The Masking Loop

What I noticed: Losing myself in the North American dream

There I was, a married queer dog dad living in my perfect project house by the ocean. I had a high-paying corporate career of 13+ years, working 100% remotely from a popular beach town in Nova Scotia. We were finally building wealth, while simultaneously burning money on major house renovations and a fancy new car lease.

I thought I had truly made it. It is the North American dream, right? But the dream came at a cost, and those costs started to compound.

I felt resentful, empty, hopeless, and totally ambivalent to life. I lost interest in my hobbies. Even a walk on the beach seemed like a chore.

I started seeing everyone as a threat without realizing it. That was Clyde, my inner saboteur, running the show full time. Everyone's got a version of him; mine just finally got a name. My nervous system was paying a tax in a currency I simply couldn't afford anymore.

When you spend so long blending into your environments, you forget what colour you were all along.

What I tried: Being everything for everyone

I tried being the ultimate people-pleasing overachiever at work. I would cower in front of authority and play the "yes man" like it was my second job. Clyde loved that one: shrink first, ask questions never.

I tried being the emotional manager in my family life, constantly swooping in to manage the feelings of others.

I tried dumbing down my queerness in public just to feel safe.

I was constantly pivoting to match the "neuro-normative" and "hetero-normative" world around me. I became exactly who everyone else wanted me to be. But playing a character every day is exhausting, and eventually, the mask cracks.

What happened: How radical boundary-setting helped me find the level

I recently took time away from my work for burnout recovery. After many weeks, I finally started to find myself again.

I started messing around with my DJ mixer and having everyday dance parties. I got the nose piercing I always wanted. I started enjoying the company of others again, and working out every day, not because I felt I had to, but because I wanted to.

For the first time in my life, I stopped listening to Clyde and started listening to my body. I stopped creating unsustainable systems and schedules for my ADHD brain, like stressing over a meditation app streak. Turns out, if I break the streak, nothing happens. I still meditate, but only when I feel like it.

The biggest shift was protecting my space and time:

• I take it easy in the gym when I'm feeling gross.

• I throw on a song or jump in the sauna to shift a negative headspace.

• I go for nature walks with my dog with no headphones, no podcasts, and no time limits.

I stopped doing things I didn't want to do. I limit the plans I make, I don't respond to texts immediately, and I refuse to wear the emotions of others.

What I found: The science behind the Masking Loop

Professor Willow, lead researcher, in the lab.

When Professor Willow and I went looking for why masking runs so deep, three things matched what I've lived.

Nearly all of us do it, and it looks like real work. A study of 202 adults with ADHD found about 92 percent camouflage in some way, mostly through hiding and pretending, holding back, and quietly working twice as hard to keep up. The same study found it comes at a cost: exhaustion, strain on real connection, and a real toll on how people felt overall. Early research

It's not just an autism thing, either. A comparison study of adults with autism and ADHD found that ADHD adults camouflage more than people without either, especially when trying to fit in, even though autistic adults still do it more. The research on how to measure it in ADHD is still catching up, but the shape of it matches what I lived. Early research

Naming Clyde wasn't just a bit, either. Research on self-distancing found that talking to yourself by name or in the third person, instead of "I," helps calm a stressful moment and leads to steadier decisions under pressure. Giving the voice in my head a name instead of hearing it as "me" turns out to be the same move. Early research

Still wondering: Untangling the mask from the real me

I'm still working out how to move through the world without slipping back into people-pleasing. It's a process of untangling which behaviours are genuinely me, and which ones are just the mask I built to survive.

Clyde still shows up some days, usually right when I'm about to say yes to something I don't want to do. I'm getting faster at noticing when it's him talking and not me.

I spent so long changing to survive that I forgot my own colours. Turns out I'm not beige after all.

Filed under: costumes I finally hung up. Your queer ADHD dog dad signing off, Evan

Song for this post

[Evan to embed here — one official player, no autoplay, iframe title attribute, lazy loaded, no lyrics quoted.]