On Masking

During my first-ever meeting with my psychologist, (which I arranged for the sole purpose of ruling out Autism before agreeing to move forward with any further medical treatment for ADHD through my psychiatrist,) she asked me if I was familiar with the concept of Masking. While I had spent the 6 months between my registration with her office and that initial visit researching how Autism affects women, and I had learned a bit about the concept of Masking, I told her that from my perspective, I was something like a chameleon (which had briefly convinced me that I may actually have Borderline Personality Disorder, and had several other folks thinking I was Bipolar.)

I can remember in detail flashes of my life all the way back to when I was four years old. So when I tell you I can't remember a single point in my life where it was easy for me to converse with someone about something that wasn't a strong interest of mine, you know it's not an exaggeration.

Very early on in my life, I would sit somewhere, pretending to be occupied with something, all the while eavesdropping on other peoples' conversations, looking at them over the rim of my glasses or out of the corner of my eye, or during a cursory glance around the room. I didn't honestly care about the content of the conversation or what was going on in any particular person's life; for me, it was about picking up on common speech patterns, word usage, body language, attire, and facial expressions. If I observed something that appealed to me about a particular person, I would attempt to mimic it. First, I'd play it over and over again in my mind. Then, I'd go home and act it out in the mirror in my bedroom before trying it out at school. Like my daughter would eventually start doing as well, I would sit somewhere on the playground at recess, where it was quiet, and I could be alone with my own thoughts. Being in such a large space with so many people milling around me chaotically was very overwhelming, and I had a very hard time keeping up with one particular person or group of people among the throng. It wasn't until shortly before my diagnosis that I decided to experiment with wearing noise canceling headphones and playing different types of music, depending on the setting and the type of mood I wanted to be in when I was there.

Quite possibly the most prominent aspect of Masking that I've carried throughout my life for as long as I can remember is how I rehearse conversations in advance. If I'm stressed out about something and really want to talk to someone about it, I will rehearse as many possible outcomes of that conversation ahead of time as possible. Generally, this pretty much only ever results in whatever frustration I'm feeling getting supremely minimized until I no longer have the energy or interest in discussing the issue at all, or I present it as non-confrontationally as possible, in order to reduce the chances that the person will become upset with me.

Another thing I've done for as long as I can remember is force myself to sit through sensory overload. I absolutely 100% cannot stand loud or repetitive noises. One of my favorite soundtracks is from The Phantom of the Opera, and yet I always have to skip the song Masquerade, because the dissonance overloads my brain. Several types of audio input, especially if they are loud and overlapping, throw my brain into total chaos. All I want to do is grab my ears, collapse, rock back and forth, or get away from the situation as quickly as possible. More often than not though, I can't do any of those things, so I end up becoming irritable and lashing out in anger at the first available opportunity. As much as I love dancing with my fiancé, one of my favorite parts of going out dancing was the way we could go all the way to the back of the bar to sit on a couch that was away from the bulk of the noise. Unfortunately, our favorite dance hall changed hands in 2020, and underwent a major remodel, completely removing the quiet spot in order to maximize the place's potential. We decided to follow our friends to a new club, where there also isn't a comfortable quiet spot to sit in between songs, so one of my favorite things to do on the weekends feels as though it has suddenly become something that is insurmountable to accomplish.

One thing that I actually started explaining to people in certain situations is that I don't feel comfortable looking someone in the eye. When I look directly into someone's eyes, a couple of different things have a likelihood of happening. Either I feel as though we are suddenly far more intimate than what we should be and I want to distance myself from that person as far as possible because I'm suddenly overcome with the fear that something is going to happen to me sexually or intimately that I am not ok with, OR I feel as though I'm being sucked into a dark tunnel, and I can see to the very depths of their soul, OR I start focusing far more intently on the structure and colorization of their iris (if I'm close enough,) than I do on the course of the conversation itself.

I can definitely say that Masking was something I picked up as a result of being born into a family that simply could not understand or support outward differences. My mother told me repeatedly that if I were to ever be diagnosed with a mental illness or disability, that information would be put into a permanent file somewhere, and it would cost me my job, lose me my children, and keep me from ever being able to live the kind of life I could accomplish by hiding my symptoms as much as possible and pretending to be like everyone else. Any time I flubbed something that a neurotypical person wouldn't, my father would drill me, and scream at me like what I messed up was absolutely unacceptable, and I needed to sit and do it over and over until I got it right, because messing it up was embarrassing.

Resources

Stanborough, R, et al. (2021) Autism Masking: to Blend or Not to Blend. https://www.healthline.com/health/autism/autism-masking