ADHDLife

💭 Unmasking: The Struggle of Being Myself

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Unmasking, One Post at a Time

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. Specifically about unmasking my autism. And while I’ve had some positive experiences with it, I’ve come to realize that the negative experiences still outweigh the positive ones. And that makes me really sad. It’s hard, honestly, because I don’t know what else to do or who else to be. I can’t be anything but myself, and sometimes it feels like that’s just too much for people to handle.

I know I’ve gotten some positive responses—people have been understanding, kind, and validating—but still, the negativity lingers. And that’s tough. It’s like a heavy weight in my chest. When my mom was sharing her experiences with unmasking, I couldn’t really respond in the way I wanted to. I wasn’t sure how to say it, but I’ve been feeling like my own experience of unmasking has been harder.

A person sitting on a bathroom toilet, holding a small white dog and a bundle of flowers, with a smile on their face. The bathroom features green walls and a vanity with toiletries in the background.

For me, it’s not just about letting go of the mask. It’s about trying to explain the way I move through the world. I feel like I need to explain why I do certain things, like singing loudly to myself or having the song “Jingle Bells” stuck in my head 24/7. Or why I sometimes talk out loud to myself, the animals, or even inanimate objects around me. These are stims. If you don’t know what stimming is, I suggest you look it up. It’s a way of self-regulating, a form of expression. It’s something that helps me feel grounded. But it’s also something that makes me feel like I have to explain myself to others.

A person smiling while posing next to vibrant green leaves and clusters of white flowers in a natural setting.
Mmmmmm smells so good.

Here’s the thing: I can talk to animals or inanimate objects with ease, but when it comes to talking to people? That’s when I freeze. That’s when it gets too weird. It’s like my brain can’t quite make the connection, and then the pressure of social expectations just hits me. So, I just keep it inside. I don’t feel free to express myself the way I want to. And that’s painful—not just mentally, but physically too. Holding in stims isn’t just hard emotionally; it hurts in my body, and it’s depressing. It’s exhausting to try to be something I’m not.

A close-up view of a flowering strawberry plant with a white bloom and green leaves emerging from dark soil in a pot.

I’ve spent so much of my life masking my true self because I thought it would make things easier. But it hasn’t. Not really. And now, as I’m unmasking, I’m faced with all these conflicting feelings. The sadness of wanting to be myself, but also feeling like I have to explain why I am the way I am. It’s like trying to explain the air I breathe or the way my heart beats. It’s me. It’s who I am. It’s autism. It’s ADHD. It’s my brain. It’s my body. Take it or leave it.

A smiling person holding a dandelion flower in a backyard with cloudy skies and a white fence in the background.

But sometimes, when I’m still caught in the moments of doubt, I wonder: what would it be like to just be free? Free from the expectations, the need for explanations, the weight of others’ judgment. It feels so far out of reach some days. But I hold on to the hope that one day, the world will be a little more understanding and a lot less demanding of conformity.

Smiling person in a yellow jacket sitting by a riverbank, with a laptop in front, surrounded by lush greenery and a cloudy sky.

So yeah, I’m unmasking. And it’s a process. A painful, raw, beautiful process. And I’m doing it for me.

A close-up selfie of a person with long hair, wearing a bright yellow jacket and a colorful striped sweater, standing outdoors with a wooden structure in the background under a cloudy sky.

🔥 My Brain on Fire: ADHD Edition (Unmasking, One Post at a Time)

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“My Brain on Fire: ADHD Edition”
 🧠 An essay from Unmasking, One Post at a Time — Entry Four

A person smiling while sitting on the floor, holding a paintbrush with their teeth and giving a thumbs-up, surrounded by art supplies and partially completed artwork.

Some days, my brain feels like a wildfire.
Everything is urgent. Everything is now.
And somehow… I still forget to respond to that one text I opened three hours ago.

Living with ADHD means living inside a mind that’s constantly running laps.
Thoughts sprinting. Emotions bursting.
Ideas bouncing like pinballs while I’m just trying to find my keys, which are in the fridge.
Again.

I have:

  • About 16 unfinished art projects (actually there’s too many to count I just made up the number 16 lol)
  • Three cups of half-drunk tea, 2 cans of half-drunk diet coke, and the glass of water I forgot to sip on
  • 74 tabs open (but I know exactly what’s in each one)
  • A to-do list I rewrote four times and then lost every single one of them
  • Big dreams
  • No concept of time
  • And a habit of spiraling into research rabbit holes that end with me crying over a documentary about deep sea coral

I forget things constantly—but I remember things deeply.
I can’t start tasks sometimes—but once I do, you might not hear from me for six hours because I’ve hyperfocused myself into a parallel universe.

It’s not just distractibility.
It’s intensity.
Of thought. Of feeling. Of motion.

People say ADHD is “just being hyper” or “bad at paying attention.”
But no one talks about:

  • The guilt of always being behind
  • The panic of missing a deadline you meant to meet
  • The shame of being called lazy when your brain is actually sprinting at full speed toward everything except what you were supposed to do
  • The frustration of knowing what you need to do, but not being able to start

No one talks about how isolating it is to feel like you’re failing at basic tasks while also being brilliant in ways no one measures.

And it’s not all bad.
There’s so much magic in the ADHD brain, too.

I can come up with ideas that make people pause and go, “Wait… that’s actually brilliant.”
I can connect seemingly unrelated things like I’m weaving a constellation.
I can love fiercely, create spontaneously, and dive into things with my whole heart.
I can notice beauty in overlooked places. I can feel things big.

But none of that means it’s easy.
And most days, I don’t want praise or pity.
I just want understanding.

If my brain is on fire, I’m trying to learn how to stop yelling at the flames and start dancing with them.
Some days I get burned.
Some days I glow.
But either way, it’s me. It’s all me.

And I’m not lazy.
I’m just wired differently.
And honestly? That fire fuels some beautiful things.

Screenshot of a computer screen displaying a questionnaire about lifestyle and health, with emphasis on distractibility. The text below describes the user's feelings of being overwhelmed by the 70-question ADD test.