The Hidden Cost of Masking: How It Leads to Burnout

This is part 2 of a weekly six-part series (building on this post) where we’ll cover everything from what ND burnout looks like to recovery strategies and seeking support. See part 1 here.

We need to talk (more) about masking.

If you’re neurodivergent (autistic, ADHD, or anywhere on the ND spectrum), you probably know exactly what I mean. Masking is the chameleon act. The performance. The silent calculation of "how do I act more normal right now so I don’t get side-eyed, talked over, fired, ghosted, or humiliated."

Masking is exhausting. And more often than not, it’s invisible.

What Is Masking?

Masking is the act of consciously or unconsciously hiding your neurodivergent traits to fit in with neurotypical expectations. It’s pretending to be okay when your brain is screaming. It’s forcing eye contact, mimicking facial expressions, suppressing stims, scripting small talk (let’s be real, scripting EVERYTHING), and playing the part of someone who "has it all together."

For autistic folks, masking might mean suppressing meltdowns or pretending to understand a joke. For ADHDers, it could be overcompensating with color-coded planners while internally panicking over missed deadlines. For some of us, it’s all of the above plus bonus behaviors for extra credit. Hi. Nice to meet you!

The point is: you’re constantly filtering yourself.

And that filter comes with a cost.

The Prevalence of Masking

Masking isn’t rare. It’s survival. Especially for multiply marginalized folks, masking becomes a default mode just to stay safe, employed (!), or socially included.

Many of us learned to mask long before we even had words for it. We learned that being our real selves came with consequences. So, we adapted. We learned to read the room faster than anyone else. We became master imitators, strategic shapeshifters.

But even the best masks eventually crack. To clarify, my masks were never anywhere near close to perfect, but I still wore them because that’s what I thought we were all doing. I just thought I wasn’t particularly good at it, practicing enough, or wasn’t good enough. Smart enough. Capable enough.

The Toll It Takes

Let me be blunt: long-term masking can wreck your nervous system.

The mental strain of constantly monitoring your behavior, body language, voice tone, and facial expressions is not sustainable. The emotional cost of suppressing your identity every day? That stuff piles up.

Sustained masking has been linked to:

• Increased anxiety and depression

• Identity confusion or dissociation

• Loss of access to natural communication or movement patterns

• Chronic exhaustion

• Burnout

It’s not just that masking is tiring. It’s that it disconnects you from your own body, your own instincts, your own peace.

Personal Storytime

Here’s the part where I tell on myself (stick around and you’ll see me do this a lot):

For years, I didn’t realize how much I was masking. I thought I was just being professional. Or trying to be. Just being polite. Just being a "better version" of myself.

Until I hit a point where I couldn’t speak. Literally. My mouth would open, and nothing came out. My brain would short-circuit in meetings. I cried after Teams calls ended, then reapplied lipstick and went right back in like nothing happened.

It wasn’t until after my autism diagnosis at 49 that I realized: Oh. I’ve been masking so hard, for so long, I forgot what it feels like to just... exist.

I often think, “I’m not even sure which parts of me are real anymore.” Because when you’ve been performing for decades, reclaiming your true self is terrifying. And liberating.

For me, masking is like wearing too-tight pants all day. It looks fine from the outside, but I’m muffin-topping, suffocating, and can’t move freely.

That’s the part no one talks about. That even when the mask “works,” it still hurts.

So, What Now?

If you’re realizing you’ve been masking nonstop, here’s what I want you to know:

• You might be weird (I heart weird), but you’re not weak. You’ve been surviving.

• You don’t have to unmask all at once. Safety matters.

• Even small steps toward BEING YOU count.

Start by finding one safe person. One moment. One habit you can drop. One way to be 10% more you.

Unmasking isn’t always safe, but slowly reclaiming your truth is one of the most powerful things you can do.

And if you need help with that? I’ve got you.

Want to Talk More About This? I work with neurodivergent adults navigating burnout, masking, and identity recovery. If you're ready for support that gets it, reach out here for a free intro call.

You’re not alone in this. And you don’t have to keep performing.

Not here.

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About the Author
Gal is an autistic artist, late-diagnosed at 49, and the creator of AuRTistic Expressions—a space where neurodivergent truth meets creative survival. Through blog posts, printables, courses, and the “This Might Get Messy” podcast, Gal explores what it means to unmask safely, communicate authentically, and make art that doesn’t ask for permission. Stick around—there’s plenty more where this came from.

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