When Inclusion Backfires: The Hidden Cost of ‘Double Masking’

You’re sitting in a lecture hall, heart pounding as the professor calls for group discussion.

You’ve practiced eye contact, rehearsed “relatable” jokes, and suppressed the urge to stim.

You’re not just pretending to be neurotypical—you’re pretending to be a model neurodivergent student: confident, creative, adaptable.

By the end of the class, you’re exhausted.

A recent participatory study from Maynooth University, Ireland, uncovered a troubling paradox in higher education: even as universities champion neurodiversity, neurodivergent students are still pressured to conceal who they are—twice over.

A New Kind of Mask

Researchers used a Global Café approach—an open, movement-friendly discussion method—to explore the lived experiences of 18 autistic, ADHD, dyslexic, and dyspraxic students.

Unlike traditional interviews, this format allowed students to shape the conversation themselves.

Across all three sessions, a powerful theme emerged: double masking. Students described two simultaneous pressures.

First, the familiar mask of fitting into a neurotypical world—suppressing traits like sensory sensitivities or differences in communication to avoid judgment or exclusion.

Second, a subtler mask—hiding their struggles when they failed to live up to the “strength-based” ideals now celebrated in diversity discourse.

As one student put it, “The socially accepted norm now is being a ‘successful neurodiverse person.’ If you’re not thriving, you feel like you’re failing at being neurodiverse.”

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When ‘Strength-Based’ Becomes Strength-Pressured

The strength-based model of neurodiversity—designed to counter deficit thinking—encourages recognizing unique talents like creativity or pattern recognition.

But many students in the study felt this approach had backfired.

They were expected to embody extraordinary abilities—the “autistic genius coder,” the “hyperfocused ADHD innovator.” Those whose strengths were quieter or less marketable felt left behind.

“Overly positive talk about neurodiversity makes those who struggle feel inferior,” one participant shared. “It’s like we’re not good at being neurodiverse.”

In effect, inclusion had been rebranded but not reimagined. Universities still measured value through neurotypical standards—grades, productivity, charisma—just sprinkled with a veneer of diversity language.

Students found themselves caught between celebrating difference and performing an acceptable version of it.

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The Emotional Cost: Burnout and Alienation

Maintaining two masks takes an enormous psychological toll.

Students reported chronic exhaustion, anxiety, and burnout—echoing findings from autism and ADHD research showing that masking depletes cognitive and emotional energy.

One participant described it bluntly: “Burnout is a big thing. You can only pretend for so long, and when you crash, you fall behind so fast.”

The emotional labour of double masking also bred self-doubt. When students couldn’t sustain the façade of the “strong” neurodivergent achiever, they internalized failure.

Many felt excluded not only from neurotypical spaces but also from the neurodiversity movement itself—ostracized by a narrative that celebrates exceptionalism rather than authenticity.

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The Illusion of Inclusion

The study’s authors argue that universities often mistake accommodation for transformation.

On the surface, disability offices, sensory-friendly rooms, and inclusion policies suggest progress. But beneath this veneer, epistemic injustice—biases in whose knowledge and experiences are valued—still shapes institutional culture.

In practical terms, that means neurotypical norms remain the yardstick of success.

Students who can “pass” are praised for resilience; those who can’t are subtly penalized. The system rewards conformity, not difference.

This mirrors a broader societal issue: neurodiversity is welcomed as long as it behaves predictably.

Real inclusion, however, would require questioning the very structures—deadlines, participation grades, rigid communication norms—that exhaust neurodivergent minds.

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What Needs to Change

True equity, the researchers suggest, demands redefining what counts as strength and success.

Instead of asking neurodivergent students to adapt to neurotypical systems, universities must adapt their systems to diverse neurotypes.

That means designing flexible learning environments, valuing varied communication and processing styles, and involving neurodivergent voices in decision-making from the start—a principle often summarized as “Nothing about us without us.”

Clinicians and educators can draw lessons here too. Therapists should be alert to the emotional toll of masking in clients navigating academic or workplace environments.

Supporting unmasking—creating spaces where authenticity feels safe—is not just beneficial; it’s protective against burnout and depression.

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Why It Matters

At a time when universities brand themselves as champions of inclusion, this research delivers a sobering message: without cultural change, diversity rhetoric risks becoming another mask.

For neurodivergent students, surviving higher education shouldn’t require constant self-editing.

Their stories remind us that inclusion isn’t about celebrating extraordinary strengths—it’s about making ordinary authenticity possible.

As one participant reflected, “Just because I’m masking well doesn’t mean I don’t need support.”

The next step for higher education isn’t more awareness campaigns or accommodation checklists. It’s courage—the courage to rethink what success looks like when everyone’s brain works a little differently.