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@actuallyautistic

A couple of posts today made me think about the connection between masking and imposter syndrome, especially for those of us who have realised late that we are autistic. I have long believed that there are essentially two aspects to the way that we masked. Masking ourselves from the world and masking ourselves from ourselves and that both of these contributed to being able to stay below the radar of realising what we were for so long. But, perhaps, the most important one, was not the face we showed the world, mostly because I doubt if that was ever as good as we thought it was, but the mirror we learnt to see ourselves in.

That internal masking of ourselves can take many forms.

I thought it was just me.

But, everyone does it this way.

No one else is bothered, or even seems to be noticing. I must be just imagining it, or too sensitive. It can't be real.

I've tried talking about it, but no one took me seriously, they thought I was joking. It's obviously just me. I really must be broken, or mad.

I can't see myself anywhere, I can't be right.

I can't be this way, no one else is.

I must be wrong.

And so much else...

So much of it is denial and disbelieve, as much as anything, and it doesn't go away once we begin to realise the truth. It doesn't magically lose its power. It has to be faced and defeated as a deliberate act of de-masking, that, perhaps, never really ends, because we've carried and tended to it for too long. And, all the time, it is a voice of doubt and so-called reason in our minds that can fuel our imposter syndrome. That can make us doubt our journey, our revelations, our truth. Because that was always its job. It is the reason we created it. To mask ourselves from the truth. Because, it wasn't the truth we saw, or were able to accept.

This isn't to say, by any means, that it is the only bone our imposter syndrome will chew on. But, for those of us who are late realising our truth, it is perhaps a particularly meaty one. Because it has been with us for so long, our only answer to the darkness we lived in and the only world we could see.

#Autism
#ActuallyAutistic

in reply to Kevin Davy

so well put. When you talk of mirrors it strikes a chord. I hate them, and only use one if completely necessary. I have no real self image, and feel very disconnected with seeing or hearing myself. I wonder if it is connected somehow. Luckily my wife will tell me I need to flatten my hair or change a shirt to fit the occasion
This entry was edited (4 days ago)

Kevin Davy reshared this.

in reply to Mind Shambles

@Aspiedan I suspect there is a connection. I can't say I'm overly fond of mirrors either. But then, if you barely received validation of who you were growing up, then expecting to see anything good is hardly likely. Whereas seeing the unflinching truth of yourself is.
in reply to Kevin Davy

@Aspiedan
I went the other direction. I obsessively practiced in the mirror growing up so I’d know what different facial expressions felt like enough that I could replicate them by feel and include them in my scripts.

I don’t know if it’s any better or worse. I have no identity. Through my incredibly exhaustive observation of body language and emotional responses I build my scripts and alter my personality to fit the situation and people I am interacting with.

It’s not only exhausting for me but manipulative and prevents me from connecting with anyone at any level. This is way beyond code switching.

in reply to Brett

@bflipp @Aspiedan
This could almost be one of the most harmful ways of masking. It's exhausting and stressful and also leaves you wondering what, if anything, lies beneath it any more. It's also hard to get out of the habit of doing it, once you've been doing it for long enough.
in reply to Kevin Davy

@Aspiedan
In my experience it’s impossible to stop. It has left me completely alone now in middle age which I honestly don’t see a way out of.

I truly don’t have an identity of my own. I simply have a set of well rehearsed masks based on people I observed growing up. In any interaction I absorb the emotions and body language of everyone present and I adapt the persona I feel is the most suitable at the time.

in reply to Brett

@bflipp @Aspiedan
I do this too. Read the room, adjust accordingly. The difference, for me, was that what I'm adjusting was based on myself. I took, sometimes exaggerated, sometimes emphasised, the aspects of myself that others seemed to like and accept. My intellect, humour, or just simply the ability to get on with people that I seem to have. I try not to do this as much now and I do wonder what the real balance of myself looks like. It is something I am still working on.
Perhaps, without realising it, you did something similar. Perhaps, what you worked on in the mirror, was shaping yourself as much as anything. Like me, perhaps what you really need, is to find the right balance.
in reply to Kevin Davy

@bflipp @Aspiedan I've been contemplating this myself, and a good Youtube video on this subject came my way:
"The Dangers of Missing a Sense of Self":
youtube.com/watch?v=hfqEqIgBYO…

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in reply to Brett

@bflipp @Aspiedan This hits close to home. The first diagnosis I got after I hopped into the mental health bingo this time, almost ten years ago now, was a bogus "unspecified identity disorder". But for all the whacky reasoning he had, I guess in the end he was onto something.

