To Unveil or Not to Unveil: That Is the Question
Should I tell clients I’m neurodivergent — or keep it under wraps? What if they don’t get it? What if they think I’m difficult, unreliable, or… too much?
Note to self: that ship well and truly sailed when I started wearing my leopard print army necklace!
It’s a question that I imagine most neurodivergent business owners wrestle with at some point: Do I show up as the real me — or play it safe and hope no one notices the sparkle leaking out? The answer, of course, is messy. Because in a world that still misunderstands us, unveiling can feel like standing on stage without a script — hoping the audience claps instead of walks out.
The armour we build
For many of us, masking isn’t about deceit — it’s about survival. And often, it’s not even conscious for those of us who’ve been doing it for as long as we can remember. We learn early on that being “different” can attract attention that we don’t want, so we build armour. Polished responses. Measured emotions. Perfectly timed smiles.
In business, that armour can look like people-pleasing, over-preparing, or saying yes when every cell in your body is screaming nope. It’s professionalism, we’re told. It’s adaptability. But often, it’s fear. And the longer you wear it, the heavier it gets. Masking isn’t pretending to be someone else — it’s protecting yourself from a world that doesn’t always make space for who you are. But it comes at a cost.
The Fear of Being Seen
Let’s be honest — unveiling feels risky. You start worrying: Will clients think I’m unreliable if I need a bit of wiggle room on deadlines? Will people assume I’m hard work because I process things differently? Will the ND label make them look for faults that aren’t there?
The fear isn’t irrational; it’s rooted in experience. Because we’ve all seen what happens when people throw stereotypes like darts: “Rain Man.” “High-functioning.” “Superpower.” Each one oversimplifies something beautifully complex.
It’s hard to “be yourself” when the world has already decided what it thinks that self means. And don’t even get me started on the word “admit.” I didn’t admit to being neurodivergent like I’d just confessed to putting kittens in the washing machine. I’m not revealing a dark secret or a moral failing — I’m just describing how my brain works. It’s not a crime; it’s just my wiring diagram — and frankly, it’s a pretty interesting one.
The Toll of Staying Hidden
I spent years perfecting the art of “passing.” Holding it together in meetings. Smiling through the sensory chaos. Matching the tone of the room, even when I wanted to scream.
And then I’d come home and collapse — physically and emotionally drained — because the performance had munched up all my energy. That’s the real cost of veiling: not rejection, but depletion. You become so good at being fine that you forget what feeling good actually feels like.
As someone with AuDHD, I’ve always had that strange internal contradiction — loving the rules but hating the confinement. Wanting structure but resenting how rigid it feels. That’s the paradox of masking — it keeps you safe, but it quietly steals your authenticity while it’s at it.
Imagining a Neurodiverse Economy
Here’s a thought experiment: what if we stopped trying to make zebras look like horses? Imagine a business world designed with neurodiversity in mind — flexible, creative, inclusive by default. Deadlines adjusted for energy levels, communication built on clarity instead of assumptions, quiet workspaces normalised rather than negotiated. It’s not a fantasy. It’s an economy that values different ways of thinking — one that’s sustainable, innovative, and actually human.
For many of us, that’s exactly why self-employment feels like home. It gives us the freedom to structure work around our energy, not the clock; to build systems that actually fit the way our brains work. And one of the most beautiful things about being self-employed is the freedom to build your own ecosystem — and fill it with people who get it. The right clients won’t flinch when you drop the mask; they’ll exhale too. They’ll see your focus, creativity, and honesty not as quirks to manage, but as assets to celebrate. And the ones who don’t? They were never your people anyway. Because when you start showing up as your unmasked self, you stop attracting the wrong ones and start magnetising the right ones. That honesty becomes the filter that protects your energy and your peace.
But wouldn’t it be incredible if that same flexibility existed everywhere — if employed roles, big organisations, and traditional workplaces embraced difference in the same way? The good news is, things are shifting. Slowly but surely, more employers are starting to understand that inclusion isn’t just a buzzword — it’s good business. Simple accommodations can make a world of difference. And when neurodivergent people don’t have to waste their energy pretending to be “normal,” they can spend it doing what they do best: innovating, creating, and seeing what others miss.
