A marathon; a mountain summit; a long distance hike: some things are just…hard. Not because something is wrong. Not because someone is broken. But because some goals are hard. And reaching them can take everything you’ve got. If we’ve done nothing else in the past few posts, we hope to have illustrated how complex Masking can be. Chronic masking – especially when it’s unconscious – is a recipe for burnout, nervous system overload, and a very painful loss of self. We also talked about times when neurodivergent people might choose to ignore or delay unmasking because the unmasking would be too painful for themselves or others. But. There’s one more aspect of masking that also deserves its own moment in the spotlight. Because sometimes masking is a conscious, goal-oriented strategy. A tool. A choice. A means to an end. And sometimes that end is one worth pushing for. When someone decides they want to run a marathon, nobody expects that process to be easy. We assume they’ll have to give things up. We assume they’ll be tired, sore, grumpy, laser-focused. We assume that friends will stop hearing from them as often. That they might cry. Or get injured. Or question the whole thing. And we still cheer them on. We recognize the difficulty of the effort, and we call it noble. We celebrate the moment when they cross the finish line, even if they crawl. We honor their decision to run the marathon (even when we would never in a million years run a marathon!). What we don’t usually do is shame them for trying to run the marathon, berate them when they injure themselves, or tell them that running a marathon is too hard of a goal and they should give it up. Now, imagine that same marathon is a neurodivergent person working toward a neurotypical benchmark: an advanced diploma, a prestigious college, a high-demand job. There’s daily training (in the form of masking, pushing past sensory limits, scripting social interactions). There’s fatigue. Sacrifice. Strain. And afterward? A need for deep recovery. This person isn’t “faking it.” They’ve made a strategic decision to do something hard—even painful—because it matters to them. And just like the marathoner, they know the toll. They also know the finish line. Yes, there may be harm along the way. Performing in a world that is not designed for neurodivergent folks is a challenge. But that doesn’t make the pursuit illegitimate. To think that a neurodivergent person shouldn’t do hard things or shouldn’t be allowed to do hard things (because their life is ‘hard enough’) is insulting at best and ableist at worst. Masking in pursuit of a neurotypical goal may cause the person harm. But that’s part of being humans who strive to do hard things. Effort is what makes a goal real. And worth cheering for. We’ve worked with teens who chose to stay in demanding schools even after realizing how profoundly their environments were affecting their nervous systems. Not because they were in denial, but because they had a goal—and that goal was clear, meaningful, finite and theirs to choose. We’ve worked with parents who saw their kids’ anxiety spiking but also saw the fire in their eyes when they talked about getting into a specific college. And they chose to support them through the hard with eyes open, rather than trying to pull them off the course mid-race. This doesn’t mean we ignore signs of distress. It doesn’t mean we pretend that masking isn’t painful. It means we respect the agency of people who choose to do hard things, even if those things aren’t sustainable forever, and even if we don’t agree with their choices. Because here’s the key: sustainability isn’t always the point. Sometimes the point is to accomplish the thing. And then rest. Just like (most) marathoners don't go for another 26.2 miles the next morning, neurodivergent folks who push hard for a goal may need serious downtime afterward. And that’s not a sign of failure. That’s the natural rhythm of effort, endurance, and recovery. 🌱 Two things to try at home: * Name the goal—and the finish line. If your child (or you!) is pushing hard right now, talk about why and when it will be over. Knowing that there's an endpoint can make the pain feel more purposeful. * Plan for the recovery. Build in rest before you think it’s needed. Talk openly about burnout. Normalize the idea that doing hard things means you’ll be tired—and that nothing about that is shameful or weak. A quick word about burnout. It is a real possibility for neurodivergent folks who are working hard to accomplish their goals in systems that aren't made for them. And, whether someone goes into burnout is their own business. Sometimes burnout is a consequence of achieving a goal. And it’s up to the person whose life it is to decide whether burnout is “worth it” or not. ✨ If you're trying to figure out whether your child (or you!) are in a season of “worthwhile hard” or “unsustainable hard,” let’s talk. That’s exactly the kind of thing we can work through in a 1:1 coaching or therapy session. Not all pain is a red flag. Sometimes it's just part of the climb. This blog post was co-written by: Gabriele Nicolet, MA, CCC-SLP Jennifer Glacel, LCSW, RPT-S gabrielenicolet.com sevencornerspsychotherapy.com

Check out the third post in the masking series co-written by Jennifer Glacel and Gabriele Nicolet at https://www.gabrielenicolet.com/blog/unmasking-can-wait-postponing-self-awareness. In it, Jennifer and Gabriele discuss the implications of unmasking and why it is often better to pause in one's self-awareness journey.

