It’s Not Pretending. It’s Surviving.

AWRYTE | Weekly Post People hear “masking” and think it’s acting. Like I’m putting on a costume, saying lines, pretending to be something I’m not. But that’s not it. Not really. I’m not pretending to feel things. I’m just performing the version of them you’ll accept. If I could walk into a room and just be—without adjusting my face, filtering my voice, second-guessing my tone, managing your reaction, calculating the social math—I would. But I’ve learned the cost of that. And it’s high. So I mask. Not because I’m fake. Because I’m trying to keep things smooth. Manageable. Less dangerous. I was six the first time I realized that telling the truth about how I felt made people uncomfortable. That it could make them angry, even. I remember saying something matter-of-fact at the dinner table—something that felt normal to me—and watching the adults flinch. A pause. A glare. A “That’s not something we say.” So I filed it away. That feeling. That pause. That rule. And I started collecting them. Smile when someone smiles at you. Laugh at the joke even if you didn’t get it. Look like you care—even if your body’s in shutdown. Don’t say you’re overwhelmed. Say you’re tired. Don’t say, “That hurts my ears.” Say, “Can we turn it down a bit?” By the time I was a teenager, I had a full script. I knew how to mimic casual. I knew how to act interested, how to time my reactions, how to mirror what was expected. It looked like I was fitting in. But I was barely holding it together. Masking is not pretending I have emotions I don’t. It’s hiding the emotions I do have so they won’t be misunderstood—or punished. When I’m anxious, I smile. When I’m sad, I nod. When I’m shut down, I stay polite. And the world takes that as “fine.” I used to think this was my strength. That being able to pass was a skill. A kind of high-functioning badge of honor. “You’d never know,” people would say. And I’d smile back, empty and proud. But it’s not a strength. It’s a wound. Every time I mask, I lose a little piece of me. A little piece of the real emotion. The real reaction. The real presence. And the kicker? You still get it wrong. People say I’m cold. Distant. Too quiet. They think I’m rude. Disengaged. Emotionless. Because the mask protects you, not me. It makes you comfortable, while I dissolve underneath it. And here’s where it really messes with your head: sometimes, the mask becomes so practiced, even I don’t know what’s real anymore. Do I actually like this person, or am I just relieved they’re not judging me? Do I feel joy, or am I just imitating what joy looks like? Am I okay—or just good at acting okay? This isn’t unique to me. It’s what so many of us live with. Because autistic masking isn’t about deception. It’s about adaptation. About minimizing harm. About surviving in spaces that weren’t built for us. People often say, “Just be yourself.” But that’s only safe advice if you’re someone the world is designed for. I spent years wondering why I was so exhausted after social events. Why small talk drained me. Why I could teach a class, lead a meeting, even do public speaking—then come home and collapse. It’s the mask. Holding it in place takes energy. Remembering the rules takes energy. Pretending not to be in pain when the lights are too bright or the sound is too sharp takes energy. Being “on” takes energy. And sometimes, I don’t have any left. The worst part? When I drop the mask—when I’m finally honest, unfiltered, raw—I often get accused of being too much. Too blunt. Too intense. Too sensitive. Too cold. I can’t win. If I mask, I’m unreadable. If I don’t, I’m unacceptable. That’s why AWRYTE exists. It’s not just a blog. It’s not a brand. It’s a place where I let the mask down. Where I don’t have to filter. Where I say what I mean and mean what I say. Even if it makes people uncomfortable. Especially if it does. Because maybe discomfort is where change starts. Maybe it’s time people got used to honesty that doesn’t come with a fake smile. If you’re autistic and exhausted by pretending, I see you. If you’re just now realizing that masking is what’s been burning you out all these years, I get it. And if you’re someone who’s never had to mask—try listening before judging. We’re not broken. We’re just trying to survive in a world that keeps telling us to “tone it down.” But not here. Not at AWRYTE. Here, we feel what we feel. And we don’t owe you a performance.