The Choice to Unveil
Unveiling isn’t a one-size-fits-all act of bravery. It’s personal. Contextual. Sometimes it’s safe; sometimes it isn’t. And that’s okay. Some industries will naturally be more forgiving, understanding, or even welcoming of neurodivergence than others. In some spaces, unveiling might feel empowering and freeing. In others, it might not feel safe — or relevant — and that’s completely valid.
You might decide that your diagnosis is a key part of your story and how you work best. Or you might feel that it’s totally irrelevant to your day-to-day — that it doesn’t define you, and that it doesn’t need to be shared. Both are absolutely fine. There’s no moral hierarchy to how “out” you are. Only what feels right for you. Maybe you start with a trusted client, or a simple boundary like: “I work best with clear instructions and time to process feedback.” That’s unmasking too — in small, sustainable steps.
I picture “unveiling” like that scene in The Mask, when Jim Carrey peels off the cartoon-green grin and stands there blinking like, Oh… so that’s what my actual face feels like. That’s what dropping the ND mask can be like — equal parts terrifying and liberating. The world looks the same, but suddenly you can breathe. And once you’ve felt that? It’s really hard to go back to pretending you’re fine behind the rubber.
For me, though, there’s no going back. Since co-hosting The Business Oddcast, I’ve basically sprinted out of the ND closet wearing my best leopard-print dress — and honestly, it feels glorious. No hiding, no hedging, no tiptoeing. Just showing up fully, sparkly, unapologetically me. Because here’s the quiet truth: every time we choose to be a bit more open, we make it safer for the next person to do the same.
The Final Question
To unveil or not to unveil? Maybe it’s not a question of if — but when. Because unveiling isn’t about confession, it’s about alignment. It’s about building a life, a business, and a community where you don’t need to constantly edit yourself.
And when that happens — when you finally stop performing and start existing — that’s when real work, real creativity, and real connection begin. So, whether you whisper it or shout it from the rooftops: your neurodiversity isn’t something to hide. It’s the reason your work has colour, depth, and spark.
And the right people? They’ll love you all the more for unveiling it.
High-Functioning, Superpowers, and Other Painfully Annoying Phrases
Let’s get one thing clear: ‘high-functioning autistic’ isn’t a thing. It just means that whoever is being described as that is just doing a really incredible job of making sure that they don’t get sniffed out as anything other than absolutely blooming ‘normal’. And that will be taking up a huge amount of mental and physical energy. Believe me, I should know — I spent most of my life doing exactly that, and it was exhausting.
I appreciate that when some people think of autism they are going to what they consider the extremes in their head. So, if someone doesn’t match the stereotype they’ve built in their mind — because we can speak, work, or make eye contact — it somehow feels ok to stick us with the label ‘high-functioning.’ When actually, what’s going on is usually a huge amount of masking.
And while we’re at it, can we talk about some of the other painfully annoying phrases that get chucked around in conversations about Neurodiversity? Usually by well-meaning but brutally misguided people.
The ‘Superpower’ myth
Before I go further, a bit of context here to better explain why I am so ‘bitey’ on this subject. So, I am 50 years old and for about 48 of those years I was told on many occasions that I was ‘too much’. Too dramatic, too sensitive (hello emotional dysregulation), too needy, etc. And yet now I am to believe that I have a ‘superpower’ that makes me some sort of magical space unicorn. Because I can work through the night churning out blogs or write my degree dissertation in 3 weeks and get a first (yes, I will always dine out on that story!)
But that same ‘superpower’ has me haunting my house at 2am, when everyone else is asleep, looking for something that I absolutely don’t need, and yet my brain will sing the ‘where is it’ song in an annoying whiny brain worm until I find it. The last time it was a lip balm. I have about ten, as I forget I buy them and buy more (another gift of my spicy brain!)
