Living Between the Lines: An Autistic Perspective on Misunderstanding, Masking, and Mental Exhaustion by Georgina.
People often see the version of me that’s trying the hardest—smiling politely, making eye contact, nodding along, thanking others a little too much, and quietly trying not to take up space. What they don’t see is the weight of it all. The cost. The calculation behind every word and movement. The way my brain is running ten tabs at once trying to “act right” and not get it wrong.
What they don’t see is what it takes to simply make it through the day.
Misunderstood From the Start : If I’m quiet, people think something’s wrong. If I show energy or passion, I’m often talked over or ignored. It feels like there’s no “right” version of me to present. My words or reactions are frequently misinterpreted—either too much, or not enough—and it’s exhausting trying to bridge the gap between what I mean and how it’s perceived.
Sensory Sensitivities Aren’t Just Preferences : I’m uncomfortable when people raise their voices or stand too close. That’s not me being picky—it’s my nervous system reacting like an alarm’s been triggered. Imagine trying to listen, respond, and stay composed while your body is on high alert. That’s what it feels like when social spaces don’t allow room for my sensory needs.
Eye contact? It’s not that I don’t care or that I’m not listening. I just connect better side-by-side, where there’s less pressure to perform and more space to breathe.
The Hidden Pressure of Masking : I’ve learned to overcompensate in ways most people don’t notice. I say thank you—sometimes too many times—not out of politeness but panic. I want to be seen as appreciative, to avoid being seen as rude, ungrateful, or difficult. I don’t want to be a burden.
There’s always a script running in the background: rehearse what to say, plan the right tone, double-check my expressions, scan the room for reactions. It’s not that I’m trying to be fake—it’s that being myself isn’t always safe or understood.
Communication Isn’t Always Verbal : I struggle to explain myself in the moment. Words are often trapped behind a fog of overstimulation or anxiety. Writing gives me space to process, to be accurate and honest without pressure.
When someone asks, “What’s wrong?”—and I can’t immediately articulate my feelings—their disbelief only makes it worse. The assumption becomes that I’m being dramatic or difficult, when really, I’m trying hard just to stay regulated.
Burnout Is Not Laziness : There are days when I hit a wall. My brain and body shut down, not out of choice but necessity. I need to lie still in a dark room, away from sound, people, and expectations. That pause, that stillness, is recovery—not idleness. But because it’s invisible, it often gets judged.
The truth is, I’m constantly managing internal noise while appearing “fine” on the outside. By the time I reach my front door, I’ve often run a marathon nobody saw.
What I Wish People Knew
I’m not lazy. I’m not cold. I’m not rude. I’m doing my best to survive in a world that feels like it was built without me in mind.
Some days, I do okay. Other days, I don’t. But every day, I’m trying.
If you want to support someone like me—slow down. Make space for differences. Accept quiet. Trust written words. Don’t assume we’re okay just because we’ve learned how to smile through the overwhelm.
And most importantly: understand that the way we express ourselves might look different, but it’s just as real and valid.