Photo by Sydney Sims on Unsplash
The most terrifying thing about autistic masking is the internalized assumption that the way you are is wrong.
I had this post nearly written when disaster struck. I was in the middle of a normal morning and I started to have chest pains. Tingling arms, cold sweat, difficulty breathing–the works. But the most terrifying part of this experience?
My overwhelming need to hide that it was happening. I was at work, you see, and I didn’t want people to know there was anything wrong.
What I experienced during my heart attack (for that was what it was) was more about my gender than my autism, but the feelings behind it were similar. The feeling that I needed to mask an important part of my being (in this case, a deadly condition) nearly killed me.
What is Autistic Masking?
Masking seems to be, in 2024, something that almost everyone can agree on. Dr. Jacquelyn Fede of The University of Nebraska-Lincolen reports that over 90% of Autistic adults mask certain “traits”. And according to the National Autistic Society, “Masking is a strategy used by some autistic people, consciously or unconsciously, to appear non-autistic in order to blend in and be more accepted in society.”
In a broader sense, masking is something that everyone does. No one lets all their quirks show during a job interview, for example, and most of us try not to draw attention to ourselves if we are attending a wedding (or a funeral!).
But for an autistic person, masking is about hiding those ways of processing and interacting with the stimuli of the world. Sometimes it can mean putting on a completely different persona. We put on another personality, one that interacts with the world in a more acceptable way.
On a practical level, this means suppressing stimming actions that are noticeable. Stimming is a physical, repetitive behavior that autistic people engage in to self-soothe or process the sensory over-stimulation that so often happens in our environment.
Without stimming, we experience much greater stress. We can have difficulty absorbing information or interacting with people.
Masking also means copying the reactions (facial expressions, body language, etc) of those around us to make sure we are behaving in a socially acceptable way. This gives our interactions a layer of artificiality. Masking can mean not discussing our special interests – or sticking to a list of scripted, “safe” topics.
The Consequences of Masking When You’re Autistic
If this sounds like no big deal to you, you are probably not autistic. But even those of us who can mask successfully (and may have escaped formal diagnosis as a result) this process is an exhausting denial of who we really are.
The scariest thing about masking is that it creates the internalized assumption that the way you are is wrong.
Photo by Christian Erfurt on Unsplash
If you feel you must change fundamental parts of yourself to be acceptable to others, then feeling like you are inferior or broken is unavoidable. And not having access to sensory outlets or accommodations makes every environment a hostile one.
Even Autism Speaks, an organization that is more known for “speaking” for the allistic caregivers of autistic people than for autistics themselves, allows that masking “can have a negative effect on mental health.” Masking also ramps up the discomfort that autistic people feel during social interactions.
Why Autistic Camouflage happens
So if everyone agrees that masking should be avoided where possible, what is the problem?
The problem is that society demands that we mask. We can be barred from social interaction, jobs, or relationships if our behavior deviates from the “norm”, even if that behavior is harmless and necessary to our well-being.
Most people do not realize I am autistic, but I have heard the word “weird” used to describe me more times than I can count. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become increasingly aware of the toll masking takes on me. The price of human interaction should not be so high.
What now?
Until we can change the world, we have to carve out a space for ourselves. We need a home base (and a work base and a social base) that is sensory-safe. We need a support system of people who get us and don’t hold us to a standard that is based on a different kind of human. And we need to rest.