An exercise in unmasking.

Through researching further about the many facets of my neurodivergence this year, I’ve begun to realize how much masking plays a part in my everyday life.

From the way I dress, the way I communicate, many of the choices I make, what I feel comfortable doing or not doing, what I push myself to do or not do despite my own comfort level, down to my own perception of myself and others.

Over the weekend, I attended an event with my wife and a couple of acquaintances in downtown Austin. I can probably count the number of events I’ve attended in downtown Austin, on a Saturday night, within the past several years, on one hand. This is a stark contrast from my early 20s, during which you could often find me out with friends drinking, on all nights of the week, going to loud concerts and bars, in a perpetual cycle of physical and mental exhaustion in the name of “fun,” “fitting in,” and⏤in reality⏤attempting to drown out the loudness and busyness in my own head.

While I’ve developed into the type of neurodivergent who craves quiet, safety, predictability, and comfort on a Saturday night, my wife (who is also neurodivergent) tends to crave exciting, stimulating experiences and novelty. We try to establish a balance which caters to both of our needs whenever possible.

I’m most likely to agree to something if it’s suggested in advance, because I always believe that Future Neely™️ will have my back and be totally down to do anything, whenever. This is very rarely the case, but we make it work.

Through the lens of my newfound understanding of masking, attending this event managed to highlight the true rollercoaster of my experience in overstimulating, loud, yet largely safe, environments.

Allow me to set the scene a bit. This was a free family-friendly event, an illuminated art installation that occurs annually along a creek that travels through downtown Austin. It happens for 9 nights, each evening with a different theme, with this evening’s celebrating the 50th Anniversary of Hip Hop. This was the final night of the installation, so our (and everyone else’s) last chance to attend until next year.

In case you aren’t aware, Austin is a bustling town, to say the least. If there’s one thing we have no shortage of, it’s people. The infrastructure is not built for the amount of people we have, yet, here we are.

So, when there were still several hours left before we needed to leave for this event yesterday, I was chillin’. I was doing fine. Future Neely™️ would surely have my back, and she would be cool, calm, and collected by the time we were ready to go.

My wife and I are both diagnosed with ADHD, suspected Autism, and the 2 new friends we were meeting up with also have ADHD. For us, this means that by the late afternoon, there was still no actual “plan.” We didn’t have a time arranged to meet and we were essentially going into this event blind. Future Neely™️ doesn’t appreciate that. It makes her anxious.

When I’m getting ready to go out, I try to determine a level of “niceness” to dress to ensure that…
1) my wife and I look like we “make sense” together (for context, she has a babyface and is often mistaken for half her age — she’s about to turn 31, this has been a thing for her her entire life and can absolutely shape the way others perceive her and us as a couple),
2) we don’t call too much attention to ourselves by dressing “out of place,” whatever that means, and
3) I’m comfortable while still feeling like I’m dressed as “myself.”

Usually I’ll just follow my wife’s wardrobe lead, or vice versa.

I’m not one for makeup, as it can be a sensory discomfort for me. I like to be able to rub my eyes anytime I want without looking like a raccoon afterwards, and the act of just putting on makeup can be painstaking and tedious on its own. However, since I’ve struggled intensely with adult acne for the first time in my life this year, I’ve been dabbling in wearing minimal concealer and mascara when I go out. I try to keep it to a minimum, but it does often help with my confidence. This evening, I tried to convince myself not to bother with it since it would be a dark, outdoor event, but I ultimately⏤and begrudgingly⏤wore my minimal makeup.

The drive into town was uncomfortable. There was stop-and-go traffic nearly the entire way, none of the music choices I was making felt “aligned” with the mood, and the parking lot we had decided on in advance was completely full by the time we arrived. The anxiety was palpable, but we were both handling things okay.

After finding street parking, we walked toward the event, and⏤surprise, surprise⏤it was immediately loud everywhere. Sirens, music, cars, so many people. I try, and often fail, to carry my Loop earplugs with me everywhere, and thankfully I’d brought them this time. These were one of the main things that made the evening bearable for me. I could still hear what people were saying to and around me, but having the majority of the noise even slightly muted did wonders for my anxiety. This is always the case when I wear these earplugs, but I can be forgetful about having them on hand.

We found the entrance to the event and saw that the line was wrapped all the way around a building. We get to the end of the line and notice that it’s moving pretty quickly, so we decide to wait and hold a spot for the friends we were meeting.

Soon enough, we get to an area that appears to be close to the entrance, however there is a barricade, and we realize that the line is condensed in a loose zig-zag shape in one area, which then fed into an even more condensed zig-zag line, this one with a metal fence to keep everyone contained. It was difficult to tell how quickly the line was moving within this fenced-off area, but it was pretty obvious that if we wanted to bail, we would be forced to either hop the fence or walk back through the packed crowd.

The thought of doing this was very uncomfortable for me. I don’t love feeling trapped, if I’m being honest. Our friends still hadn’t caught up with us, and through their texts they also seemed anxious about the line situation. My wife would have been fine to stand in the sardine-packed line, but unfortunately for her, everyone else involved appeared poised to bail.

Not wanting to be the reason my wife missed out on something she was excited for, I grappled with just staying in the line. But after our friends officially decided not to join us in line, she turned to me and said, “Let’s go,” and pushed one of the metal fences out of the way so we could leave.

I was both relieved and disappointed. I also wanted to see the lights, but this had become such an overwhelming ordeal at this point.

We were able to locate our friends, who were waiting at the event pavilion where a DJ was playing hip hop hits from the 90s and the aughts. It was fun because people were dancing and singing along, but it was — you guessed it — loud. I hate to be the perpetual party pooper due to sensory overload, but something about this time felt different, in a good way.

I was more vocal about needing to get some distance from the stage. I kept my earplugs in and had my Stimagz in hand nearly the whole time, without trying to hide them. I felt like, if anything, our friends with ADHD would likely understand sensory overstimulation. And they appeared to, because no one batted an eye or called attention to the small accommodations I’d brought or asked for.

We spent the evening laughing, telling stories, enjoying the music at a safe distance, all standing and wiggling around as needed. It was generally an enjoyable night, one that could have easily been ruined for me if I hadn’t brought and used my earplugs and fidget toy.

I want to be the type of person who can be unmasked at all times, because I deserve to feel comfortable and safe in all situations. This isn’t always feasible, however. People can become inquisitive or judgmental when they see you’re wearing earplugs, playing with a fidget toy, or just being unapologetically yourself. It’s an unfortunate truth, but for me, this was a step in the right direction and it felt really good.