Or what about my superpower that makes me fear public bathrooms in case someone sets off the unnecessarily loud hand drier and I feel like my ears are being screamed at by fire alarms. Lastly….and I’ve almost got closure I promise: Imagine ‘captain rejection sensitivity’ in her ill-fitting Lycra, and cape. A magnificent superhero who wanders around shouting “why don’t you love me” repeatedly to everyone from her long suffering husband to the poor woman in the supermarket who she swears looked at her funny.
Don’t get me wrong, I know I’ve got some incredible strengths that come straight from the way my brain is wired. And I wouldn’t swap them for anything. But calling them ‘superpowers’ skips over the messy reality that those strengths usually come bundled with so much physical and mental energy.
But here’s the thing. Whilst it might look, to a lesser being, like some sort of ‘other worldly’ gift. Worthy of celebration, and a special title. Actually, in reality, in the case of my dissertation, I think I slept for about 3 days during that time. Well….it felt like it. And the anxiety that accompanied not being able to start my work until that close to the deadline (hello task paralysis) was all consuming. The same goes with the other examples, which will be relatable to many of our listeners, I am sure of it.
Contradiction time
Bear with me, because here comes the bit where I contradict myself! There’s no doubt that some of our abilities can be harnessed and turned into something brilliant. But the truth is, a lot of the time we’ve had to dig through the rocks just to find the diamond — the tiny shiny bit that allows us to work with our brains instead of battling against them.
And let’s be honest, society doesn’t make that easy. The world is designed for nine-to-fivers who can cheerfully wake up at 7am, eat a sensible breakfast, and plough through spreadsheets until lunch without crying. For me, inspiration usually turns up at ungodly-o’clock, just as everyone else is snoring. Unfortunately, most workplaces don’t see “I wrote an entire business plan at 3am” as a valid excuse for rocking up at 11 looking like you’ve been hit by a bus.
That’s the real sticking point for me: what gets called a “superpower” is often just us squeezing our square-peg brains into round holes until something vaguely shiny pops out. Yes, we can hyperfocus, yes, we can spot details others miss — but that doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It happens after years of masking, adjusting, and figuring out how to survive in a system that wasn’t built for us. So yes, sometimes our abilities shine — but let’s not dress it up in glittery Marvel costumes and call it a superpower. It’s not X-Men, it’s just us doing the best we can with the brains we’ve got, in a world that wasn’t exactly designed with us in mind.
And while we’re clearing things up, can we retire a couple of other classics too?
“We’re all a bit autistic.” Hard. NOPE. You’re not. Unless you also spend hours rehearsing conversations in your head before you actually have them or feel personally victimised by hand dryers in public toilets, then no, you’re not “a bit autistic.”
“You don’t look autistic.” Also NOPE. What does that even mean?
The impact
Here’s the thing: most of the time, NTs who trot out these phrases aren’t trying to be cruel. They think they’re being kind, supportive even. But what it actually feels like, when you’ve spent years masking and blending in, is that your whole lived experience is being brushed aside with a cheery little phrase that makes my eye twitch.
Because when people say “we’re all a bit autistic” or “it’s your superpower,” what they’re really doing is putting you back in a box you’ve spent a lifetime trying to climb out of. And honestly, I don’t need to be a superhero or a quirky little project. I just want to be me — tangents, 2am brainwaves, hand-dryer paranoia and all.
So, here’s where we land: embracing my ND-ness (yes, I just made that up) has been the most liberating shift of my life. Not because it made me a superhero, or “high-functioning,” or whatever other phrases gets thrown at it — but because it finally let me stop pretending to be something I’m not.
So next time a well-meaning soul feels tempted to say, “we’re all a bit autistic”? Don’t. Just… don’t. Say literally anything else. Compliment my shoes. Ask me about Wotsits. Tell me I don’t look like someone who once got banned from karaoke in Menorca (long story). But please, leave the phrases at the door.
We don’t need superpowers, thanks. We just need space to be ourselves — Lycra optional.