James Gale

Do you ever feel like you’ve just run a marathon — but all you did was smile, nod, and try to be “normal”? For many autistic people — myself included — that’s not the exception. It’s the everyday.

“Masking” is a word that often floats around when people talk about autism. But with all due respect, I have barely seen a ‘neurotypical’ person define it correctly.

What Autistic Masking Feels Like

In that analogy, masking isn’t just putting on a mask. It’s also:
1. crafting it from scraps you made yourself.
2. lifting the immense weight of it over your shoulders, just to wear it.

The constant pressure of the mask makes your head throb. Your muscles ache. Your body screams for release. And by the time you finally take it off, it’s fused to your face. Removing it feels like ripping skin.
And this process?
It repeats with every single social interaction. Yep, every single one.

Why I Mask

So why wear a mask, if the cost is so high?
It’s a fair question with a complicated answer.
The short version: masking is learned. And no, not through some free Coursera course unfortantely.
We learn it slowly, painfully. Each awkward moment. Each tense silence. Each confused glance or polite smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. Every single situation that sparked a comment about our “uniqueness“.
Over time, it becomes instinct. Survival.
I likely wouldn’t hold a full-time job without masking. Probably wouldn’t have friends either.

And that’s what makes unmasking so hard — not because it isn’t desirable, but because it feels dangerous. It makes us feel out of place in the norm. An alien stranded with no resources on a foreign world.

Unmasking: kicking the involuntary habit

Unmasking isn’t easy. It’s harder to quit than most habits — or even some drugs. It’s a safety mechanism that kicks in automatically. The key to unlock autistic masking is however, quite easy: trust.
Because unmasking means I can be my weird self — unapologetic and completely unexplainable to others.
It becomes possible when I’m with someone who won’t judge me for stimming vocally with an ominous chant — like my partner.
Or, when I’m not met with confusion, whenever I recount the conversations of everyone seated around us earlier — because my mind maps every voice, every sentence, like a radar I can’t switch off.

When an autistic person does unmask, it’s a quiet rebellion.
It’s a way of saying:
I am valid as I am.
Not when filtered — but when fully seen.

And honestly? I think we all wear masks. Neurodivergent or not.
Even with ourselves.
To see yourself fully, without any mask, without the influence of others…that’s a thought that scares most.

So — what would change if you let yourself drop the mask, even just a little?