Influencer Holly Morris: 'I masked my autism and ADHD all my life – now I'm ready to be me'

Masking is the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me. It’s a coping strategy where neurodivergent individuals – such as those like me with ADHD and autism – suppress their natural traits and mirror neurotypical behaviours to fit in and appear ‘non-neurodivergent’.

In simple terms, it’s the mental equivalent of wearing a Primark XXL push up bra. It looks kind of real, but something’s definitely off. You don’t want anyone getting too close in case they see it’s bunching, and it’s incredibly uncomfortable to wear for long periods of time.

Masking opened up a whole new world to me, without me even knowing I was doing it. I went from being bullied at school to in the top-tier popular group, all within a year. It was like fast-tracking through security at the airport. I couldn’t believe it. This is how others felt? It felt like I belonged for the first time. I was being invited round to friend’s houses because they wanted me there, not because their mum liked my mum.

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The catch was (and I tell you this now retrospectively, because I didn’t realise this was happening at the time) they didn’t want me there, they wanted this manufactured ‘me’ I’d conjured up. I realised no one was seeing the world how I was. At school it’s drilled in that you want to ‘try your best’, to be intelligent, to move up a set, to strive for something – so that’s exactly what I had been doing. I tried very hard. It was work first, friends second. I wasn’t going to pass my GCSEs plaiting Sarah’s hair during German, was I?

But then something switched. I realised that the few brief stints of someone liking me, sending me a message on BBM, finding something I said funny and getting me to repeat it to the group, outweighed the joy of getting a good mark, or getting picked to recite my analysis of Goodnight Mr Tom. I realised no one else was taking the purpose of school as literally as I was (it is a trait of autism to think literally), they were focused on fitting in. I changed tack and set my sites on fitting in too. 

It was as if I’d been given an ant farm as part of a school science experiment and my peers were the ants in question. I studied hard, working out how the colony ran, who the queen ant was and the intricate social roles and rules they were following. I learnt what was important – being easy-going and attractive. So I spent my evenings flicking between make-up tutorials and ‘how to be funny’ videos on YouTube. 

This was great at first. The problem was, I was not actually an ant like them. I was some other foreign species disguised as an ant. I didn’t process things like they did. I didn’t find joy in the things they did. I also knew I couldn’t let my mask slip, or the colony would kick me out. 

This resulted in the entirety of my teens and twenties spent outwardly appearing care-free, malleable and warm at school, university, work and the pub regardless of how I actually felt. People would say: “I think we’re kindred spirits?” Of course – I’m mirroring your entire personality back at you.

Then I got my diagnosis, and learnt about masking. As a 31-year-old, I realised: “That’s why I’m constantly exhausted and don’t feel any real connection to anyone.” The 13-year-old in me had probably known that I was never being me all along.

When you’re masking, you’re always doing two jobs – the one that everyone knows you’re doing and the behind the scenes one you’re doing. This explains why I spent many an evening with panic attacks, dread, burn out and constant looming anxiety. This also explains why, when I announced being autistic, most people responded with: “You can’t be!” It’s a bit like when people are shocked when an EastEnders actor isn’t the same as their character in real life.

I don’t have enough experience to teach you how to stop masking. I’m personally still finding that bit incredibly difficult. My mask got me to where I am, but at what cost? Would I do it all again? I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m tired of using it all the time now. I hope in the future I can save it for special occasions, rather than every WhatsApp or casual dinner.

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