My AuDHD Masking Story and How Performance Shaped My Identity in Love and Marriage
Part of the Performing… Series within The Pieces of Me Series—reflections from my AuDHD journal.
I’m still learning, unlearning, and putting language to my experiences in real time. What I share here reflects what I understand right now—not a final or complete picture.
I thought I knew exactly what it meant to be a “good woman.”
A good wife.
Turns out…
I was performing a role I didn’t fully understand.
Where I Learned the Script
If you read my last post, you know I’ve been unpacking what masking has looked like in my life—especially as I navigate my recent AuDHD (autism and ADHD) diagnosis.
This is one of those places I didn’t realize I was masking at all.
One mask I’ve been wearing for far too long is the role of the “good housewife.”
After years of studying people, indulging in romantic movies, and immersing myself in R&B music, I came to understand what I thought were cultural and societal norms for relationships and gender roles.
I watched the men I crushed on—and the ones I dated—gawk over voluptuous video vixens, licking their lips when I’d press my hair or speak in my soft, low tone over the phone.
To me, I was just existing as a human.
But to them?
I was something else entirely.
Sensual. Mysterious. A goal to achieve.
Especially in a time when the culture was mesmerized by Blasian (Black & Asian) women, like me.
I didn’t realize it then, but I was being used and objectified. I guess I should’ve gotten the hint when some guys would lose interest in hearing me speak about my interests, only preferring to make requests of how they’d like to see me dressed, wear my hair, or act.
(Too bad my AuDHD diagnosis had not yet been identified because, yeah, don’t hint. I need specifics.)
I’d happily obliged and put on this performance so that I could be accepted, wanted, and desired…
…and so that I could keep up with my friends and peers who seemed to have an easier time navigating social norms.
The Performance
Somewhere along the way, I unknowingly created a script.
A plan.
A persona, if you will, given the situation.
Being loyal, trustworthy, easygoing, a football lover, a bearer of gifts, and an all around “good girl” just wasn’t enough. It wasn’t working out how I thought it would.
Don’t men want good women who they can watch the game and shoot hoops with?
I needed to shift.
If I wanted to be loved, wanted, and chosen…
Then this is who I needed to be.
Sexy.
Polished.
Desirable.
Effortless.
(Spoiler alert: I’d later learn that would only get me so far, plus I wasn’t very good at any of that. I realized that focusing on my spiritual and emotional growth was the way to go! One thing I truly lacked was a firm foundation in my identity in Christ—totally unrelated to my neurodivergence…
Now, let’s go back to the story.)
In fact, in my junior year of high school, I gained some major intel to make the act a no-brainer. One day, our school’s girls’ junior varsity basketball team had an away game and as one of the team’s student managers, I had to dress up for these occasions. I didn’t have many dressy clothes, but I managed to get my hands on a cute skirt and some sort of top.
Phew! I did it! I don’t look weird.
Later, I found out that a male friend of my best friend also agreed. He confessed to her that he had not noticed me before and was curious to get to know me more.
Aha! It was the skirt. Magic.
This continued throughout most of my adult life, even into marriage—the culture informing my identity, essentially.
After the wedding cake was cut and the dancing was over, I was left with a handsome husband and a beautiful ring to “figure it all out from here.” (Fast forward, and the same sentiment was felt when motherhood hit!)
But I did have it all figured out—or so I thought.
I’d been preparing for this!
Practicing in past relationships.
Practicing in the mirror.
Practicing in my mental musings.
The plan?
Be the sexiest woman alive—24/7.
Keep our modest apartment spotless and smelling heavenly—24/7.
Cook the most savory and incredible meals from scratch—24/7.
And somehow, do all of that in lace lingerie.
Black, of course. Also 24/7.
(No, lie.)
Because I had heard it all:
“Keep a man through his stomach.”
“Don’t give him something else to look at.”
“If you don’t want your man to cheat, throw it back and make his toes curl.”
Yeah. That part.
All of it stamped by the books, songs, movies, music videos, and conversations I’d experienced since high school. All of it happening within the context of unidentified AuDHD.
But I did have it all figured out—or so I thought.
The Reality
The problem is…I was uncomfortable. Deeply uncomfortable.
Deep down, something in me knew this wasn’t fully me. I just didn’t yet have the language—or the confidence—to trust that who I naturally was, and who God was shaping me to be, could actually be enough.
