Masking Is Unsustainable and Imposes Unfair Standards on oth

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Masking is the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me.

Masking opened up a whole new world to me, without me even knowing I was doing it. I went from being bullied at school to in the top-tier popular group, all within a year. It was like fast-tracking through security at the airport. I couldn’t believe it. This is how others felt? It felt like I belonged for the first time. I was being invited round to friend’s houses because they wanted me there, not because their mum liked my mum.

The catch was (and I tell you this now retrospectively, because I didn’t realise this was happening at the time) they didn’t want me there, they wanted this manufactured ‘me’ I’d conjured up. I realised no one was seeing the world how I was. At school it’s drilled in that you want to ‘try your best’, to be intelligent, to move up a set, to strive for something – so that’s exactly what I had been doing. I tried very hard. It was work first, friends second. I wasn’t going to pass my GCSEs plaiting Sarah’s hair during German, was I?

But then something switched. I realised that the few brief stints of someone liking me, sending me a message on BBM, finding something I said funny and getting me to repeat it to the group, outweighed the joy of getting a good mark, or getting picked to recite my analysis of Goodnight Mr Tom. I realised no one else was taking the purpose of school as literally as I was (it is a trait of autism to think literally), they were focused on fitting in. I changed tack and set my sites on fitting in too.

It was as if I’d been given an ant farm as part of a school science experiment and my peers were the ants in question. I studied hard, working out how the colony ran, who the queen ant was and the intricate social roles and rules they were following. I learnt what was important – being easy-going and attractive. So I spent my evenings flicking between make-up tutorials and ‘how to be funny’ videos on YouTube.

This was great at first. The problem was, I was not actually an ant like them. I was some other foreign species disguised as an ant. I didn’t process things like they did. I didn’t find joy in the things they did. I also knew I couldn’t let my mask slip, or the colony would kick me out.

This resulted in the entirety of my teens and twenties spent outwardly appearing care-free, malleable and warm at school, university, work and the pub regardless of how I actually felt. People would say: “I think we’re kindred spirits?” Of course – I’m mirroring your entire personality back at you.

Then I got my diagnosis, and learnt about masking. As a 31-year-old, I realised: “That’s why I’m constantly exhausted and don’t feel any real connection to anyone.” The 13-year-old in me had probably known that I was never being me all along.

When you’re masking, you’re always doing two jobs – the one that everyone knows you’re doing and the behind the scenes one you’re doing. This explains why I spent many an evening with panic attacks, dread, burn out and constant looming anxiety. This also explains why, when I announced being autistic, most people responded with: “You can’t be!” It’s a bit like when people are shocked when an EastEnders actor isn’t the same as their character in real life.

I don’t have enough experience to teach you how to stop masking. I’m personally still finding that bit incredibly difficult. My mask got me to where I am, but at what cost? Would I do it all again? I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m tired of using it all the time now. I hope in the future I can save it for special occasions, rather than every WhatsApp or casual dinner.