Masking, Late Diagnosis, and a Dash of Symbiosis

About the Author

Learn more about Olivia and her music at https://olivianied.com/

I believe if you asked numerous autistic people what masking means to them, you’d end up with a wide variety of different answers, because every autistic experience is unique. As a late diagnosed AuDHD transgender woman, my experience of masking started unconsciously and happened gradually over time through picking up certain phrases from television shows, talking frequently with adults from a young age, who often used a variety of strange idioms and expressions that I’d repeat, and through feeling immense shame from some of my teachers in school. 

When I was maybe six or seven, I was friends with an autistic boy, and I remember clearly how our play dates often consisted of me watching him play a hot wheels racing computer game, (with the sickest graphics the early 2000s could provide, mind you) and me excitedly jumping up and down and flapping my hands when he’d absolutely crush a rad maneuver. 

Once I started elementary school, this switch sort of flipped inside me. I had all these naturally built in systems for regulating my brain and my body, that teachers really didn’t know what to do with. I would rock from side to side at my desk in class, but that often got me in trouble, so I’d redirect my need for vestibular stimulation through tapping my fingers or fluttering them at my sides. I’d still often feel so pent up and anxious from masking the ways in which I really wanted to stim, I’d chew on my shirt sleeves from the stress. 

Needless to say my first foray into the public education system wasn’t off to a great start. My second grade teacher was SO much more accommodating, yet I still feel like the first grade altered something in my brain to the point where I felt and experienced joy differently, as if it was through a filter of some kind: a hazy, clouded kind of joy. I learned to mask so much of what made me, me: my stimming, my joy, the ways in which I communicated, and even my gender identity. 

Yes, you got that right. My autism and my relationship to the gender binary have always been, “you know, connected!” (to quote Marge Gunderson, played by the incomparable Frances McDormand in the 1996 Coen Brothers cult classic, Fargo). I didn’t know that “transgender” was the word I was looking for to describe my experience, until I learned what the word meant in middle school. And then I still didn’t officially “come out” until I had nearly graduated from college. 

Many autistic people (particularly those who are late diagnosed/late realized) experience a lack of understanding from those around them, as to why they suddenly seem “more autistic” when they begin to unmask. When I tried to allow my authentic queer self to shine through in high school, it became evident to my girlfriend, and some of my teachers, that I didn’t “fit the mold” of having stereotypical “masculine” traits, and I therefore received some pushback. I wasn’t this stereotypical tough guy jock like Biff Tannon in Back to the Future that my girlfriend desired, so for a while I did my best to “play the part.” I stopped wearing this black beret that I liked to coordinate with my floral printed shirts and instead started wearing an oversized leather jacket to try and appear tougher. I begrudgingly went along with doing rebellious things that she viewed as “strong and masculine” like secretly kissing in one of the practice rooms in the music wing even though it made me feel immeasurably anxious and was definitely breaking the rules. It was exhausting, and ultimately led to me having a massive panic attack, and us breaking up. I lost who I really was at my core throughout it all. 

I view that experience as akin to autistic masking. I can no longer mask to the degree that I was capable of pre autism diagnosis, and truly I believe that’s all for the better, even if it is difficult sometimes. Masking is all-encompassing and it wears you down. The ongoing unmasking of my autism has positively influenced the level of comfort I have in my body existing as a transgender woman. Additionally, transitioning has allowed me to feel more at ease in certain social situations, which has given me permission not to suppress my stimming as much. I also feel less shame around not making eye contact, and I feel more authentic joy and gender euphoria (which often manifests through happy, little squeaks or little hops that I do when I’m excited to visit my friends or my partner). 

Also, I’ve noticed that being on HRT has positively improved the sensory experience of being in my body. Having softer skin and less muscle mass that previously felt too dense or heavy-has allowed me to understand my body’s proprioception in a different way, one that just “feels more me.” I move through space in a way that feels more authentic, and physically feeling more affirmed in my gender has allowed me to feel like I can trust my body more. I feel emotionally safe in my body, which has allowed me in turn, to feel safer in my autistic experience. My unmasking process has never been a linear experience. The level to which I choose to mask or not, depends on the level of closeness and comfort I feel around a person.

Oftentimes, I feel most comfortable unmasking around other autistic people or other trans people, but even then, I still struggle to unmask to the degree I might when I’m alone.  When you’ve experienced a certain number of unfavorable reactions to dropping some or all of your mask, your gut instinct is often to hide parts of who you are out of shame or fear. When an autistic person starts to unmask around you, it’s often because we trust you enough to let you see some of our most authentic and vulnerable parts.