There’s a kind of masking that often goes unnoticed—not because it’s subtle, but because it’s unconscious. It’s not the visible kind we often talk about with neurodivergent kids—the effortful shape-shifting, code-switching, or mimicry that some children use to blend in or “pass” in neurotypical environments. No, this kind of masking runs deeper. It’s the invisible, instinctive kind that a child doesn’t even know they’re doing. And it often belongs not to the child everyone’s worried about—but to their sibling. The one who’s “fine.” The one who’s “easy.” The one who is, quietly and unconsciously, carrying an enormous load. In families raising a child with complex needs, space is often carved out for that child by necessity. And that’s okay—that is how it works. But in the margins, another child might be learning to adapt, to shrink, to suppress parts of themselves—not out of malice, not even out of conscious choice, but out of love, or instinct, or simply survival. These children may seem to be thriving on the surface: they get good grades, follow the rules, and don’t require interventions or extra meetings. But sometimes, they are doing all of that while unknowingly muting their own sensory experience of the world. Not because they can, but because they must—in order to make space for their sibling, meet the unspoken emotional needs of the family, and/or keep everything running smoothly. This is masking of a different order. And once it’s uncovered, it’s hard—if not impossible—to go back. Once a child (or teen, or adult) begins to realize that they’ve been unconsciously pushing down sensory discomfort or emotional overwhelm for years, something shifts. It’s a bit like realizing you’ve been dragging around a giant purple elephant your whole life. You always knew things were hard, that some doors were harder to get through than they should be—but you didn’t know why. Once you see the elephant—feel the weight of it, name it—you can’t unsee it. You can no longer wedge yourself and your elephant through every narrow doorway at any cost. The cost becomes too high. And that’s when something new begins. This is particularly relevant in our work with teens. So many of them have been tracking toward what looks like success: an advanced diploma, a dream college, a well-planned future. They’re doing everything “right,” but they’re also living on the very edge of burnout. Or they’re already there. And here’s the crux: once they realize they’ve been suppressing their needs—ignoring sensory overload, overriding exhaustion, minimizing emotional distress—they cannot go back. Because meeting those expectations now requires them to reject their own experience. And now that they know, they can’t unknow. This is where the mask breaks down completely. Not out of rebellion, but out of necessity. Because staying on the path would mean abandoning themselves. And often, that’s when these teens step off the track—not because they’ve failed, but because they’ve finally tuned into what they need. They are no longer willing to twist themselves into shapes that meet the demands of a system that was never designed for them in the first place. And so we circle back to the sibling. The one who was always "okay." The one who quietly, invisibly, shaped their behaviors and bodies to make room. Sometimes they, too, are neurodivergent—but no one noticed. Because their masking was unconscious. Because they weren't melting down or refusing school. Because they just figured out how to drag that purple elephant through the door without anyone ever seeing it. But if we are serious—truly serious—about telling kids to listen to themselves, to notice what they need, to advocate for their sensory and emotional well-being… then we have to be ready for what comes next. We have to be prepared to let go of some of the old frameworks. Because when a child stops masking, the environment around them often has to shift too. The truth is, once the mask is off, it cannot be put back on. Not without harm. Not without cost. So the invitation is this: if you’re raising a “fine” kid alongside your complicated one, stay curious. Notice the child who doesn’t seem to need anything. Ask yourself not only what they’re saying—but what they’ve never had the space to say. Because masking isn’t always a behavior we see. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s success. Sometimes it’s just a child trying to feel safe in a world that doesn’t yet know how to see them. And when they finally let you see the elephant—they’ll need you to help widen the door. This blog post was co-written by: Gabriele Nicolet, MA, CCC-SLP Jennifer Glacel, LCSW, RPT-S gabrielenicolet.com sevencornerspsychotherapy.com

Check out the first of four blog posts on neurodivergence and masking at https://www.gabrielenicolet.com/blog/hidden-cost-of-masking . Next week we'll share part two on the SCP blog! More about Gabriele.... Gabriele Nicolet, MA, CCC-SLP is a speech-language pathologist, parent coach, podcast host, and founder of Complicated Kids—a practice devoted to helping families thrive by supporting the growth of neurodivergent children and the people who love them. For over two decades, Gabriele has walked alongside parents who are navigating the emotional and logistical complexities of raising children with developmental differences, including autism, ADHD, sensory processing challenges, and speech and language delays. Her work combines evidence-based developmental expertise with deep compassion, meeting families exactly where they are and helping them move forward with clarity and confidence. Known as “The Toddler Whisperer” by many of the families she serves, Gabriele has a rare gift for decoding children’s behavior and translating it into actionable insights for caregivers. Her approach is grounded in neuroscience and child development, but it’s also warm, real, and practical. She believes that when parents feel supported—not judged—they become the calm, confident leaders their children need. Through one-on-one consultations, group coaching, online workshops and her podcast, Gabriele empowers parents to shift from frustration and self-doubt to connection and hope. She helps caregivers reframe “problem behaviors” as developmental signals and equips them with tools to create more ease, understanding, and joy at home. Gabriele is also the host of the Complicated Kids Podcast and a frequent speaker at parenting events, conferences, and schools. Whether in a classroom, a living room, or a Zoom room, her message is consistent: your child is not broken—and neither are you. Together, you can do this. When she’s not working with families, Gabriele enjoys long walks, good books, and strong coffee. She lives in Washington, D.C., and is the proud parent of two mostly-grown children from whom she continues to learn life’s most important lessons.