Life with ADHD: The Untold Cost of Masking at Work

This guest blog post by David Birrell, Regional Secretary AA Section, forms part of a new series comprised of advice articles and op-eds aimed at spreading awareness around neurodivergence in the workplace and elsewhere.

Have you ever spent an entire day pretending that everything is fine, only to get home and feel completely exhausted?

I have. More times than I care to remember.

I live with ADHD, dyslexia and dyspraxia. For much of my life, I’ve learned to navigate a world that doesn’t always work the way my brain does. And somewhere along the way, I became rather good at hiding just how difficult that can be.

It’s called masking, although for years I didn’t even realise that was what I was doing.

You learn to smile when you’re confused. Nod when you haven’t quite understood. Laugh along when you’ve missed something. You develop little tricks to get through situations without anyone noticing that you’re struggling.

Regional Secretary AA Section, David Birrell

Sometimes you even convince yourself that you’re managing perfectly well. But there’s a cost, masking is exhausting.

Imagine spending your working day concentrating not only on the job you’re being paid to do, but also on how you’re coming across to everyone around you.

You think “am I talking too much?, have I misunderstood that instruction?” and, “are people going to think I’m stupid if I ask them to explain it again?”.

I’ve spent decades working in the motor industry and years representing colleagues as a trade union official.

I’ve developed skills, gained qualifications and taken on responsibilities I’m proud of, yet I can still find myself struggling with something that another person might do without thinking.

Success doesn’t make neurodivergence disappear.

Some days, my brain seems to have a hundred tabs open at once. Ideas arrive faster than I can organise them. I know exactly what I want to say, but getting those thoughts into the right order can be a challenge.

Other days, something I’ve done successfully a hundred times suddenly feels unnecessarily complicated.

And because people see the capable, experienced version of me, they don’t always see the effort going on behind the scenes.

That’s the trouble with masking. The better you become at it, the less people realise you might need support.

Sometimes you don’t ask for help because you don’t want to appear incapable. Sometimes you’ve spent so long finding ways around your difficulties that asking feels almost like admitting defeat.

And sometimes you’re simply tired of explaining yourself.

But I’ve learned something important.

Being honest about what you struggle with doesn’t take away from what you’re good at.

My ADHD can make life chaotic, but it can also bring enthusiasm, creativity and an ability to see possibilities others might overlook. My dyslexia and dyspraxia create genuine challenges, but they haven’t stopped me from learning, developing or helping others.

I don’t want people to lower their expectations of me. I want them to understand that I might need a different route to reach the same destination.

That’s what meaningful inclusion looks like to me.

Not making assumptions. Not putting people into neat little boxes. And certainly not deciding what someone is capable of based on what they find difficult.

Through my work with Community Trade Union, I’ve met people who have spent years hiding their struggles because they’re frightened of being judged.

And I understand that fear.

But I also know how much difference it can make when someone simply says, “Tell me what would help.”

Not everyone is ready to remove their mask. Some have worn it for so long they barely know where it ends and they begin.

To anyone reading this who recognises themselves in these words, you don’t have to prove your worth by making everything look effortless.

You have strengths, abilities and something valuable to offer and you deserve to be understood as the whole person you are, not just the version of yourself you’ve learned to show the world.