When the person you love starts changing

When I first learned about masking as a neurodivergent person, I likened it to a physical mask I could leave in the trash as I left a party.

I quickly learned that is not the case.

For many late-diagnosed neurodivergent humans, it feels more like armor that’s adhered to every fiber of our being. We didn’t even realize it was there, and now we’re supposed to figure out how to remove it.

But the war is still happening all around us, and that mask is actually helping us survive. So we’re left with awkward choices:

Do we figure out how to pry this armor off and still get wounded?
Do we leave it in place and slowly become a shell of ourselves?

Yeah. Both are awful.

I’m finding a third way to be far more curious.

I’m slowly finding the people who have the knowledge, awareness, and invitation to create space where I can experiment with setting my mask down.

To my neurotypical readers –

If you’ve admired someone’s social ease and you find out they’re neurodivergent, especially autistic, you may be admiring the very adaptation that exhausts them. Wouldn’t it be incredible to become a presence that communicates safety and acceptance for this person?

But first –

I imagine it must feel confusing to care about someone who is trying to unmask. Maybe you got used to them in a certain context or way of being and now you’re hearing them talk about unmasking. It’s hard to make sense of what’s changing and why. There’s grief and loss in this changing dynamic.

You’re holding a lot when you love someone, and they start changing.

Even as you unpack what this means for you, thank you for the work you’re doing to love them in new ways.

Thank you for believing them.
Thank you for learning more about masked neurodivergent patterns.
Thank you for questioning your assumptions about the people you love.
Thank you for putting effort into new ways of connecting.

Over time, I hope you’ll earn their trust. Because if you do, and they get to feel safe enough in your presence to unmask…Wow.

You are helping heal their nervous system.
You are helping them experience more joy and presence.
You are helping them improve their mental health.

That is no small thing.

If someone has spent decades surviving through masking, what kind of environment makes unmasking feel possible?

You don’t need to become an expert in all the ways autism expresses itself. But you can become someone whose presence asks less of high-masking autistic humans.

Practice being someone who:

• Let’s silence exist without rushing to fill it.
• Welcomes different ways of communicating, including fewer words. Or possibly lots of words.
• Doesn’t expect eye contact in order to feel connected.
• Learns to take what they say as what they actually mean. Regardless of tone.
• Believes someone when they say they’re tired, overwhelmed, or at capacity.
• Celebrates authenticity more than social performance.
• Makes room for changing needs, changing energy, and changing ways of showing up.
• Treats sensory needs as real needs, not preferences or inconveniences.
• Gives permission to leave early, take breaks, or opt out without guilt.
• Doesn’t expect immediate responses to texts, questions, or decisions.
• Values honesty over politeness.
• Stays curious without making assumptions.
• Offers choices instead of demands whenver possible.
• Understands that rest is productive when a nervous system has been working overtime.
• Notices effort without expecting constant performance.

Signs that someone is unmasking

• They’ll stop apologizing quite so much.
• They’ll tell you they’re overwhelmed before they’re completely depleted.
• They’ll ask for what they need instead of trying to guess what you need.
• They’ll laugh more freely, stim without scanning the room, wear what feels good, and trust that they don’t have to explain every boundary.
• They’ll decline an invitation without inventing an excuse.
• They’ll need fewer words.
• They’ll rest without explaining why.

These moments grow slowly in relationships where a nervous system begins to believe, again and again: I don’t have to perform to be safe here.

In real life

In my early months of untangling a new understanding of my neurotype, one of my closest friends asked, “How can I help you unmask?"

That question felt like freedom at a time when I felt terrified to let go of some of my patterns that felt like necessary safety.

My kids have learned to ask about sensory levels when they notice I’m feeling overwhelmed.

“Mom, do you want this pillow to snuggle with?”
“Mom, do you want a hug?”
“Mom, you can share about that thing you’re so excited about!"

When I worked in my last church setting, they were so kind about understanding how much of a difference it made when I could work from home a few days a week. It enabled me to do the heavy internal lifting of face-to-face-time on Sundays and a couple days a week so I could then recover and work remotely the other days.

My parents read articles about neurodivergent life and forward me their favorites, along with questions to deepen their understanding.

We’ve built in better expectations and supports on extended family vacations. People are starting to understand we show up much more regulated and present when we’re able to have space to transition, recover, and reset. Travel is tricky for so many neurodivergent humans and having family who are trying to make space for new ways to connect is a gift.

Most of all, my partner of 25 years is doing a lot of heavy lifting when it comes to loving a new understanding of me. We set our patterns around a masked version of me. It’s awkward, painful, and beautiful to stumble our way forward into our next chapter together. I love different things than I used to. I dress differently. I talk differently. I name new things out loud that lived far beneath the surface before.

Can love continue expanding as we become truer versions of ourselves?

I think so.

The lovely frustrating truth is:

A body doesn’t unmask because it’s been invited.
A body unmasks because it no longer senses danger.

Thank you for becoming people of safety and courage for the incredible neurodivergent people in your life.

It means so much more than you’ll ever know.

With big love,
Jenny

Invitational Questions

• What does it mean to love someone whose survival strategies are starting to change?
• Is there someone in my life whose “social ease” or competence might actually be costing them more than I realize?
• What happens inside me when someone I love communicates differently, needs more space, says no, or stops performing in ways I’m accustomed to?
• What could I do to make my presence a place where someone doesn’t have to explain, apologize, or justify their needs?
• If someone I love is learning to unmask, what might I need to grieve, release, or relearn alongside them?

The Big Sister Text List

One of my superpowers is creating a brave cozy space where neurodivergent women (especially us high-masking ones) can rebuild trust with our bodies and arrange our lives to support the needs we actually have.

If you need a little encouraging-big-sister energy in your phone each morning this fall, I’ve got you.

Our Big Sister Text List runs from September 1 - October 31. I’ll send you one text each morning. $25. No homework, no streaks to maintain, no expectations.

Just a little text with encouragement, neurodivergent wisdom, somatic invitations and a lot of “hey, I see you” energy.

We’re in this together.

Want to work together 1:1?

Join our interest list! When a spot opens up, I’ll reach out and we’ll see if it’s a good season to work together!