Practical Unmasking: Helping as Hiding
How fawning, empathy, and loyalty can become survival strategies that hurt.
This post is part of the “Practical Unmasking” series, where I explore how unmasking shows up in real life, from everyday choices to big life transitions. You’ll find a mix of personal reflections, guest perspectives, and tools rooted in Acceptance and Commitment Coaching and the SAFE Unmasking™ process. While many posts reflect neurodivergent and trauma-informed perspectives, the insights can apply broadly. Wherever you are in your journey, I hope you’ll find something here that supports you.
To read the first post in this series, learn all about masking, and why we all do it, click the button below.
To catch up on the previous post in the Practical Unmasking series, ‘Practical Unmasking: Truth and Deception,’ click the button below.
To check out a list of my series with descriptions and links, click below.
[Practical Unmasking: Helping as Hiding]
When you’re an undiagnosed neurodivergent kid, especially one who’s also gay and growing up in systems that don’t make space for either, you don’t always know why life feels hard. You just know it is hard. You can’t name it, but you feel it in your bones. You assume, on some level, that other people must feel it too. For many of us, especially late-diagnosed autistics, there’s a pattern that shows up early: we become helpers. Not because we’re always selfless, but because it feels like a way to survive. A way to belong. A way to avoid conflict or punishment or isolation. Sometimes, it’s just the only way we know how to feel safe in a world that doesn’t feel safe.
That was me.
I had a deep, almost automatic empathy for people who were struggling. If someone was being left out, I’d notice. If a kid had a hard time in class, I’d quietly watch out for them. Underneath it all, my traumas at home taught me something painful: that love and worthiness had to be earned through hard work and proving myself. That belief shaped how I showed up. Teachers picked up on my willingness to help. I think they saw me as someone who could redirect my energy into being useful, especially when they didn’t know how to support my unidentified ADHD and autism. So they’d say, “Mark, can you help so-and-so?” I’d do it. I’d help. It made me feel good, and it kept me out of trouble.
In first grade, I was regularly asked to support a classmate with physical disabilities. It became a normal part of my day. Later, I’d be asked to accompany a blind friend to an alternative gym class, separate from the rest of the kids. Without even thinking, I would. I didn’t know why, but I always gravitated toward the kids who stood out: too big, too tall, too small, disabled, adopted, different. The ones who weren’t handed easy belonging. I didn’t have the words for it at the time, but I knew what it felt like to be on the outside looking in. I wanted to make others feel seen because I was desperate to be seen too. Somewhere beneath the surface, I think I believed that if I offered care, it would come back to me.
That empathy, that patience, followed me into adulthood.
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People often called me kind. Gentle. A mensch. A helper. Someone who gave others the benefit of the doubt. I moved through the world assuming that if I was struggling, everyone else must be too. It was never just about me. That mindset, combined with the Gen X message that no one is special and everyone has it hard, kept me in a cycle of excusing other people’s behavior, even when it hurt.
Unfortunately, many autistic people experience abuse from those they trust. When you’re desperate to feel accepted and connected to humanity, this can seem like the cost of belonging, the unspoken price you pay because that’s “how the world works.” Some people took advantage of that. Not always on purpose, but the pattern was there. I gave loyalty quickly. I forgave mistreatment easily. I stayed patient far beyond what was healthy, convinced that people were doing the best they could. I believed that if I kept offering love, support, and second chances, the same would come back to me.
That kind of thinking often leads to exhaustion. For me, it resulted in multiple burnouts over the years. Unmasking in this area of my life hasn’t involved severing all connections or gaining immediate clarity. It’s been slow, messy, and full of stops, starts, and awkward moments. The shift began with simple observation. I started paying attention to whom I gave the benefit of the doubt and how it felt. I asked myself: Was I always the one giving? Was anything coming back? Was I offering patience out of genuine care, or out of fear of losing connection?
The answers weren’t easy to face, and they rarely matched what I hoped to hear. Still, they were mine to hold and learn from. Slowly, I began setting boundaries. I asked myself what I truly wanted from relationships and what I needed to feel loved and supported. Connecting with my values showed me how much I care about mutuality, about people who ask how I experience love and want to offer it in return. Reciprocity matters. Admitting this meant accepting that many in my life weren’t interested in that kind of exchange. Some seemed unsettled when I stopped masking. They never said it outright, but I could feel it. They didn’t like that I was no longer performing a version of myself built around their comfort.