I also don't really feel like I have an identity. I have a personality, but not identity. I also didn't really have a chance to observe and practice things growing up with real people, so a lot of my personas were or I guess still are adapted from television and movies. And I can tell ya, real life isn't anything like an US sitcom... :meow_headache:

in reply to <undef>

@undefined_variable @bflipp @Aspiedan
I found something like an Identity only in recent years. The problem with it is: I don't fit neatly in the social categories offered to me. What's, if you belong to multiple seamingly mutually exclusive categories and have an additional layer on top? And many people don't know such people with such complex identities can exist and can't handle this.
in reply to Brett

@bflipp @Aspiedan
Oh…

I wouldn’t say I was obsessive, but I certainly lost my sense of self. When I heard the “fake it ‘til you make it” mantra at a professional development thing for teachers, I knew I’d been doing that my whole life.

As an aside, some of the teachers at the school made a video satirising the concept a few months later.

in reply to Mind Shambles

@Aspiedan I used to depersonalise easily when I saw my reflection, but not all the time. But enough to be significant. Logically I'd know it's me, but I'd feel a disconnect. Strangely, it doesn't happen as much recently. I can even make eye contact with my reflection these days without freaking out.

The exception being when I'm at work. If I catch my reflection in a mirror, or on a shiny bolt when I'm working on a bike, I flinch and have to look away. It just freaks me out. That might be the disconnect between masking and seeing who I am.

This kind of thing is a known trait of #schizoid, is it also common among other neurodivergences? I don't remember seeing depersonalisation as autistic/ADHD trait.

in reply to Silver Arrows

@SilverArrows @Aspiedan
I don't know how common it is. But, I suspect it's one of those things where it is difficult to tell if it is the autism, or trauma, or something else. We tend to be quite intersectional beasties.
in reply to Kevin Davy

Very well said. I've felt like that for a major part of my life. The first time I noticed that something must be really off and it's not just "me being whiny", was when I opened up to my former wife about how hard just about everything feels for me and that I just feel exhausted. She basically replied with: "I don't believe you, I don't see that."

I felt absolutely devastated but at the same time thought, how good must I be in hiding my problems? This isn't right. It took several more years from that point to find out that I'm autistic.

in reply to V'ger

@vger The disconnect between how we were and how others thought we could be, was a barrier that was terribly isolating. At least until we could begin to believe ourselves.
in reply to V'ger

@vger When I tell people I'm autistic, I often get "Oh, you don't come across as autistic". And I'm "that's what 50+ years of masking looks like".
in reply to Janeishly

Once I got the diagnosis, I came out to a colleague and his first response was: "But do you really feel that diagnosis? Because I talked alot with people about autism, and ..."

Luckily our conversation was interrupted at that point.

This entry was edited (3 days ago)
in reply to V'ger

@vger @janeishly
Other people, eh? With their “you don’t look” or “seem” or “behave” like an autistic. I had it with my alcoholism too.

You don’t ever hear this exchange, do you?

Person: I’ve just been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. That was a bit of a blow, I can tell you.

Idiot: Well, you don’t look like you have cancer. Are you sure it’s not an infection.

But when it’s a mental or behavioural issue, out they come with their resistance to the problem.

in reply to Kevin Davy

The first Matrix movie used the phrase "residual self image". I think about that a lot with regard to how my brain processes my sense of self these days.

