Notes on Masking

Like so many late-diagnosed autistic adults, I had no idea what “masking” was or that I’d been doing it for my entire life. With these new autism spectacles, I can look back at decisions as well as instinctive reactions and deduce that many of them are connected to my newfound understanding of autistic masking. One of my earliest examples is from when I was seven or eight. I lived on a cul-de-sac in Penticton, BC, and one of the neighbour kids had a hockey net. He invited me to play with him and his friend, but I really wanted to be the goalie. They explained that the rule was you had to score a goal against the current goalie, and then you could be the goalie until someone scored on you. It seemed fair, except I wasn’t very good at hockey and I couldn’t score. The other two kids kept deliberately letting goals through, so they kept switching out, but I never got the opportunity.

This led to my first-ever (that I remember) autistic shutdown, where I just collapsed in frustration and became non-responsive. The boys, concerned, called my mother and told her something was wrong with me, and she came and dragged me back to the house by the collar of my shirt. When we got inside, she told me, “You can’t let people see you like that. If they know you’re weak, they will never stop bullying you.”

I desperately wanted to prove to these boys—and myself—that I could score a goal, but after that lovely conversation, I could never bring myself to play again. To this day, I’ve never scored a goal in hockey. All through high school, I would make sure I was goalie or defence so I was never put into the position where I had to shoot, and thus get frustrated again. I convinced everyone that I liked goalie, or I liked defence, and this was the best position for me. I desperately wanted to play in the front, but I couldn’t escape the memory of that shutdown, and although I couldn’t explain what happened, I knew it didn’t feel good.

When I got my diagnosis in January 2024, I sat down with my kids and explained to them what my diagnosis meant. I said that I wanted our home to be a safe space, where I could express myself how I needed to, ensuring responsibility and safety were still top priorities. I explained that they might see a different side of me as I allowed myself to be tired, frustrated, overwhelmed, and express that openly at home. It’s gone very well, and they’ve learned what it looks like when I’m struggling. I usually order groceries from Instacart, but there are times where we just need a dozen eggs or some carrots. They don’t love going to the store either, and I present the option one of two ways: I ask if they want to go, or I ask if they’re willing to go with me. If I ask if they want to go, they know it’s optional. If I ask if they’re willing, they know if they don’t come with me, the trip’s not happening. They then have to weigh the value of the result—are they going to eat better for having gone to the store? Are they getting a treat from the bakery? But over the months, I’ve seen another factor come into play: they’ve started to consider if I need the company. Even if the store is just for Coke Zero, they will often volunteer to go with me, even without me asking the willing to question. They’ve been able to identify that after work is likely to be when I need someone to go with me, and they will preemptively offer to go. So it went from trying to help them understand how I function, to them deliberately accommodating my needs.

Autism is known to be hereditary, and being cognizant of that, I do my best to avoid overwhelming the boys. We do regular mental health check-ins, and we have dedicated “table time” every day, where they can bring up any issues at school or in life. I make sure to limit it to only a few minutes, as we all become uncomfortable quickly when sitting around a table together with no activity in the middle of us.

I am on the boat heading to work right now, and I see this sunrise in front of me. I took a picture to send to the kids, but I don’t particularly care about sunrises. I’d rather be in bed. But this led me to start thinking about work, which is unfortunately something I spend a lot of non-work time thinking about. It’s Saturday, which means the office is a very different environment. Most people in the office work Monday to Friday, so Saturdays is a different vibe. If I could only work on Saturday vibes, I might actually enjoy working in an office.

I struggle with unmasking at work, but I did go into the office on a Sunday while passing through on personal travel. The kids wanted hot chocolate, and I happened to have some in my office, so we paid a quick visit to the weekend crew. At some point, I was singing about making hot chocolate—one of my favourite pastimes is singing about doing mundane tasks while performing those tasks. My son asked, “Do you just sing at work? Don’t people think you’re weird?”

That highlighted progress in my unmasking—because he was right. Typically, singing in an office about pouring hot chocolate powder into a disposable paper cup? That’s psycho behaviour. And yet on this random Sunday in early Spring, here was always-fly-under-the-radar Oz, singing into a hot chocolate cup.

I realized early on in this job that I communicate better via email than phone—the phone stresses me out, especially when I don’t know who’s calling me. So, a few months ago, I stopped answering it. I took my phone numbers out of my email signature and I began spreading the idea that I don’t answer my phone unless it’s a scheduled call—and where do we schedule that call? Email.

These few accommodations have significantly reduced the number of meltdowns & shutdowns I have either at work or because of work. I still have a lot of work to do in the office, but I have a good amount of support and I feel safe.

I cannot fail to recognize how lucky I am to have a supportive work environment and a supportive home life. I spend time on Reddit, TikTok, and Facebook, following and participating in a lot of the discussions there, and the number of people who go through their struggles without support in place is disheartening. Although autism awareness is growing, I still encounter a lot of eye rolls or frustrated sighs when I explain a limitation I have. I have the luxury of having a lot of autonomy in my decisions at work, but I worked retail and culinary for a combined 15 years—and neither of those environments give you an opportunity to be neurodiverse. Too many workplaces are incapable of properly accommodating the common autistic needs, which ultimately leads to heavier masking and higher rates of anxiety and stress-related illnesses.

I hope you’re doing okay.