When people loose their sense of self-connection:
neurodivergence and masking

The life of someone who engages in masking may appear stable and successful from the outside, according to conventional standards. Yet inwardly, there’s often a prevailing sense of emptiness, vague anxiety, and ongoing exhaustion. And that's hardly surprising: when you permanently live out of alignment with your own needs, you remain in a constant state of tension and stress. Over time, you gradually loose touch with the vital resource of your own integrity.

 

Pathways to more vitality: (un-)masking from the perspective of

Nonviolent Communication

 

Nonviolent Communication is a path of inner liberation that was originally created for psychotherapeutic work. It focuses on needs as essential life forces: needs are the fundamental motivators of our human experience, decision-making, and actions. They contain all the information we require to live a fulfilled and joyful life. When I’m in touch with the living diversity of my emotional needs, I gain greater inner clarity. And with greater inner clarity, I have the possibility to shape my life in a freer and more congruent way.

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Two examples: As soon as I notice that I need rest, I can withdraw to a quiet place, sleep, or meditate. If, on the other hand, what I need is movement, I can choose to run, dance, or jump. This may sound trivial, but it becomes challenging at the very moment when my environment expects something different. How do I take care of my need for rest when my partner is determined to go to a party tonight—and really wants me to come along? And how do I honour my need for movement when I’m sitting in what feels like an endless work meeting?

 

Protection, safety, belonging? Yes — and there’s more!

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I suspect that almost everyone is familiar with such situations, at least to some degree. Almost every human being engages in masking at times. It can be really helpful to consciously choose masking as a strategy in certain contexts. The difference for neurodivergent people is this: for them, the conflict between what they actually need and what their environment seems to expect is permanent. In order to cope with the ongoing stress that comes with it, they often numb out awareness of their own needs. So in the example above, a neurodivergent person might go to the party despite needing rest. They adapt to what the other guests do, dance a little, talk to a few people, yet feel alienated and exhausted — and try to ignore those very feelings.

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But why would someone keep acting this way? What sense does it make to consistently go against one’s own needs? This question is key, which is why I’d like to be more precise here than before. Earlier, I wrote that people who engage in masking often live out of alignment with their own needs. That’s how it’s frequently described in neurodivergence discourse. I consider this only half the truth though. More accurately, we might say: people who engage in masking strongly focus their behavior on a small number of needs — such as safety, protection, and belonging. Many other needs — for example freedom, authenticity, vitality, inner congruence, being seen, heard, and valued — are just as alive within them, but are rarely lived.

 

To be safe or to be free: of “loud” and “shy” needs

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Amina Kashtan, a trainer of Nonviolent Communication from Israel, makes a fundamental distinction between needs for safety and needs for freedom. She points out that many people prioritize their safety needs. The thing is, when we do so we often end up paying a high price: our own aliveness. I myself like to speak of “loud” or “noisy” needs on the one hand, and “quiet” or “shy” needs on the other. The loud, noisy needs are easily seen and heard, and that way they may dominate a persons behaviour. Yet the quiet, shy needs are just as significant—not only for building a fulfilled life, but for experiencing a deeper sense of safety, too.

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That’s the tragic paradox of masking: if I prioritize my noisy safety needs over the quieter needs for freedom and authenticity, I will hardly ever feel safe in a deeper sense. I will keep living with the vague but persistent fear that the person I truly am might not be acceptable after all. This is why long-term masking is so exhausting, so wearing.

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So then how can we begin to cultivate more aliveness? How can we honour both shy and noisy needs equally, and develop strategies that take both into account? Those are the questions my next text will focus on.

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What has come alive in you while reading this text? Do you sense resonance, a feeling of recognition? Or do you have questions, objections, doubts? You’re very welcome to write to me — I appreciate your feedback.

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