From my own research exploring autistic camouflaging (commonly known as masking) behaviors in educational settings, I have identified experiences of masking that are common amongst autistic students.
This got me reflecting on my own experiences in school and how much I relate to others’ masking experiences.
Autistic masking can be described as conscious or unconscious behaviors that attempt to minimise or suppress autistic traits as a way to be safe and to manage in social situations, often as a response to stigma associated with autism.
Below are some of my experiences in school that could be attributed to masking.
Trying to remain invisible
For as far back as I can recall, I have always been a very quiet person and even more so when I was at school.
While reasons for my quietness cannot all be attributed to school experiences, I believe it did encourage me to stay quiet.
Times when I felt brave enough to speak up in classrooms or in a group of friends, I was often met with statements of “Wow, she CAN talk!” or I would say the wrong thing based on a negative response.
Since I did not like this spotlight on me, I learned that it was safer to not bother speaking unless I really had to.
Learning social behaviors from peers
There are many ways in which I learned how to behave more neurotypically through comments made by other students.
It took me a while to notice that these two students would approach me every day and ask me how I was, not because they were being friendly, but because they would giggle to each other about how I would always respond with a one-word answer in monotone (usually “fine”).
Once I understood this, the next time they asked, I had a script prepared where I gave a longer answer and also reciprocated the question in a cheerful tone.
They then stopped approaching me after this, and I learnt from this that I needed to have a social script to follow during small talk to avoid being laughed at.
Fitting in with the “right” crowd
During lunch breaks, I would spend my time hanging out with a group of students that were generally well-liked and respected, although I felt I didn’t have much in common with them.
Although I may have been physically present in this group, I often felt like I was on the sidelines, not really contributing much and not feeling like a valued member of the group.
During some of my classes, I got on really well with some other students (who I now think could have been neurodivergent too in some way), but because they weren’t as popular, I did not choose to spend time with them outside of class.
In this way, I masked by trying to blend in with what I deemed as the “right people” to be seen with rather than prioritising friendships that could have boosted my sense of belonging.
Social differences in adolescence
For many autistic students, including myself, social differences may become apparent during teenage years, when there are more social complexities and nuances.
During my earlier school years, I was able to have solid friendships that felt very authentic. However, once we got to high school, I definitely felt there was a strain on my existing friendships.
There was more pressure to be socially competent and to avoid standing out or looking “weird.” This pressure meant I needed to learn to perform more socially desirable behaviors to keep the friends I had.
Pretending to look busy
There were times when I pretended to be doing things to avoid coming across a certain way, which could be considered a type of masking.
For instance, I would have my head down and pretend to be writing something in class to avoid having to contribute to class discussions. If I was assigned group work, I might make an excuse to go to the bathroom so I spent less time needing to talk to other students.
There were also times when my one “safe friend” would be absent from school, so I would constantly wander around different areas of the school pretending I was on my way somewhere to avoid looking lonely. Or, if I knew my friend would be absent on a certain day, I would pretend to be sick so I could avoid going to school that day.
The exhaustion behind the mask
While these strategies helped me survive the social environment of school, they came at a cost.
Looking back, every single one of these behaviors was a survival strategy.
Constantly monitoring my tone, scripting small talk, and playing roles left me utterly exhausted by the time I got home every day. Masking allowed me to blend in, but it constantly eroded my energy and my sense of self.
Near the end of my school years, my main focus was to just be as quiet and submissive as possible. In my head, I just had to power through until it was time to leave.
Masking allowed me to navigate school without drawing unwanted attention, but it also forced me to suppress my genuine self. I traded true connection and self-expression for the illusion of safety.
To this day, I am still learning to unlearn a lot of the behaviors I may have picked up from my school days.
Moving Beyond the Mask
My research—and my own lived experience—shows that masking in schools is rarely a free choice; it is a direct response to an environment that often penalizes difference.
When school cultures equate “quietness” with success, or punish non-traditional social styles with exclusion and ridicule, autistic students learn very quickly that authenticity is dangerous.
If we want to support autistic students, the solution isn’t teaching them how to blend in more convincingly. Instead, we must focus on building educational environments where neurodivergent traits are understood, accepted, and celebrated.
School shouldn’t be a place where young people feel forced to play a character just to make it through the day.
By fostering genuine inclusion, embracing different ways of communicating, and removing the stigma around neurodivergence, we can create spaces where no student feels the need to hide behind a mask just to belong.