Here’s a hard truth I’ve come to understand: most who benefited from my masking never realized I was doing it. They had no idea how much invisible effort I put into keeping those relationships afloat. While I constantly tracked what made them feel loved to offer it, they assumed I was just naturally thoughtful and patient. They thought I enjoyed this work and were happy to let me carry it. When I finally said, “Hey, I’m struggling,” some told me to be more patient. It was painful to realize many weren’t willing to learn what made me feel loved or to offer it as I had for them. There was no recognition of the work I had already done.
That was a turning point, but it didn’t fix everything. I didn’t suddenly become cold or stop caring. Instead, I stopped pushing myself past the point of depletion. Saying no became something I allowed myself. I gave myself permission to skip events I didn’t want to attend. Over-explaining fell away. I started noticing when dynamics felt one-sided and gave myself space to step back. Slowly, I began treating myself like someone worthy of care too.
Some relationships faded while others deepened. For the first time in my life, the people around me began to see the real me, not the performance or the mask. These days, I’m less social than before. I don’t pour myself into every relationship hoping for something in return. Instead, I attend one or two social events a week. I take breaks. I rest. I focus on the relationships that feel mutual, the ones where people ask what I need and where I can share how I feel loved knowing someone is truly listening.
Unmasking this kind of behavior isn’t simple or straightforward. There’s no finish line, and it’s often awkward and uncomfortable. It requires patience and kindness with yourself as you navigate new ways of relating. The changes don’t always show up in a single conversation or moment. Instead, they emerge slowly over time as you practice caring for yourself differently. This work is deeply rewarding for those who value authenticity and healthier connections. Like other areas of unmasking, it can reduce stress, improve your overall wellbeing, and support better long-term health. By becoming more authentic and supported, you not only enrich your own life but also strengthen the relationships and communities you belong to. The effort is worth it.
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If You Recognize Yourself in This:
If this post feels familiar, you’re not alone. There are ways to unmask in this area of your life, and it doesn’t have to be overwhelming. Here are a few places to start:
Just notice. Begin by observing your own patterns, without judgment. When are you extending empathy or patience that drains you? What happens next?
Connect with your values. Ask yourself what kind of relationships you want. What matters most to you: mutual care, honesty, safety, space?
Start small. Unmasking is about identifying places where you feel safe enough to show up more honestly, without abandoning yourself. You don’t have to tell your entire truth to everyone. You just need to find places where you don’t have to pretend so much.
Name what you need. If it feels safe, try saying how you experience love, connection, or support. It can feel scary, but the right people will want to know.
Pull back where needed. Not every relationship deserves your effort. If someone consistently drains you, you’re allowed to step away. That’s not cruel. It’s self-care.
You don’t have to do this alone. Support matters. Whether it’s through Acceptance and Commitment Coaching (ACC), SAFE Unmasking™, therapy, community care, or trusted relationships, there is no shame in needing help. There are many ways to unmask for increased wellbeing. Use what works for you and feel free to set aside what doesn’t. The goal isn’t to unmask everywhere all at once. The goal is to feel better, more whole, more seen, and more like yourself. Little by little, in ways that feel safe to you, it is possible.
Read out the next post in this series, ‘Practical Unmasking: What To Wear’ by clicking on the button below.
Free unmasking resources on my website
If this post spoke to you, I invite you to visit my website where you can download free, practical guides designed to support your unmasking journey and deepen your understanding of neurodivergence. These resources are created with care for late-diagnosed autistic and ADHD adults, their allies, and anyone seeking compassionate tools to live more authentically.
Explore the full collection of PDFs, grounded in lived experience and the SAFE Unmasking™ and Acceptance and Commitment Coaching frameworks. Whether you’re starting out or looking for fresh insights, these guides offer clear, gentle support to help you build what lasts and live with greater clarity and confidence.
Here’s a glimpse of what you’ll find:
Meltdowns: A Guide for Autistics & Allies: Break down what happens before, during, and after meltdowns. Learn how to reduce shame, recognize triggers, and respond with empathy whether you’re autistic or supporting someone who is.
How To Support SAFE Unmasking™: A quick-start resource for allies of late-diagnosed autistic adults. Discover how to create safe spaces, offer compassionate support, and respect the pace of unmasking without pressure or judgment.
Finding SAFE Unmasking™ Spaces: Practical strategies to identify and create environments where you feel comfortable being your authentic self. Explore ways to build emotional, physical, and social safety that honor your needs.
The Value of SAFE Unmasking™: A guide for newly diagnosed autistic adults navigating their journey. Learn why unmasking matters, how it can improve your well-being, and how to take small steps toward living more authentically on your terms.
This is about what works for you. Honor what helps, and set the rest aside.
Click the button below to get your free guides and start exploring.