From Masking to Mastery: My Journey Through Neurodivergent Self-Awareness
My story is a common one among the late-diagnosed neurodivergent. I spent decades blending in—well enough to avoid detection, but never without cost. With a mix of stubbornness and relentless perseverance, I learned to mimic what others did naturally. I forced eye contact. I studied social cues like a second language. I mirrored behaviors I didn’t understand, like small talk or casual banter, because they seemed to matter so much to everyone else.
But inside, I felt like an outsider. Like an alien in disguise, observing human behavior and trying to pass as one of them. I didn’t know there were others like me. I didn’t know I wasn’t alone.
The Breaking Point
For years, I believed I just had to work harder. Twice as hard, in fact, to get the same results as everyone else. And for a while, I managed. I built a life—marriage, three kids, a full-time job. But eventually, the mask began to slip. I was exhausted. I felt like I was failing at everything.
At work, I was struggling in ways I couldn’t explain. My oldest child had recently been diagnosed with ADHD and autism, and I was juggling their needs alongside caring for a newborn. In a moment of desperation, I sat down with my supervisor and asked him to help me identify what I was missing. His feedback surprised me. He mentioned issues with focus, but I thought I had superfocus. The list went on, and as I looked for a common thread, one word kept surfacing: ADHD.
I made an appointment for an assessment that day.
The Diagnosis That Changed Everything
Receiving a diagnosis didn’t just give me answers—it gave me community. I found others online who shared my experiences, my questions, my exhaustion. I wasn’t the only one who felt like an imposter, constantly performing to meet expectations that never quite fit.
That’s when I realized what I’d been doing all along: masking. Pretending to have traits that didn’t come naturally to me. Trying to pass as someone I wasn’t, just to survive.
When I discovered the Theory of Mindsets, everything clicked. I finally understood what I had been masking—my mindset. I began to see how neurotypicals operate from different internal frameworks, and how I had been contorting myself to match theirs without even realizing it.
Redefining Mastery
Mastery of mindsets isn’t about perfection. It’s about conscious, compassionate self-awareness.
I used to mask because I felt like I had to—because I believed something was wrong with me. Now, it feels different. I understand that masking isn’t about fixing a deficiency in me. It’s often about making others feel safe. It’s about shielding them from what makes them uncomfortable.
In that sense, I’ve come to see myself as a kind of guardian. When I choose to mask, it’s not out of shame—it’s out of empathy. I understand how mirroring someone can help them feel more at ease, especially when their subconscious is wired to distrust difference. When someone is operating from a Survival Mindset, anything unfamiliar can feel threatening. Their reality can feel fractured by truths that challenge their worldview.
It’s not me who’s broken. It’s their mindset that’s afraid. And if I can help them feel safe enough to shift toward a Balanced Mindset, I will—if I have the energy.
Masking as a Choice, Not a Requirement
Today, I mask with intention. I choose when and how to do it. If I’m exhausted, I might opt out of socializing altogether. If I do mask, I see it as a gift I choose to give—not something anyone is entitled to.
I don’t owe masking to anyone. And I no longer owe anyone a version of myself that isn’t real.

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