1. The Weight of Shame
2. Our Many Layers
3. Neurodivergent Masking: Next Steps

I grew up with a constant sense of otherness. Making conversation felt like navigating a minefield. Sarcasm was a foreign language. (I’m fluent in it now.) I wanted to fit in, but my neurodivergence meant that doing so required conscious, unwavering effort that left me exhausted and worn down.

Everything changed for me at age 12, when I discovered body language. I watched an FBI expert on TV explain how people’s bodies reveal what they’re really thinking. I became obsessed. I plunged deep into research about nonverbal communication. For the first time, I had a roadmap for understanding people logically. People don’t always say what’s on their minds, I learned. Often, their faces and body language reveal what they would rather keep hidden.

The “attention deficit” in ADHD is a misnomer. Our attention is not lacking; it is dysregulated. In reality, my ADHD brain sees a lot. With this new knowledge, I started noticing every subtle reaction, every shift in expression – the minute grimaces, the disdain, the ridicule – and how much of it was aimed at me, because I was weird.

But understanding body language also gave me something useful: the tools to develop personas and masks that helped me navigate social situations, even if doing so came at a cost I wouldn’t understand for years.

Most of us build masks because we’re ashamed and desperately want to fit in. When your mask is rooted in these feelings, it becomes mentally exhausting to maintain. You’re not presenting an authentic version of yourself; you’re performing a version of who you think people want you to be. I wore these shame-based masks for decades. By the time I reached my 30s, I’d built up significant trauma from hiding who I really was.

[Read: “Masking with ADHD Is the Ultimate Energy Drain”]

The risk with shame-based masking is that you can lose yourself entirely. You wear the mask for so long that you forget who you are underneath it. And when people start to like you, or fall in love with you, they’re falling for the mask, not the authentic person beneath it. When you eventually become too tired to maintain that mask – and you will become too tired – the person who loved your mask may not love the real you. That’s not because there’s anything wrong with who you are. It’s because you presented something that wasn’t real, and they developed feelings for that fabrication.

Here’s the thing, though: Masking doesn’t have to be built on shame. It can actually be a form of authenticity when it comes from the right place. The difference comes from understanding why you mask and what purpose it serves. I learned this at the International Conference on ADHD, where I wear what I call my extroverted mask. When I’m in public spaces around a lot of people, I develop a persona that brings people joy. I make people laugh. I engage enthusiastically. I create positive energy in the room.

That mask is like a flashlight that illuminates the part of myself that genuinely enjoys the fun and attention that comes from making people laugh. But truth be told, I’m much more of an introvert, especially around people I don’t know well. I’m cautious about how I express myself until I become comfortable. That extroverted persona isn’t fake; it’s an amplification of a part of me that I choose to bring forward in certain situations.

Masking transforms from harmful to healthy only when you have a firm grasp on the authentic you. You must understand your values, strengths, and weaknesses before you can choose which masks to wear, and when. When you know yourself deeply, you can select masks that accentuate truths about yourself. These masks aren’t shields to hide the real you. They’re tools to emphasize specific aspects of your authentic self that serve you in particular situations.

[Read: “Decades of Masking Taught Me to Understand People from the Inside Out.”]

Think about it like highlighting parts of a complex painting. The whole painting is still there – you’re just drawing attention to certain elements depending on the context. The conference version of me emphasizes joy and connection. The working-with-clients version emphasizes empathy and problem-solving. The friendship one might highlight humor and vulnerability. Each is authentic and doesn’t require me to deny who I am.

• Read: A Big Part of Unmasking Is Honoring Your Limits
• Read: What Does ‘Be Yourself’ Mean for Adults with Fractured Self-Esteem?
• Read: Has ADHD Warped Your Sense of Self? It’s Time to Reclaim Your Story — and Power.

Shane Thrapp is a certified ADHD coach who works on relationships and career development with adults who have ADHD and autism.

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