When the Mask Slips, I Start to Hum

The first time a therapist told me I was masking, I froze a little.
Not because I was offended — but because I didn’t realize she was talking about me.

I had heard the term before, but only in the context of autism.
Masking, in my mind, meant something very specific: hiding traits to “pass” as neurotypical.
And since I hadn’t been diagnosed as autistic, I assumed it didn’t apply.

But she said it gently:

And the truth is… I was.
Even in therapy — where I was supposed to be safe and unfiltered — I was still performing.
Sitting the right way. Laughing at the right time. Offering tidy answers with just enough vulnerability to seem self-aware… without ever actually feeling seen.

I had perfected the version of me that made people comfortable.
I was fluent in likable.

🎭 Masking: Not Just Faking — Adapting

Once I learned more, I realized masking isn’t exclusive to autism.
It can show up in ADHD. In anxiety. In trauma.
In anyone who’s spent years trying to be palatable.

It’s not about being fake — it’s about being careful.

Careful not to make things awkward.
Careful not to inconvenience anyone.
Careful to always seem okay, even when you’re not.

And the more you do it, the harder it is to tell where the mask ends and you begin.

🔍 How I’ve Learned to Spot It (In Myself):

• I over-explain things I don’t need to justify

• I rehearse what I’m going to say before even small conversations

• I mirror people’s tone or energy instead of honoring my own

• I smile or laugh when I feel uncomfortable

• I freeze up even in moments of safety, because I’m not used to being fully seen

• I shrink my stims — the tapping, bouncing, biting — or swap them for something more “acceptable”

And after all that… I feel drained.
Not because I wasn’t social enough.
But because I was on.

🎶 And Then the Whistling Came Back

Not long ago, my husband looked at me and said:

And I paused — because I used to.
As a kid. Constantly. I’d whistle, hum, tap, sing nonsense songs under my breath.

It was just something I did.
Until I learned it made me seem strange. Or annoying. Or like I was drawing too much attention.

So I stopped.
And now, decades later, it came back without permission. Almost like some part of me finally felt safe enough to make noise.

That’s when I realized:

The mask was slipping.
And underneath it, I was still here.

✋ My Stims — AKA, My Nervous System’s Language:

• Nail biting (anxiety + hyperfocus combo)

• Skin picking (sensory seeking + emotional overload)

• Mashing my lips together like I’m putting on invisible lipstick

• Touching my neck (comfort + grounding)

• Whistling and humming (regulation + “I feel okay here”)

• Leg bouncing (constantly — I barely notice it anymore)

• Tapping my fingers when I have long nails (pure sensory joy)

I used to think of these as bad habits.
Something to fix. Something to hide.

Now I know: they’re stims.
They’re how my body speaks when my brain is busy keeping up.

🤐 The Mask and the Stims Are Connected

When I was deep in the mask, I made myself still.
Sat properly. Kept my hands folded. Smiled when I didn’t mean it.
Did everything in my power to not look anxious, overstimulated, or different.

But suppressing those movements didn’t make me regulated.
It made me dissociated.

Stimming is how I express. How I regulate. How I cope.

When I stopped letting my body move the way it needed to, I lost a direct line to my own emotions.

💡 What I Know Now:

• Masking kept me safe when I didn’t have better tools.

• But safety that requires self-abandonment… isn’t really safety.

• Unmasking isn’t about oversharing or letting it all hang out.
  It’s about letting yourself exist as you are — even in small, quiet ways.

• My stims aren’t flaws. They’re signals. Invitations. Tiny nervous system SOS calls or love notes.

❤️ Tiny Reframe:

Unmasking isn’t a reveal.
It’s a return.

To the little girl who used to whistle.
To the body that taps and bounces and self-soothes.
To the version of me that’s weird and warm and wonderful — without having to shrink.

You’re not broken because you stim.
You’re not fake because you’ve masked.
You’re not too much — you’re just coming home to yourself.

And honestly?

That hum is beautiful.

Talk soon,
Tara
CEO of Chaos & Co.