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I learned early on that being myself wasn’t enough. I saw how easily other kids made friends, flowed into conversations, and found their place in the social hierarchy. For me, though, it wasn’t so seamless. My mind worked in ways that didn’t align with how other kids seemed to think and behave. Conversations would slip by too quickly, leaving me feeling left out or misunderstood. I wasn’t aware of how big of a role ADHD played in this disconnect, but I felt its effects daily.
The pressure to fit in socially was overwhelming, especially in middle school. Adolescence is already a time when everyone is trying to find their place, but for me, this search came with a constant undercurrent of fear—fear of being judged, excluded, or seen as “weird.” I wasn’t always able to follow the social cues that seemed to come so naturally to my classmates. They could pick up on conversations and fit in effortlessly. Meanwhile, I felt like an outsider, stuck in my own head, often overthinking or missing the moment completely.
So I learned to mask. I hid the parts of myself that felt too different. Masking, for me, was about pretending to be someone who could fit into the mold, someone who didn’t struggle to stay focused in conversations, who didn’t feel overwhelmed by the barrage of stimuli in social settings. I became a master at adapting, imitating the behaviors and words of my peers to avoid standing out. But while masking helped me feel more accepted on the outside, it took a significant toll on my emotional well-being.
Behind the mask, I was constantly battling feelings of shame and self-blame. Why couldn’t I be like everyone else? Why did I have to try so hard just to feel like I belonged? I started to internalize these differences as flaws. My neurodivergent wiring, though unseen and undiagnosed at the time, left me feeling inadequate and unworthy. It was as though there was something fundamentally wrong with me, even if I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
This sense of being “different” brought on a cycle of shame. The more I felt like I didn’t belong, the more I blamed myself. And the more I blamed myself, the harder it became to show up authentically in social situations. I withdrew emotionally, even while I worked harder to keep up appearances. On the surface, I seemed fine—maybe even confident—but internally, I was carrying the weight of self-doubt and shame that only grew heavier with time.
The emotional toll of constantly hiding who I was and feeling like I didn’t measure up eventually led to depression. I felt stuck—trapped by my differences but unable to name them. Without knowing what ADHD was or how it influenced my thoughts and behaviors, I developed unhealthy coping mechanisms. Instead of reaching out for help, I leaned into perfectionism, trying to overcompensate for my perceived flaws by doing everything right. This approach only deepened my feelings of inadequacy when I inevitably failed to meet the impossible standards I set for myself.
Socially, I adopted a “chameleon” approach—blending in with whichever group I was around, never letting anyone get too close to see the real me. This need to constantly adapt and mold myself into what I thought others expected left me exhausted and emotionally isolated. I was afraid that if anyone saw past my mask, they’d reject me for who I really was, reinforcing my belief that I wasn’t enough as I was.
It wasn’t until much later in my adulthood that I began to unravel the tightly wound layers of shame and self-doubt. I met a mentor who didn’t just accept me for who I was but recognized my strengths and helped me learn that I had much to offer. He helped me realize that my brain wasn’t broken—it just worked differently. This was the first time someone had encouraged me to embrace my differences rather than hide them. Through this relationship, I found the courage to learn more about myself and, more importantly, to break free from the mask.
This acceptance was a turning point in my life. It gave me permission to be myself without fear of judgment. I started to see that the very qualities I had been hiding—my unique perspective, my ability to think creatively, my deep empathy—were the same ones that made me who I was. I learned how to manage the more challenging aspects of ADHD while also leveraging its gifts. It was an incredibly freeing experience.
For so many years, I believed that the only way to be accepted was to hide who I really was. But I now know that true belonging comes from authenticity. The challenge of living with ADHD is real, especially when it comes to the pressure to conform socially. But the cost of masking is too high—it steals your sense of self and can leave you feeling withdrawn and disconnected from others.
Today, I share my story in the hopes that it can help others, especially neurodivergent children and teens, who might be going through the same struggles I faced. You don’t have to hide. You don’t have to mask. Our world is desperate for your authenticity and is dependent upon your unique gifts.