Friendship, Masking, and Learning to Belong as My Neurodivergent Self

My recent diagnosis means I've gone down the rabbit hole of autism and ADHD videos, Morgan Foley has stood out as one of the better YouTubers. While I couldn’t fully relate to every detail—mostly because I’ve never been a woman in her early twenties—I found myself deeply moved by the explored themes of trying to make friends as an autistic. The core message about the complexities of building real connections in adulthood hit especially close to home. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about friendship lately—how much I crave it, how hard it can be to find, and how confusing the whole process still feels, even in my 40s. I do have a handful of close and meaningful friendships, and I treasure them. But if I’m being honest, I have far more acquaintances than deep, lasting connections. And while I long for more authentic relationships, that path often feels overwhelming, like trying to find my way through an emotional obstacle course without a map. 

 

Growing up, I had a hard time navigating social dynamics. I didn’t always recognize when people were being unkind or manipulative. I sometimes latched onto people who ended up being bullies, not realizing until much later how emotionally damaging those relationships were. At the same time, I also had some truly incredible friends—the kind who accepted me without pretense or performance. In hindsight, I now realize that my closest childhood friend was also neurodivergent, just like me. 

Over the years, I’ve gotten better at picking up on social cues and understanding etiquette, but it still doesn’t come naturally. I can be overly eager when meeting someone new, sometimes oversharing or coming on too strong. Other times, I completely miss when someone is trying to connect with me on a deeper level. Part of that is lingering fear—self-protection shaped by past experiences—but part of it is also just how my brain processes social interaction. 

 Adding to the challenge is the reality of social anxiety and burnout. I’ve stepped more fully into the very social world of community theatre, which I love deeply, but it can also drain me. I sometimes retreat, even when people are reaching out, simply because I’m emotionally and mentally tapped out. I know it can seem like I’m pulling away when I’m really just trying to recover. 

Looking back, I can see how much of my life was spent masking. I learned early on to mimic others, to shape myself into what I thought people wanted, to hide the parts of me that didn’t quite fit. It was a survival strategy, but it came at a cost. Masking left me feeling exhausted, hollow, and disconnected from my true self. 

This recent journey—understanding and embracing my neurodivergence—has helped me look at all of this with a new lens. I see now that there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not broken or too much or not enough. I simply experience the world differently. And in that difference, there is beauty, depth, and a capacity for empathy and connection that I’m learning to celebrate. 

I still want friends. I still want to belong. But I’m also learning that the most important connection I can build is with myself—my honest, unmasked, neurodivergent self. And from that place of authenticity, maybe the friendships I’ve always longed for will find their way to me, one brave step at a time. 

Your Turn 

Have you ever struggled with building or maintaining friendships as an adult? Do you relate to masking or the fear of showing your authentic self? I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences—feel free to share in the comments below or reach out privately if that feels safer. And if you’re on your own journey of self-discovery, especially around neurodivergence, know this: you’re not alone. 

You’re worthy of connection, exactly as you are.