Unmasking as a Mom: Why It's Harder Than You Expected

You finally have the diagnosis. The autism piece clicks into place, the ADHD makes sense, and suddenly thirty-something years of "why am I like this" has an actual answer. So unmasking should be straightforward now, right? Just stop pretending, be yourself, done.

Except you're also a mom. And unmasking while parenting is like trying to renovate your house while you're still living in it — technically possible, but way more complicated than anyone warned you about.

📌 Save this for the day you're trying to figure out who you actually are while a toddler's screaming and you're already overstimulated.

The Core Problem: You're Learning Who You Are While Someone Else Depends On You

Unmasking as a parent means you're simultaneously discovering your authentic self AND being responsible for a tiny human's entire existence. Most people get to unmask in their own time, experiment with boundaries, figure out their actual limits without an audience. You're doing major identity reconstruction while someone needs you to pack their lunch, remember their soccer schedule, and somehow keep them alive.

From a forensic psych lens, this is what we'd call a developmental conflict — you're hitting a massive identity milestone (unmasking, understanding your neurodivergence) during a life stage (active parenting) that demands consistency and emotional regulation. (And if you're AuDHD like me, your brain is literally working against itself while trying to do both of these things simultaneously.) Your brain is processing decades of masked behavior while your kid needs you to show up predictably every single day.

That's not a character flaw. That's trying to do two enormous things at once.

Why Your Kids Make Unmasking Exponentially Harder

Your executive function is already working overtime keeping a small human fed and not injured. Now add "figure out who I actually am without the neurotypical costume I've worn for three decades" to that list.

Here's what's probably happening: You're noticing your real sensory needs for the first time. Turns out you actually hate loud noises, bright lights make you want to crawl out of your skin, and certain fabric textures are legitimately intolerable. Cool, great, very helpful information.

Except your kid is loud. Like, vocally stimming at frequencies that make your nervous system want to file a restraining order. The lights need to stay on because they're scared of the dark. And they just spilled an entire sippy cup of milk on your last comfortable shirt.

You can't exactly tell a toddler "Mommy's unmasking right now and needs you to be quieter, dimmer, and less sticky." They're not developmentally capable of managing your sensory needs. That's your job. But you're just now figuring out you even have sensory needs because you've been overriding them your entire life.

The math isn't mathing.

The Consistency Trap

Kids need predictable caregivers to feel secure — that's basic attachment theory. But unmasking means you're changing. Your capacity is different than you thought. Your boundaries are surfacing. You're realizing "fun mom who says yes to everything" was actually "masked mom who was burning out and didn't know it yet."

So what happens when you start saying no to things that drain you? When you stop forcing eye contact during every conversation? When you need to stim visibly instead of hiding it? When you realize you've been overfunctioning in ways that aren't sustainable? (Spoiler: executive function myths have convinced you that you SHOULD be able to handle way more than your brain is actually wired for.)

Your kids notice. They're suddenly dealing with a mom who's acting differently, and depending on their age, they might not have the context to understand why.

This doesn't mean you shouldn't unmask. It means unmasking as a parent requires more finesse than unmasking as a solo adult. You're not just changing for you — you're changing the primary relationship in your kid's life, and that needs to happen thoughtfully.

The Permission Problem

Here's the part that makes it even messier: You probably spent your entire childhood learning to mask because the adults around you — consciously or not — taught you that your authentic self was too much, too weird, too difficult. You learned to perform neurotypical to keep people comfortable. (And if you spent the holidays getting asked why you're 'different' now or fielding invasive questions about your diagnosis, those boundary scripts still apply year-round, by the way.)

Now you're the adult. And every time you consider unmasking around your kid, some part of your brain goes "but what if I'm too much for them too?"

That fear isn't irrational — it's pattern recognition from decades of being told to tone it down. But your kid isn't your childhood teachers or your parents or the kids who made fun of you at lunch. They're learning who you are as you're learning who you are. If you unmask gradually and age-appropriately, they'll just think "oh that's how mom is" instead of "wow mom changed and now everything's weird."

The trick is giving yourself permission to unmask while also being intentional about how you do it with a tiny human watching.

What Actually Helps When You're Unmasking While Parenting

Start with the sensory stuff that's making you miserable but doesn't directly impact your kid. Can you wear your comfortable clothes at home even if they're not "cute mom" aesthetic? Can you get the sunglasses or noise-reducing earbuds you actually need? Can you stop forcing yourself to make constant eye contact during conversations with other adults?