Enough as a woman.
Enough as a wife.
Enough as myself… my quirky self.
For most of my life, I didn’t feel pretty—let alone like a sex symbol. When I was alone or with my best friends, I felt like I could be myself. Weird. Eclectic. A clumsy choreographer with two left feet.
So it’s kind of tricky when you feel like a weirdo on the inside, but people expect you to be a sorceress on the outside.
And let’s be honest…
I didn’t even know how to cook like that.
I probably left my parents’ home knowing how to make five things:
- spaghetti
- scrambled eggs with cheese
- peanut butter and jelly
- a box cake
- and, of course, rice (I’m half Filipina, so I for sure can use a rice cooker!)
And listen, I could microwave the HECK out of anything. You hear me?
So I did what I always do. I researched. Hello Pinterest!
Slow cooker meals.
One-pot meals.
Soul food recipes (please don’t revoke my Black card 😩).
Desserts.
Freezer meals.
Now, you may be thinking, “Well, that’s not too uncommon of a thing to do.” True.
However, I would feel that if I didn’t keep up this performance, and pretend like I just naturally knew how to do this type of wifely wizardry, I’d be rejected and fail.
Oftentimes, I was just too tired or disinterested in doing most of the above unrealistic expectations, but…
I pressed
and smiled
and did all the things that most people could effortlessly do in their sleep…
to survive this love thing.
Why is everything so hard?
When the Script Didn’t Match Reality
Speaking of unrealistic expectations, here’s where it gets interesting.
Because I didn’t just create expectations for myself.
Oh no. I had expectations for my husband, too. (Yikes!)
Because based on my very scientific, highly reliable research, totally based on unverifiable anthropological observations, he was supposed to perform a certain way, too!
So when he didn’t…
I was confused.
Deeply confused.
Looking back now, I can see this for what it was.
Masking.
All those adjustments and compromises, little by little over time.
Not in the obvious ways I used to think about, but in the roles I played, the expectations I carried, and the version of myself I believed I needed to be. So…
When he didn’t pursue me how Robert Downey Jr.’s character relentlessly (and borderline creepily) did Marisa Tomei’s character in Only You, one of my favorite romantic comedies…
When I didn’t get the “Baby, please!” energy of Dwayne Wayne for Whitley Gilbert on A Different World…
When our evenings didn’t end with us cheek-to-cheek as he gracefully swept me across the living room in Cliff and Claire Huxtable fashion…
I felt:
confused
rejected
slightly offended
Like…
Are we not going to follow the script???
All those adjustments and compromises, little by little over time.
The Cost of Performing
All of this was exhausting.
Unless something connected to a special interest or tapped into my sensory seeking needs, these interactions left me drained.
Like a Broadway performer after a week of nonstop shows.
Like an entire bottle of Draino down a clog pipe.
D-R-A-I-N-E-D.
I longed for days where I could just exist, even for a moment.
No expectations.
No performance.
No script.
Just… be.
What I See Now
With time, therapy, prayer, and a whole lot of introspection, I began peeling back the layers.
Discovering and rediscovering who I am at my core.
Letting go of expectations that both were never truly mine and that I unnecessarily held.
Setting boundaries.
Making space for myself to show up authentically—or not show up at all.
And in doing that…
I was removing masks I didn’t even know I was wearing.
Where I Am Now
I’m still learning. Still unlearning.
Still redefining what it means to be a woman.
A wife.
Myself.
And most importantly, all through a biblical lens.
And if I’m honest… This didn’t stop at womanhood or marriage.
I’ve been unpacking what masking has looked like in motherhood, too.
That’s a whole story for another day.
But one thing I know for sure:
I don’t have to perform to be loved.
I don’t have to follow a script to be worthy.
And I don’t have to become someone else to maintain connection.
* * *
I’m learning to show up as the woman God created me to be.
Not the version shaped by pressure.
Not the version shaped by performance.
Not the version shaped by the culture.
Not the version shaped by the expectations of others.
Not the version shaped by what I thought would make me lovable.
But the version that was already whole from the beginning—because of His love, grace, and mercy.
The version that doesn’t have to strive to be chosen—because I already am.
And maybe that’s what this unlearning is really about.
Not becoming someone new, but returning to who I’ve always been and who God has created me to be.
What a freeing thing!
If you want to read more about what masking has looked like in my life, you can start here: Performing “Normal”.
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