The Mask I Wear: The Exhausting Reality of Constantly Acting “Normal”
Trigger warning: Mention of suicidal ideation.
Written by Nichole Higgins.
For thirty-seven years, I wore a mask so convincing that even I believed it was my real face. The mask of someone who had it all together, someone who could adult properly, someone who wasn’t fundamentally broken. But underneath, I was spiraling and empty, and I didn't even know why.
I felt the exhaustion in my bones. Not the kind that comes from a hard day of work, but the kind that seeps into your soul from constantly trying to be something you’re not equipped to be. Every interaction felt like a performance where I’d memorized the lines but could never understand the character I was playing.
I thought I was lazy. I thought I was stupid. I internalized it as personal failure when everyday tasks, that seemed so easy for others, left me overwhelmed and paralyzed. When my emotions felt too big, too intense, too much for every situation, I learned to compress them into something more socially acceptable. The mask became heavier each year.
What I didn’t know was that my brain was playing by a different set of rules entirely.
The Hidden Weight of Undiagnosed ADHD.
ADHD doesn’t just affect your focus, though that's usually what people think of first. It hijacks motivation, making the simplest tasks feel too much to overcome. It amplifies emotions until a minor criticism feels like a personal earthquake, leaving a rumination of negative thoughts in your mind for days or weeks at a time. It scrambles your sense of time, making deadlines appear suddenly like jump scares in a horror movie.
But perhaps most insidiously, it makes you question your worth as a human being.
When you fail at things that seem automatic for others – like remembering appointments, following through on commitments, maintaining friendships – you start believing the story that you’re just a completely flawed person. The mask becomes not just about appearing normal to others, but about trying to convince yourself that you’re not completely hopeless.
For me, this led to what I now recognize as a decades-long depression that nearly cost me everything. Five years ago, I hit my lowest point. I was planning my exit from this world, stopped only by the thought of my dog’s confusion and my stepson’s need for stability. The mask had become so heavy I could barely breathe underneath it.
The Moment Everything Changed.
My wife told me to sort it out and focus on myself. Sometimes the people who love us most give us exactly the kick in the ass that we need. I’m thankful for her direct approach.
I discovered my insurance covered mental health services and self-referred. Through partial hospitalization, therapy, and medication, I began the long journey back to myself. But the real breakthrough came with screening questionnaires for autism and ADHD.
I scored high for ADHD.
Suddenly, my entire life story rewrote itself. Every “failure,” every moment I’d beaten myself up for being different, every coping mechanism I’d developed without realizing it, it all started to make sense. I wasn’t broken. My brain just worked differently, and I'd been trying to force it into a mold it was never designed to fit.
Living Without the Mask.
The diagnosis didn’t magically fix everything, but it gave me something invaluable: understanding. For the first time in my life, I could explain why certain things were hard without defaulting to, “because I suck as a person.”
I’m still in therapy. I take medication. I’ve learned to work with my brain instead of against it. The world finally makes sense, and I’m not playing on hard-mode anymore. It’s not exactly easy-mode either, but not-as-hard-mode is a victory I will continue to celebrate daily.
Strategies for Those Still Struggling.
If this resonates with you, here are some things that have helped me navigate life with ADHD and the depression that often accompanies it:
Accept your brain’s operating system. Stop trying to force yourself into neurotypical productivity methods. Find systems that work for how your brain actually functions, not how you think it should function.
Build your support network. I’ve discovered that many of my closest friends are also neurodivergent. We found each other instinctively because we understood something in each other that we could not name. Seek out your people and embrace them.
Anticipate your trip wires. Once you understand your patterns, you can prepare for situations that typically derail you. I know now that certain types of stress will make me hyperfocus on the wrong things, so I plan ahead accordingly.
Practice radical self-compassion. The voice in your head that calls you lazy or stupid is lying. You’ve been working twice as hard as everyone else just to appear normal. That’s not weakness, that’s incredible strength.
Get professional help. Therapy, medication, support groups, whatever combination works for you. There’s no shame in needing help to get through a world that wasn’t designed for brains like ours.
The Anger and the Hope.
I am angry. I am angry that it took so long to get answers and angry that so many people are suffering unnecessarily. I am angry that this condition, that’s often straightforward to treat once identified, is still so misunderstood and underdiagnosed.
But I’m also hopeful. Every time I share my story, someone else recognizes themselves in it. The mask becomes a little less necessary when we stop pretending that we are the only ones wearing one, because we aren’t.
Today, I’m happier and more content than I can ever remember being. The tapestry of coping mechanisms I’ve woven throughout my life is still there, but now I understand the pattern. I can see where the threads are fraying and can reinforce them before they break entirely.
Conclusion.
To anyone still wearing that exhausting mask: you’re not broken. You’re not lazy. You’re not stupid. Your brain might just be running different software than everyone else, and that’s okay. The world needs all kinds of minds.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is take off the mask and let people see who you really are underneath. You just might be surprised by how many people are wearing masks of their own.
Here’s something I wish someone had told me during those darkest moments when I was planning my exit: the story you’re telling yourself about who you are, it’s not the whole truth. You’ve been writing that story with a broken pen, through a foggy lens, with a voice that isn’t entirely your own. There’s so much more to you than the parts that feel difficult or different.
Your sensitivity isn’t a weakness; it’s a superpower that lets you connect with others in ways that matter. Your scattered thoughts aren’t chaos; they’re creativity waiting for the right outlet. Your inability to do things the normal way isn't failure, it’s your brain insisting there might be a better path.
I know it’s hard to believe that right now, especially when you’re exhausted from pretending. But somewhere underneath all that weight, there’s a version of you that isn’t performing. It isn’t apologizing, isn’t trying to shrink into something more palatable. That version of you, the real you, is worth every struggle it takes to find them.
You don’t have to earn your place in this world. You already belong here, exactly as you are, mask and all. But when you’re ready, when you find your people and your understanding, you might discover that the face underneath is more beautiful than any mask you ever wore.
Nichole Higgins
Mental Health Advocate. Writer. Author. Computer Science Nerd. Writing to save my sanity, one word at a time.