Those changes help YOU regulate better, which means you have more capacity for your kid. Your child doesn't need you to maintain eye contact — they need you to not be constantly dysregulated because you're overriding your sensory system all day.

Then look at the executive function stuff. You might have been masking how much planning and task-switching actually costs you. Maybe you've been saying yes to playdates and activities and commitments that genuinely deplete you because that's what "good moms" do.

What if you just did less? What if you protected your limited executive function for the stuff that actually matters instead of performing Super Mom for an audience that doesn't exist?

The guilt will show up here. That's normal. You're rewiring decades of "I should be able to handle this" programming. But your kid doesn't need you to handle everything — they need you to be regulated and present, which requires you to actually have capacity left.

Keep in mind — unmasking reveals your actual limits, and a LOT of those limits are buried in invisible mental work you've been doing on autopilot for years. The mental load (all the planning, tracking, remembering, deciding that nobody sees but is absolutely exhausting you) gets exponentially heavier when you're neurodivergent. And you can't set boundaries around capacity you haven't actually identified yet.

That's why I made the Mental Load Audit. It's a free tool that helps you see what's actually on your mental plate — the invisible stuff that's draining your battery while everyone asks "what did you even do today?" Download it, spend 15 minutes filling it out, and you'll finally have proof that you're not lazy or dramatic, you're just doing the cognitive equivalent of running seventeen apps in the background while someone asks why your phone is slow.

→ Grab the Mental Load Audit here — it's free and you can do it during naptime.

Talking To Your Kids About It (Age-Appropriately)

If your kid is old enough to notice changes, you can explain what's happening in language that makes sense for their age.

For younger kids: "Sometimes mommy needs it to be quieter so my brain can work better. That's why I'm wearing these headphones sometimes."

For older kids: "I'm learning more about how my brain works, and I'm figuring out what helps me feel better. You might notice I'm doing some things differently now."

You're not trauma-dumping your entire unmasking journey on a seven-year-old. You're just normalizing the fact that adults are allowed to have needs and set boundaries, which is actually a VERY useful thing for kids to learn.

From a forensic psychology standpoint, this is modeling emotional literacy and self-advocacy. You're showing them that understanding yourself and asking for what you need is normal and healthy. That's not damaging them — that's giving them tools they'll use their entire lives.

The Long Game

Unmasking as a parent isn't a one-time event — it's an ongoing process of figuring out what's sustainable. Some days you'll have the capacity to be more flexible. Some days you'll need to be more boundaried. That's not failing at unmasking bb, that's being a human with finite resources.

Random fun fact, this is also why goal-setting often fails for ND brains — you're trying to force consistency in a system that operates on variable capacity. Systems beat goals every single time.

You're not going to get this perfect. You're going to have days where you mask more than you wanted to because your kid needed you to hold it together. You're going to have days where you unmask in ways that feel uncomfortable because you're still calibrating. That's part of the process.

The goal isn't "unmask completely and immediately while also being a perfect parent." The goal is "gradually figure out what I actually need while also keeping my kid safe and attached and generally okay."

That's messy and nonlinear and sometimes really hard. But it's also how you build a life that's actually sustainable instead of one where you're constantly performing and burning out.

What You Can Do This Week

Pick ONE thing that would genuinely help your nervous system and implement it. Just one.

Real talk — if you're waking up already overstimulated before you've even made breakfast, that's not a you problem, that's a nervous system problem, bestie. Figure out what's fucking your system up first thing in the morning, because you can't unmask OR parent effectively when you're already at capacity by 7am.

Maybe it's the loop earplugs so the screaming doesn't physically hurt. Maybe it's telling your partner you need 20 minutes of complete silence when they get home so your brain can reset. Maybe it's stopping the forced eye contact thing in conversations where it doesn't actually matter.

Maybe we can start there? See how it feels? Notice if it gives you more capacity for the parts of parenting that actually need your attention.

Then next week, pick another thing.

You're not trying to unmask your entire life in one go while also raising a human. You're making small, intentional changes that help you be more regulated and present. That's how this actually works when you're doing it with an audience who can't pack their own lunch yet.

You're figuring it out. And doing it imperfectly is still doing it.