“You’re too sensitive.”
“You’re too intense.”
“You’re overreacting.”
These are things I hear clients describe being told. Many share how, over time, questions like “What do I need?” or “Who am I?” became “Who do I need to be so people accept me?”
For many, the shift began early. Their enthusiasm for a particular topic was called excessive, or their way of learning wasn’t welcomed at school. A parent grew frustrated when they became overwhelmed by sensory input. A teacher interpreted their distress as “being bad.”
My clients adapted one step, one carefully tucked away desire at a time.
They learned to monitor facial expressions and rehearse conversations before having them. They stopped asking for breaks or expressing enthusiasm for particular topics. They became the easy-going friend, the dependable employee, the agreeable partner. When asked, they were always “fine.”
Sometimes, masking worked. It helped them avoid criticism, gain approval, or feel more accepted.
But there was a cost.
When Masking Becomes Survival
For autistic people, masking can involve consciously or unconsciously suppressing traits or navigating social situations in ways that conceal their natural responses. Other neurodivergent people may describe similar experiences. Trauma, rejection, discrimination, and chronic criticism can also teach people to hide their needs or monitor themselves closely. These experiences aren’t identical, but they can overlap.
Masking is not simply pretending to be someone else. It can be a sophisticated survival strategy.
After rejection, embarrassment, punishment, or shame, closely monitoring yourself and other people’s reactions makes sense. But that vigilance can become exhausting. You might notice it when joy feels difficult to touch or your body struggles to relax, even with people you trust. In therapy, we can explore where masking still protects you and where you might want room to respond differently.
Many adults come to therapy feeling exhausted, anxious, disconnected, or unsure of who they really are. Their skill at adapting to other people’s expectations can make it difficult to understand what they want, need, and feel.
The Grief No One Talks About
One of the most surprising parts of unmasking is grief.
People often expect unmasking to feel freeing. And sometimes it does.
But it can also bring sadness, anger, and loss.
There may be grief for the child who learned they needed to hide.
Grief for the years spent trying to earn acceptance.
Grief for relationships that only worked because you abandoned parts of yourself.
Grief for the realization that you were never "too much.”
What Unmasking Actually Looks Like
Unmasking is rarely a dramatic transformation, but something that happens in small moments.
You don’t have to unmask everywhere or with everyone. Some environments still carry real consequences for being visibly different or expressing your needs. The goal is to have more choice about what you share, what you protect, and where you can begin to relax.
It might mean saying “no” without apologizing or sharing an opinion you would normally keep to yourself.
Unmasking is allowing yourself to stim, rest, cry, laugh loudly, ask for accommodations, or express excitement without immediately judging yourself.
Can you trust your own experience even when others don't understand it?
Unmasking is not about abandoning social skills or disregarding the needs of others. It is about building a life where authenticity becomes safer than self-abandonment.
You Were Never “Too Much”
One of the most painful consequences of chronic masking is the belief that something is fundamentally wrong with you. Many people spend years trying to become smaller, quieter, easier, or more acceptable.
But healing often begins with a different question: What if the goal is not to become less of yourself, but to find spaces, relationships, and communities where you no longer have to hide who you are?
Because the parts of you that learned to hide were never the problem.
They were simply trying to survive.
If you’re exploring what masking has meant in your life, therapy can offer space to notice your needs and consider what you want to do differently—at your own pace. I offer neurodivergent-affirming individual therapy for adults throughout Washington via telehealth.
