Masking: The Neurodivergent Extreme Sport

This was originally posted to Medium on 6/23/2025 https://medium.com/@morgannecrouser/masking-the-neurodivergent-extreme-sport-f360bbe5b086

Masking is one of those words that carries a lot of weight, especially for neurodivergent people. At its core, masking means changing one’s natural or instinctive behavior — intentionally or unconsciously — to better fit the expectations of the neurotypical world. It can show up in subtle ways, like softening a vocal inflection, scripting a conversation, or hiding a movement that helps regulate your body. Other times, it’s a full-body, full-mind performance that feels like becoming someone else entirely.

Masking isn’t inherently bad. But given that it is a learned response to normalized neuroablism, it isn’t exactly good, either. Like most human behavior, it’s complicated — and deeply context-dependent.

Masking on the Highline

For me, masking often feels like walking a highline: that narrow stretch of rope suspended between two points, way up in the air. When I’m balanced, I can move across quickly. It feels like a rush—focused, competent, even exhilarating. In those moments, I feel pleased by my ability to read the room and adjust accordingly.

But when I’m off-balance — when the demands of the environment keep shifting, or I’ve already spent too much energy trying to keep up — every step gets harder. I lose my rhythm. My brain fills with static. I start to believe I’ll never be able to do it “right.” And no matter how successful the highline walk is, the aftermath is real. At some point, the exhaustion catches up. My brain feels like mush — I can’t think, my patience and window of tolerance are shot, and my ability to continue to engage and connect is out the window. I need a significant period of stillness and silence before I can get back to doing… well, anything but stare at a wall.

This is one of the hardest things to explain to people who haven’t experienced it. Just because someone can mask doesn’t mean they can — or should — do it all the time. The fact that a person masks sometimes and not others is not a sign of disrespect or laziness. It’s a sign that they’re using their energy intentionally and that they are honoring their own needs above the pressure to fit into the neurotypical world.

Adaptive vs. Coerced Masking

Professionally, masking has helped me gain access to opportunities I may not have otherwise had. In our neuroableist world, social communication differences, processing delays, and unconventional ways of using one’s body are rarely seen as compatible with intelligence or competence. The closest our culture gets is the tired trope of the “absent-minded professor” — and even that relies on problematic assumptions about worth and productivity.

Masking helps me present in a way others can understand and receive without getting hung up on how I am different. It is me doing the extra work to translate my thoughts, words and behaviors into “neurotypical-ese” so that I am taken seriously. In those moments, masking becomes a skill I’ve refined — something I choose when it helps me meet a goal that aligns with my values.

But masking can also be a survival strategy, especially for those of us who were punished or shamed for being different. When you’re told — implicitly or explicitly — that your authentic self is unacceptable, masking becomes protective gear. It’s a way of staying safe, of reducing risk, of being tolerated by systems that were never built for you.

Here’s the difference: when masking is adaptive, it’s chosen. It’s like preparing for a white-water rafting trip: you pack your gear, know the route, and trust your skills. You know the cost, and you’ve decided it’s worth it. When masking is rooted in shame or fear, it doesn’t feel like a choice — it feels like an obligation or even coercion. It feels like being shoved into whitewater rapids without a paddle, and still being expected to arrive at the take-out cheerful and dry.

Check Your Gear and Know Your Limits

I talk with clients and supervisees about masking as both a survival strategy and a practiced skill. Like any extreme sport, masking requires planning and recovery. Doing it responsibly means knowing your energy levels, your capabilities, and your goals. Just like you wouldn’t go rock climbing on a sprained wrist, you shouldn’t mask while you are already burnt out. And just like you wouldn’t go freediving without a plan for resurfacing, you shouldn’t mask without knowing how you’ll decompress afterward.

But many of us weren’t taught to use masking in moderation. We were taught to mask constantly for the comfort of others. For some, masking was about survival — about avoiding punishment, bullying, or even abuse. When you mask because someone else demands it, or because you have been led to believe your authentic self isn’t acceptable, it becomes corrosive. It teaches you to distrust yourself and your own needs in favor of someone else’s wants.

One of the most helpful ways I’ve found to think about masking is through energy accounting. Like budgeting money, this framework asks you to be honest about what resources you have — and how you want to spend them. And like many sports, masking can become expensive!

Some questions I return to, both for myself and in my work with clients and supervisees include: How much energy do I have right now? How much will this particular type of masking cost me? What do I get in return for that investment? Is it me who wants to mask, or is this pressure coming from someone else? Is there another way to get what I need, without masking?

Just like getting geared up for an intense outdoor sport, the effort might be worth it — if it leads to something replenishing. But if you’re going to end up tired, sore, and emotionally depleted for someone else’s comfort? That’s probably not a good trade.

The answers aren’t always clear-cut. Like any other extreme sport, it takes practice to build internal awareness of your energy levels and emotional reserves. You’ll probably get it “wrong” sometimes — overspend, crash, or mask in ways that don’t feel aligned with your values. That’s part of the process, too.

It takes time to build up your internal compass for this. You may misjudge your limits at first. That’s not failure — it’s part of learning how to care for yourself.

Unmasking Is Not Always Better

There’s a growing cultural push, especially in neurodivergent communities, to unmask. And for good reason — constant masking is unsustainable, and the freedom to be our whole selves is vital. Masking is the product of a neuroableist society that doesn’t value neurodivergent people as we are. But just as we shouldn’t pressure people to mask, we also shouldn’t pressure people to unmask.

As a therapist and supervisor, I’ve seen well-meaning clinicians encourage their clients to drop the mask without fully understanding what they’re asking. For someone who has been harmed for being authentic, unmasking is not inherently freeing — it can be terrifying. It can also be dangerous. No one has the right to decide for someone else when it’s safe to be seen.

So instead of asking “Should I unmask or not?” the more useful question might be:What would make it safer for me to unmask in this space?What conditions would allow me to bring more of myself forward?

Allies and clinicians can’t answer that for someone — but we can ask, listen to the answer, and create environments that reduce the cost of authenticity and increase the benefit of being real.

Owning the Choice

At the end of the day, masking is just one of many tools available to help navigate a world that isn’t built for us. It’s not a failure. It’s not inherently a betrayal of our identity. It’s a strategy — one we should be able to use on our terms, not someone else’s.

If you’re neurodivergent and mask, I hope this helps you feel seen and respected in your complexity. You are not weak because you mask. And you are not selfish for choosing not to mask in spaces where it costs too much. I invite you to be curious about your patterns — not to shame yourself for your choices, but to cultivate a future that centers your values and your self-trust. And if or when you reach the point where you no longer choose to mask, celebrate! But remember we are each the best judge of the usefulness of masking in our own lives, and we all need the grace and support of our communities, regardless of where we are on our journey.

And if you’re a clinician or ally, I hope you walk away with a deeper appreciation of the nuance here. Masking as a behavior isn’t good or bad — it’s a learned response to harmful, even traumatic oppression. It’s costly. It’s often invisible. And it’s never owed to you. When someone unmasks in your presence, appreciate the vulnerability and authenticity of the gift you are being given. It is your job to do the work to increase the number of situations and settings where such a gift can be given — in your own relationships and in the world at large.

Masking isn’t the problem. The problem is the rampant neuroableism that requires people to mask just to be accepted, valued, and heard.

Let’s make more room — for nuance, for discernment, for choice. Let’s build a world that honors our extreme athletes and allows them to retire their masks for good when they are ready to do so.