Kevin Davy reshared this.

in reply to Jeffrey Haas

@jhaas
Indeed. For many of us, the reality of what is really us and what isn't is, difficult.
in reply to Kevin Davy

I don't know if you've had occasion or inclination to read my posts* about the ttrpg vampire clan Malkavian or not (about how I think they were meant to represent neurodivergence), but what you said about the mirror reminded me of it. This is because their clan symbol is a broken mirror. The reason is because the mirror is supposed to represent your self-image. But it's just an image, an illusion, there's nothing behind the mirror. So Malkavian wisdom says that in order to progress in life, you have to break the mirror, i.e. destroy your self image because it is holding you back from realizing and becoming who you really are. A truism I think for everyone, but it seems to be yet another way Malkavians make a good representation of neurodivergence.

*For reference: autistics.life/@murdoc/1144288…


I don't know how many in the autistic community have played the ttrpg called Vampire: The Masquerade, but I've had some interesting insights about the game since my self-realization that I'd like to share about it.

In the game, vampires are divided into clans, each with their own vampire powers, weaknesses, culture, outlook, and goals. For example the Brujah clan are known as rebels and strong fighters, while the Ventrue clan are aristocratic, manipulative, and like to be in charge.

One clan is called Malkavian, and the only thing that they all have in common is that they are all insane. It's even in the rules that you have a pick a mental illness that your character suffers from, such as being bipolar, or has multiple personalities. Other than that, they have the greatest diversity of any clan, and can look like anything, act like anything, have any goals, beliefs, etc.

But since learning about autism and neurodivergence, I've come to the belief that Malkavians were never about mental illness, but instead neurodivergence. They don't just suffer from their affliction and that's the sum of them. There's talk about how they are often regarded as seers, prophets, and oracles, that they see the truth of things that others do not. They often have trouble communicating these truths to other people, and often have trouble even understanding the social rules of "normal" vampire society. They sometimes feel as though they live in another reality altogether, but it is one that they all seem to share. Regardless of their near infinite diversity, they mostly seem to just "get" each other, can communicate more easily with each other, and even share ideas on a level not accessible to other vampires (called the "Malkavian Madness Network"). One of their vampire powers even lets them change their appearance, called "Mask of 1000 Faces", so "masking" is something many of them are familiar with. Another power of theirs gives them supernatural insight, such as seeing people's auras or reading their minds. Yet another ability is psychically making others ignore them, as though they were invisible. They often have to hide as a defense mechanism due to the abuse they receive from others for being different. They are often misunderstood, but when they aren't, they can make powerful allies.

There was a time when many people were getting upset because people played the Malkavians as silly, complaining that the players were not treating the subject of mental illness seriously. But like I said, I don't think that they were ever supposed to be about mental illness, but rather neurodiversity. I think that the creators of the game had a good grasp of the subject, but just didn't have the words we use today to classify it. The Malkavians are treated as mentally ill, even though they are just different, and the fact they actually have to have a mental illness according to the rules I think is just a reflection of how many of us suffer from mental illnesses *in addition* to our neurodivergence, not because of it.

All this would explain why I took to that clan the moment I first heard of them, and have been a big fan ever since. In addition to playing them in both tabletop and live games, I've written about them, from stories, to poems, songs, even had a website at one time. They've been a big part of me for a long time now, and now I think I know why. Also I wonder how many other people who have played Malkavians were also neurodivergent in real life.

#ActuallyAutistic #NeuroDiversity #neurodivergent @actuallyautistic


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in reply to Murdoc Addams 🧛🏻 🇨🇦

@murdoc
Yes, I have seen your posts. Although I do not play games, there does seem an echo there. The mirrors we hold up to ourselves and try to see ourselves in, so seldom represent the truth. So indeed, we have to break them, before we can even begin to do so.
in reply to Kevin Davy

@Kevin Davy

No one else is bothered, or even seems to be noticing. I must be just imagining it, or too sensitive. It can't be real.


This right here. This has wreaked so much havoc in my brain over the years. The only conclusion I could draw was that I was somehow defective.

in reply to Jonathan Lamothe

@me
Same. The only logical conclusion was always that I was broken and in my shame to hide that fact.

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