One of the themes that runs through much of my writing is adaptation. Human beings are remarkably adaptable. In fact, many of the challenges we experience in adulthood began as solutions. We develop ways of thinking, feeling, and behaving that help us navigate environments that feel unsafe, overwhelming, or emotionally painful. Those adaptations often make perfect sense at the time. They help us belong. They help us avoid rejection, they help us survive.

Many LGBTQ+ people learn very early that certain parts of themselves are not always welcomed by the world around them. Whether through bullying, exclusion, family messages, religious beliefs, discrimination, or subtle social expectations, many of us receive the message that being ourselves carries risks.

Many neurodivergent people receive a similar message. They learn that their natural way of communicating, processing information, moving through the world, or experiencing emotions is somehow different from what is expected. They learn that certain behaviours attract criticism, misunderstanding, or unwanted attention. For people who are both LGBTQ+ and neurodivergent, these experiences often overlap. The result is sometimes referred to as neuroqueer masking. I sometimes think of it more simply as learning to survive twice.

Growing Up Different Twice

Many LGBTQ+ adults can remember the feeling of being different long before they understood why. There is often a sense of standing slightly outside the group, watching carefully, trying to work out the rules that everybody else seems to understand instinctively.

As a gay man growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, I know something about that feeling. Long before I had the language to describe my sexuality, I knew I was different. I learned to monitor myself, pay attention to how other people reacted, and hide aspects of myself that felt vulnerable. Looking back now, I can see how much energy was spent trying to avoid rejection and fit into a world that often felt unsafe.

Many neurodivergent people describe remarkably similar experiences. They talk about learning social rules through observation, carefully studying other people’s behaviour, suppressing natural responses, and trying to blend in. Over time, what begins as an adaptation can become a way of life. For neuroqueer people, these two experiences often sit alongside one another. You learn which parts of yourself are acceptable and which parts are not. You learn what attracts approval and what attracts criticism. You begin editing yourself accordingly. Slowly, almost without noticing, the question stops being “Who am I?” Instead, it becomes “Who do I need to be for other people to accept me?”

Pull Quote:

The focus quietly shifts from self expression to self protection.

When Adaptation Becomes Identity

One of the reasons neuroqueer masking can be difficult to recognise is that it often becomes so familiar. If you spend years monitoring your behaviour, managing your appearance, rehearsing conversations, suppressing natural responses, and scanning for signs of rejection, those adaptations can stop feeling like adaptations altogether. They simply become the way you move through the world.

Over time, behaviours that began as survival strategies can start to feel like personality traits. The person who constantly scans for danger may come to see themselves as naturally anxious. The person who works tirelessly to meet everybody else’s expectations may believe they are simply kind and caring. The person who suppresses their own needs may view themselves as independent, while the person who strives endlessly to get everything right may think they are simply ambitious or driven.

Yet beneath many of these patterns sits the same question: what would happen if people saw the real me?

For LGBTQ+ people, that fear may be rooted in experiences of homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, bullying, rejection, or exclusion. For neurodivergent people, it may stem from years of misunderstanding, criticism, social isolation, or messages that their differences are problems that need fixing. Although the experiences themselves may differ, the emotional impact can be remarkably similar. Both can create the belief that acceptance is conditional upon hiding certain parts of ourselves.

When these experiences overlap, the pressure to perform can become immense. Many neuroqueer people find themselves carrying multiple masks at the same time. One mask may be designed to navigate a heteronormative world, while another helps them navigate a neuronormative one. Over time, constantly switching between these roles can become exhausting, yet neither mask feels entirely safe to remove. The fear of rejection, judgement, or not belonging remains close enough that authenticity can begin to feel risky, even in environments that may be far safer than those in which the masks were originally created.

The Cost of Neuroqueer Masking

Like many adaptations, masking often works. It can help somebody avoid conflict, gain acceptance, reduce bullying, and navigate environments that feel difficult or unsafe. The problem is that what helps us survive isn’t always what helps us thrive. Constant self monitoring requires energy. It means paying attention not only to what is happening around you but also to what is happening inside your own mind. It means filtering, editing, suppressing, analysing, and adjusting in real time. Over months and years, that effort can become exhausting.

Many neuroqueer people describe feeling disconnected from themselves. They know how to respond to the expectations of others but struggle to identify their own needs, preferences, or boundaries. They become skilled at fitting in while simultaneously feeling unseen. This can create a profound sense of loneliness. After all, genuine connection depends upon being known. If large parts of yourself remain hidden, relationships can begin to feel emotionally distant even when other people genuinely care about you.

It’s difficult to feel fully accepted when the parts longing for acceptance remain hidden.

This is often where shame enters the picture. Not the shame of having done something wrong, but the shame that develops when we repeatedly receive the message that who we are is somehow wrong. That shame can fuel many of the adaptations I write about elsewhere on this website, including people pleasing, perfectionism, hypervigilance, emotional denial, rejection sensitivity, and the tendency to shape shift in order to gain acceptance.

What Unmasking Really Means

When people hear the word unmasking, they sometimes imagine abandoning every adaptation they have ever developed. They picture suddenly becoming a completely different person or stripping away every coping strategy they have relied upon for years. In reality, unmasking is usually a much gentler and more compassionate process than that.

Many of our adaptations developed for good reasons. They helped us navigate environments that felt unsafe, unpredictable, or emotionally painful. They protected us when protection was needed. The goal isn’t to criticise ourselves for having them or to get rid of them overnight. Instead, the goal is to understand them. We begin exploring where they came from, what purpose they served, and whether they are still helping us today.

Unmasking often begins with curiosity. Curiosity about what feels authentic and what feels performative. Curiosity about what happens when we stop working so hard to manage other people’s perceptions of us. Curiosity about our own needs, preferences, and ways of being, rather than focusing solely on who we think we should be.

For some people, this process may involve allowing themselves to stim, fidget, move around, or communicate in ways that feel more natural. For others, it may involve becoming more open about their sexuality or gender identity, expressing parts of themselves that have been hidden for years, or simply giving themselves permission to take up space. For many, it means learning that their needs are legitimate and don’t require justification or apology.

Unmasking isn’t about becoming somebody new. It’s about creating enough safety to become more fully yourself.

Rather than striving for perfection or trying to eliminate every adaptation, unmasking is about increasing choice. It is about recognising when a behaviour comes from authenticity and when it comes from fear. Over time, that awareness can create more freedom, more self acceptance, and a stronger sense of connection to who we really are. The goal isn’t perfection. The goal is freedom.

How Therapy Can Help

For many neuroqueer people, therapy can be one of the first places where they are not being asked to change. They aren’t being asked to be less queer, they aren’t being asked to be more neurotypical, they aren’t being asked to perform normality. Instead, therapy can become a space where the focus shifts from performance to understanding.

As an LGBTQ+ therapist, I understand how minority stress, shame, rejection, and concealment can shape the way we experience ourselves and our relationships. I also aim to provide a neurodivergent affirming space where you don’t need to mask in order to be accepted. Whether that means having your camera off during online sessions, fidgeting, moving around, adjusting the environment, sitting in a way that feels comfortable, or simply showing up exactly as you are, therapy can adapt to you rather than expecting you to adapt to it.

If any of this resonates with you, you don’t have to work through it alone. Many neuroqueer people have spent years trying to become more acceptable to the world around them. Therapy offers an opportunity to explore a different possibility: that perhaps the problem was never who you are, but the environments that taught you that you needed to hide. If you’d like support exploring this further, you’re welcome to book a free 15 minute online introduction session to see if we’re the right fit.