I Don't Know Who I Am Without the Mask

And that's the whole point.

Unmasking isn't finding your true self instantly—it's sitting in the discomfort of not knowing until she emerges.

If you're newly diagnosed and feeling more lost than ever, you're not doing it wrong. You're right on schedule.

The Identity Crisis of Late Diagnosis

You'd think a diagnosis would bring clarity. And it does—about why you are the way you are.

But it also brings a terrifying question: Who am I, really?

When you've spent decades performing, adapting, morphing into whatever would make you acceptable... you might genuinely not know who's underneath.

What do I actually like? (Or did I just learn to like what others approved of?)

What are my real opinions? (Or have I been mirroring everyone around me?)

What are my authentic needs? (Or have I been suppressing them so long I can't feel them anymore?)

This isn't dramatic. This is the real aftermath of a lifetime of masking.

The Woman You Could Have Been

Part of the identity crisis is mourning the woman you could have been.

The one who would have known herself at 16, not 46. The one who would have had language for her experiences. The one who would have been accommodated, supported, understood.

She didn't get to exist. And that's a real loss.

But here's the truth: She's not gone. She's just buried under decades of compensation.

And now you get to meet her.

Unmasking Is Not a Switch

You cannot simply "decide to unmask."

After decades of automatic masking, the mask isn't something you put on—it's something you became. Separating yourself from the performance takes time.

Unmasking is:

• Noticing when you're performing (often after the fact at first)

• Giving yourself permission to not perform (in safe spaces)

• Sitting with the discomfort of not knowing what you'd do if you weren't performing

• Experimenting with authenticity in small doses

• Grieving the parts of yourself you suppressed

• Slowly, slowly, slowly discovering who's underneath

This takes months. Years. Maybe the rest of your life. And that's okay.

What I'm Learning About Myself

Since my diagnosis, I've learned:

• I actually hate small talk. I thought I was just bad at it. Turns out I hate it.

• I need far more alone time than I ever allowed myself.

• My "anxiety" was often sensory overload.

• I have opinions I never voiced because I was too busy monitoring others' reactions.

• I like routines more than I admitted. I suppressed this because it wasn't "spontaneous" enough.

• I've been performing "enthusiasm" my entire life. My natural affect is calmer than I ever let anyone see.

What will you discover about yourself?

Questions to Sit With

You don't have to answer these right away. Just notice what comes up:

• If no one would judge you, what would you wear?

• If no one else's preference mattered, how would you spend your weekends?

• What textures, sounds, or foods do you avoid—that you've never given yourself permission to avoid?

• What did you love as a child, before you learned what was "appropriate"?

• What would you do if you stopped monitoring other people's reactions?

• Who would you be if no one was watching?

You're Not Starting Over

Here's what I keep telling myself:

I'm not becoming someone new. I'm remembering who I was before I learned to hide her.

The woman who loved what she loved without apology. The woman who needed what she needed without shame. The woman who existed before the world taught her that was too much.

She's in there. You just have to find her.

And you will. One layer at a time.

Watch the full video on my YouTube channel: Regulated Rebellion with Develda

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