The Cost of Masking (and why it’s not as simple as “just don’t do it”)

I got a timely reminder recently about the cost of masking.

I was running a stand at the Shakespeare Birthday celebrations — meeting lots of new faces, managing a busy and unpredictable environment, and pulling something together quite last minute… all on top of my other commitments.

If I’m honest, it was a lot.

There’s one photo from the day that stands out to me. Not because it’s particularly good, but because I can see it in my face — I wasn’t fully relaxed. I was “on.” Holding it together. Performing in a way that felt socially acceptable, engaged, approachable.

And that’s the thing about masking.

What is masking?

For many neurodivergent people, masking is an everyday experience.

It can look like:

• Trying to appear “ok” on the outside when things feel overwhelming

• Hiding differences to avoid standing out

• Mimicking others so we don’t come across as rude, awkward, or “too much”

• Monitoring tone, facial expressions, body language

• Pushing through discomfort to meet expectations

Sometimes it’s conscious. Often it’s not.

It’s something many of us have learned over time — not because we wanted to, but because it felt necessary to belong, to stay safe, or to avoid judgement.

The hidden cost

Masking can be incredibly effective in the moment.

It can help us navigate social situations, build relationships, and do things that matter to us — like running events, connecting with people, or showing up in our work.

But it comes at a cost.

That cost isn’t always obvious straight away. It often shows up later:

• Deep exhaustion (the kind that sleep doesn’t fully fix)

• Feeling disconnected from yourself

• Irritability or emotional overwhelm

• A delayed “crash” after being “on” for too long

• Questioning who you are underneath it all

For me, it took until the next day to start feeling like myself again.

And that’s not unusual.

When you’ve spent hours managing yourself, your environment, and other people’s expectations, your nervous system needs time to come back down.

“If it’s that hard, why not just stop?”

This is where it gets complicated.

Because it’s not as simple as saying: “If masking is exhausting, just don’t do it.”

Sometimes the things we care about are hard.

I love running events. It’s one of my favourite parts of my work. I love creating spaces where people feel welcome, understood, and able to show up as themselves.

But the irony isn’t lost on me — sometimes, in order to create those spaces, I have to push through environments that aren’t naturally easy for me.

And I know I’m not alone in that.

Many neurodivergent people are navigating jobs, relationships, parenting, social expectations — all while managing the impact of masking.

So the goal isn’t necessarily to eliminate masking altogether.

It’s to understand it.

What actually helps?

For me (and for many of the people I work with), the shift comes from awareness and support — not perfection.

A few things that can make a real difference:

1. Noticing when you’re masking
Being able to recognise “I’m on right now” is powerful. It helps you make more intentional choices, rather than running on autopilot.

2. Understanding why
Masking isn’t a failure — it’s often a protective strategy.
What is it doing for you in that moment? Safety? Belonging? Avoiding conflict?

3. Building in recovery time
If you know something is going to be demanding, plan for what comes after.
Rest, quiet, familiar routines — whatever helps your nervous system settle.

4. Finding safer spaces to unmask
Not every space is safe to fully unmask — and that’s the reality.
But having somewhere you can be more yourself (even a little bit) matters.

5. Reducing the load where you can
Small adjustments can go a long way — shorter timeframes, breaks, support from others, or simply naming what you need.

A more compassionate approach

Masking isn’t something to judge yourself for.

It’s something to get curious about.

Because when you understand how it shows up for you — and what it costs — you can start to support yourself in a way that’s more sustainable.

Not by forcing yourself to stop doing the things you care about.
But by finding ways to do them that don’t leave you completely depleted afterwards.

Final thoughts

This weekend reminded me that even when you love what you do, it can still be hard.

And that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.

It just means you’re human.

And for neurodivergent people, it often means you’re navigating a world that wasn’t designed with you in mind.

But with the right awareness, support, and compassion, those things that feel hard can become more possible — and more sustainable.

If this resonates with you, you’re not alone.

And if you’re curious to explore this further, we’ll be talking about Identity & Masking at the next ND BrainSpace session — a space to reflect, share, and make sense of it all together.