Neurodivergent Masking
Most people who come to see me don’t arrive talking about neurodivergent masking. They’re tired. Things feel harder than they should. They’ve been coping for a long time, and something about it isn’t working anymore.
Some people notice that they seem to manage fine during the day, only to fall apart once they get home. Others describe a feeling of constantly managing themselves: thinking carefully about what they say, how they respond, how much of themselves they let other people see. For many autistic people and people with ADHD, this has been part of life for so long that it just feels normal. It’s simply how things are.
This is often where masking sits.
Neurodivergent masking is the way autistic people, people with ADHD, and those with AuDHD consciously or unconsciously hide or manage their natural traits to get through everyday life. It isn’t about being dishonest or pretending. It’s usually something learned; a way of fitting in, staying safe, or avoiding being misunderstood in environments that don’t always recognise neurodivergent needs. It can start early, sometimes without any conscious awareness that it’s happening.
You don’t need a diagnosis to recognise yourself here. You might be questioning whether neurodivergence is part of the picture, or unsure about whether to pursue an assessment. You might just be noticing that the anxiety, the low mood, or the burnout is becoming harder to manage. If the effort it takes to keep everything going no longer feels sustainable, you’re not alone. And for people who reach that point, it’s not about not trying hard enough or failing.
Masking as Performance
Before I became a counsellor, I taught drama. One of the things I learned early on is just how much effort sustained performance takes. An actor doesn’t simply turn up and improvise their way through the day. They prepare, rehearse, stay alert to cues, regulate their voice and body, and stay in role for long periods. Even when it goes well, it costs something.
I think about this a lot when I’m working with neurodivergent people who are masking.
Many people describe it as something they do without thinking, but that doesn’t mean it’s effortless. Like an actor staying in character, masking often involves constant monitoring: tone, facial expression, body language, response. It can mean holding back a natural reaction, pushing through sensory discomfort, or carefully managing how much of yourself you let others see.
The difference, of course, is that actors get breaks. They go offstage. They step out of role. They know when the performance ends.
Two Versions of Yourself
For many autistic people, people with ADHD, and those with AuDHD, masking doesn’t come with those clear boundaries. The performance can run all day, at work, in education, in social spaces, and for some, it carries on at home too.
I wonder how many people experience what it feels like to live as two versions of yourself? One version manages, copes, keeps going. The other shows up once the effort drops away.
For some, that means becoming tearful, irritable, or withdrawn by the end of the day. For others, it’s complete depletion, nothing left for conversation, connection, or decision-making. For some, it becomes shutdown: a pulling back, a need for quiet, what I sometimes hear described as going into ‘battery saver mode.’
This isn’t inconsistency. It isn’t failure. More often, it reflects the cumulative cost of sustained effort. Holding everything together takes real work, and when there are few opportunities to rest or recover, the price tends to get paid later, in the spaces where it finally feels safe enough to stop.
What Can Help
For many people, the most helpful shift isn’t trying to stop masking altogether. It’s beginning to notice its impact. Simply recognising how much effort goes into getting through the day can be quietly validating. It can also open up kinder conversations; with yourself, or with the people around you about what you actually need.
Small changes can make a real difference. For some, that might mean having spaces where less is required: time at home that is genuinely low demand, permission to be quieter, fewer expectations around conversation or productivity. It can help to reflect on what the day has asked of you, and what might support you afterwards, whether that’s movement, rest, something familiar, or time alone.
Reducing the need to mask, even slightly, can help too. That might involve practical adjustments at work or in education, clearer communication, or environments that are more predictable and sensory-considerate. These things don’t remove challenges entirely, but they can ease the strain.
Supportive relationships matter. Being around people who feel safe, people with whom you don’t need to perform, can allow the nervous system to settle. Over time, that can make it easier to recognise when masking is happening, and to choose, gently, when it might be possible to step out of role.
This isn’t about dramatic change. It’s about pacing, compassion, and sustainability. Creating enough safety and support that life feels a little more manageable, and a little less exhausting.
If this has given you something to recognise or sit with, that may be enough for now. And if you reach a point where it would help to talk things through, support is there when you’re ready.
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