Masking for Survival: My Life as a Sleeper Agent

Written by Hannah Brockway

Since I was nine years old, I had difficulty fitting in at school.

I had a vague feeling that I was different at the core of my being, but didn’t understand how and couldn’t put the feeling into words. I always felt that I was tolerated – not accepted – by my peers; that if I made one wrong move I’d be kicked out of my friend group, which I was very aware was already at the bottom of the social ladder. I thought through everything I said and did. Twenty years later, I realised this was me learning to mask.

As time passed and I often embarrassed myself by apparently saying and doing the wrong thing, I learnt to take greater care. I became quiet, only speaking when I was sure I was saying the right thing. I looked to others for clues as to when to speak, move, leave, or take action in any situation. I also scrutinised the words, tone of voice, faces and body language of people I was speaking to, particularly if I didn’t know them well or if I saw them as a threat, such as the popular kids at school.

I was always on the lookout for danger, which is why I tended to only notice body language that could be negative.

Instead of looking at the bigger picture of their movements and vocal timbre, I paid attention to signs they may be angry with me, or bored with what I was saying. It was survival.

When I wasn’t sure if the nuance was positive or negative, I assumed the worst. I had learnt from previous embarrassment and reprimands that it was safer that way. This led to the belief that most people didn’t like me, or thought I was uncool or boring, but it’s better to be safe than bullied.

Though I’ve never been in the Secret Service, I liken conversing with neurotypicals to being a sleeper agent in a foreign country, about whose culture you know very little. You need to learn as you go in order to sustain your disguise (mask), lest you are discovered and killed. I know I’m not in danger of being killed – though the same cannot be said for all Autistic people around the world – however, in school I knew that if I couldn’t sustain my performance of normalcy I would be a prime target for bullies. As an adult I know that, if I let my mask slip at work, I will be given less opportunities. When networking with neurotypicals, the mask needs to be watertight.

As a teenager, when I met a new potential friend, I would mask at full power for the first month or two, exhausting myself in the process.

I agreed with their views, put their needs first, pretended to be happy and energetic, and tried to convince myself I shared their interests.

I had multiple tabs open in my brain — guessing which views to express based on our past conversations; steering the direction of the conversation towards a joke I had prepared earlier; monitoring their body language, facial expressions and tone of voice to check for boredom, anger, annoyance or dislike; assessing the suitability of potential responses; formulating witty or humorous retorts; scrutinising said retorts for potential offence or clues to my hidden dorkiness; monitoring my own body language for signs of seeming too eager, the list goes on.

My plan was to uphold the mask until the friendship was cemented, after which I would gradually let it slip, with constant monitoring of their response, until I reached the lowest level of masking at which they accepted me. At the time, I didn’t call it “masking”, because I didn’t know I was Autistic. I called it “trying to be cool”, or “pretending I’m not a dork”, or “trying to be the friend they want”. My plan was not fully conscious; more of a vague understanding that, as I was a weirdo at my very core, this was what I needed to do to make friends. Nor was it my intention to deceive this potential friend. On the contrary, I believed we could be very good friends, but that I would need to ease them into knowing the real me — or as much of the real me as I felt it was safe to show them.

From speaking to other Autistic people — particularly late-diagnosed AFABs — I have learnt that others used this method in an attempt to make friends. I also learnt that it is not uncommon to wish for a twin; someone who knew me inside and out, was incurably weird in the same ways, would always be with me and would accept me no matter what. In hindsight, this is probably part of the reason I loved the Harry Potter series so much. Harry, Ron and Hermione stick together through almost everything, help each other through their problems, stand up for each other when bullied, and put their lives in danger to save each other. I wished I had such true friends, who I knew would accept me for who I was and stick by me no matter what.

I yearned for just one close friendship like this. Someone with whom I could be completely myself without awkwardness and share my deepest secrets and fears.

But I felt my secrets were too weird to share, and I couldn’t put my deepest fears into words — I didn’t understand them myself. And conversation with most people felt stilted, unless I put all my energy into masking.

However, on rare occasions I would meet someone with whom conversation flowed easily, allowing me to relax my mask a little. Being with these people felt nourishing, almost safe, and didn’t leave me exhausted. Most of these friends have since been diagnosed with some form of neurodivergence themselves, or have a neurodivergent family member. Birds of a feather…

About the author

Hannah is a professional violinist, author and passionate mental health advocate. She was diagnosed Autistic in 2022, which allowed her to begin to let go of a lifetime of self-hatred for being odd. Read more about her journey in her book ‘A Cautionary Tale’. Ebooks can be purchased here or order a hard copy by contacting Hannah through her Instagram page.