There’s a quiet performance many women carry out every day without realizing it.
Not the kind that happens on a stage.
The other kind—the one unfolding in classrooms, workplaces, church pews, grocery store aisles, and PTA meetings.
The performance of being acceptable.
For many Black women, this performance begins long before adulthood. We learn early how to soften our voices, temper our reactions, and make others comfortable before we make ourselves understood.
For years, I believed this was simply what maturity required.
It wasn’t until recently that I began to recognize something deeper beneath the performance: masking.
And like many realizations about identity, once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
The Many Layers of Masking
Masking is a concept most commonly discussed in conversations about neurodivergence—particularly autism and ADHD. Psychologists use the term to describe the strategies people develop to hide behaviors that might be perceived as socially unacceptable. A person may rehearse facial expressions, monitor their tone, suppress stimming, or mirror the communication styles of others to blend in.
Research published in journals such as Autism in Adulthood has shown that masking can be both protective and exhausting. While it can help people navigate social spaces safely, prolonged masking is associated with burnout, anxiety, and depression.
For neurodivergent individuals, masking often becomes second nature.
But for Black women, masking is rarely limited to neurodivergence alone.
We have been code-switching for generations.
Sociologists describe code-switching as the practice of shifting language, tone, and behavior depending on the social environment. For many Black professionals, this means adjusting speech patterns, emotional expression, and cultural references in predominantly white spaces to avoid being stereotyped as “angry,” “aggressive,” or “difficult.”
In other words: another performance.
Sociologists have long studied similar behavior within racial dynamics. Linguist John Rickford of Stanford University describes code-switching as a linguistic survival strategy used by many Black Americans to navigate predominantly white professional spaces. It involves shifting speech patterns, tone, or cultural references in order to avoid being misunderstood or stereotyped.
When neurodivergence and racial dynamics overlap, the layers of masking multiply.
The brain learns quickly: blend in, stay safe, don’t stand out too much.
Psychologists increasingly recognize masking as a common experience among neurodivergent adults. Research published in the journal Autism in Adulthood has shown that many autistic and ADHD adults develop sophisticated social coping strategies to avoid stigma or rejection. While masking can help individuals navigate social spaces, prolonged masking has also been linked to higher levels of anxiety, depression, and emotional burnout.
Excellence, Expectation, and the Immigrant Household
In many immigrant families, including Haitian ones like mine, excellence isn’t just encouraged—it’s expected.
Education is sacred. Achievement is protection. Reputation matters.
Our parents and grandparents sacrificed everything to build new lives in unfamiliar places. The message we internalize is clear: success is not optional.
For children growing up in that environment, the pressure can quietly morph into perfectionism. Mistakes feel catastrophic. Struggle feels like failure. Emotional complexity is often pushed aside in favor of resilience.
Add the realities of racial dynamics in America, and the message becomes even sharper.
Work twice as hard.
Be twice as good.
Don’t give anyone a reason to doubt you.
For many of us, the result is a lifelong habit of editing ourselves in real time.
When Survival Becomes Personality
The tricky thing about masking is that over time it stops feeling like a strategy.
It starts to feel like you.
You become the reliable one. The composed one. The one who knows exactly how to navigate a room.
But underneath that polished exterior, something else is happening.
You’re tired.
Not tired from work alone, but from the constant monitoring of your own behavior.
Am I talking too much?
Did that joke land wrong?
Was my tone too intense?
Did I just make someone uncomfortable?
For neurodivergent people, this internal dialogue can run on a constant loop.
For Black women in predominantly white spaces, it’s often compounded by the awareness that a single misinterpretation can shape how you are perceived permanently.
It’s not paranoia. It’s pattern recognition.
And it’s exhausting.
The Moment of Recognition
Many adults discover their neurodivergence later in life, especially women. Historically, diagnostic criteria for ADHD and autism were developed based on studies of young boys, which means countless women spent decades believing their struggles were simply personal flaws.
Too sensitive.
Too intense.
Too emotional.
Too much.
When those women finally receive a diagnosis—or recognize themselves in the experiences of others—it can feel like a missing puzzle piece clicking into place.
Suddenly, the lifelong sense of being “different” has language.
For me, the realization wasn’t just about neurodivergence. It was about understanding how many identities I had been balancing at once: Black woman, daughter of immigrants, neurodivergent adult, mother raising neurodivergent children.
Each layer carried its own expectations.
Each layer required its own version of the performance.
The Radical Act of Unmasking
Unmasking doesn’t mean abandoning social awareness or emotional intelligence. Those skills remain valuable.
But it does mean slowly questioning the idea that we must shrink ourselves to belong.
It means allowing our voices to carry their natural volume.
Allowing our enthusiasm to exist without apology.
Allowing complexity to replace perfection.
In practice, unmasking can look surprisingly ordinary.
Speaking honestly about mental health.
Admitting when we’re overwhelmed.
Choosing authenticity over likability.
These are small acts on the surface.
But collectively, they represent something powerful: the refusal to live our entire lives in performance mode.
Finding Community Beyond the Performance
Perhaps the most hopeful part of unmasking is what happens next.
When we stop performing for everyone, we begin to recognize the people who see us clearly.
They are the friends who don’t require constant explanation.
The communities that welcome complexity.
The spaces where identity doesn’t have to be simplified to fit in.
For many people, especially those living far from their cultural roots, finding those spaces takes time.
But when they appear, they feel different.
The conversation flows easier. The laughter feels louder. The silence feels safe.
And for the first time in a long while, you realize something quietly profound.
You are no longer performing acceptance.
You are simply being accepted.
