been on and off meds and seen psychologists to help me cope. No one had seen that the underlying cause of all of this was neurodiversity however, so rather than helping, it just gave me more to mask. Unlike some of my behaviours or thoughts, my mood needed to be masked at all times, not just at school. It was exhausting. It became no surprise to me as an adult to learn that many neurodiverse girls are misdiagnosed as anxious and depressed as teenagers, and that the anxiety and often depression never really goes away.
Masking changed as I grew, left school and began to socialise as an adult. Rather than being with a group of people who are around your age day in and day out, I could choose who I wanted to spend time with. I could decide if I felt like seeing people socially at all, and I began to allow more of ‘me’ to emerge with new people I met. The biggest problem was that after so many years, I truly believed that person to be unimportant. With no diagnosis and no understanding, the person constantly telling me I was weird and stupid was myself. For a long time, that meant seeking comfort, a false safety rather than authenticity and my 20s and early 30s featured many abusive and toxic relationships as I struggled to accept myself, to find my voice and to discover what I needed to feel and be truly safe. Depression became a constant state through this period and anxiety ran high. I was always ‘on’ and after social situations I was mentally exhausted, and I had a physical tiredness that never went away.
I was in my early 40s when I finally received my diagnosis of ADHD and ASD and suddenly what was happening became clear. It had taken my whole life to that point, failed jobs, an abusive marriage and divorce, toxic friendships and so much more, but I finally had an answer as to why I had made myself so small and accepted this for so long. I had been masking everything and my effort to fit myself into a world not built for me, to look the part, play the role required and keep it together, had led to mental health issues. At that time I also received a new diagnosis, OCD, as the masking and need to fit and feel safe had become an obsession. I needed order and control as the fear of not having those things was too much.
Most importantly I also learned that simply naming these things doesn’t take them away. Just because I can now say, “I am neurodivergent”, doesn’t mean I have stopped masking or ever will, and that is the important part. The ‘label’ doesn’t actually change anything about me or what I have developed over years and years as survival habits. It is only my desire to find new tools and supports that leads to change. I can be more directed with those searches and tools now, however, and I can also tell myself for the first time, “you are not the only one”.
As I head into my late 40s I am more myself and unforgivingly aware of myself than ever before. What got me here? Starting in my 30s, seeing professionals who helped me understand that I am intelligent and I am deserving of love. I developed and maintain a community of helpers like coaches, acupuncturists, chiropractors etc for my physical and mental wellbeing so that I don’t have to struggle alone. These supports helped me understand it is ok to grieve the difficulty of life when needed and take ‘break’ times, even if I still feel guilty for doing so. Removing toxic relationships from my life and finding like-minded people who encourage who I am rather than what I can do for them. Within that I was able to realise that my home needed to be a sanctuary where I could let go without fear which changed my entire outlook on what life could be. That led to meeting the right partner, now amazing husband, who sees, loves and accepts me and allows me to feel completely safe. Maintaining a group of support services who help me to feel better in my mind and body is vital for me. I now have friends who know and accept me, and vice versa, and who understand that constant maintenance of a relationship is not my thing and that’s ok. We are here for each other when needed and when I go silent, it’s not a problem. Saying ‘no’ when I am really at capacity, which is a hard one, but I continue to practice it. Knowing that life is a journey, not a destination and that learning occurs the whole way, which sounds like a cliché, but is actually a truth. All this and more helps to change my story, ease some of my anxiety and lessen the masking.
Every journey is different and how others get there may be different from me, but the thing about being neurodivergent is that we are always out in a world that wasn’t built to suit us. Masking will always occur and this can make us anxious and exhausted. So I take it one day at a time, one foot in front of the other and when I fall, I get up, maybe ask for help and move forward knowing that my story and diagnosis doesn’t define me, what I do with it does.
The best part is that, as a neurodiversity coach, with my path, learning and lived experience, I am here to help you on your journey too. ❤️
By Lauren Nielsen
As with all my blogs, I share this because it’s the foundation of how I work with clients now. Not from just from theory and professional expertise, but from a lived experience that has been understood, unpacked, and rebuilt.
If you need help with you mental health, please reach out to a local service such as