Journeeman.

Pretending might help you to fit in, but it will cost you your life.

Neurodiversity is a strange old thing.  

When I was a young man, especially in high school, lunchtime often meant a desperate escape. Sometimes I’d even disappear home, utterly stressed and exhausted. I remember my mum’s concern as I’d arrive, shirt damp with sweat, in a raw state. The constant anxiety, the relentless noise, the overwhelming visual input of a busy classroom — it made everything incredibly hard. But what truly amplified the struggle was my relentless effort to be like everyone else. Trying to mimic others only exemplified how profoundly I didn’t fit in. I’d often go home frustrated, unable to articulate the words I wanted to say, feeling like a silent observer in my own life.

Neurodiversity can throw a person into a world of masks, of pretending, of contorting yourself into shapes that simply don’t make sense for your inherent design. For many, it’s a daily performance, an exhausting act of trying to fit into a neurotypical world that feels like constantly wearing the wrong size shoe. Every social interaction, every sensory input, becomes a conscious negotiation — a quiet cost paid just to appear “normal.” This constant managing of appearance, this deep-seated need to belong, is where the profound cost of performing a life instead of living one truly begins.

The Universality of Masks  

Just as a neurodivergent person might wear masks to navigate a world that feels alien, the older we get, the more apparent it becomes: everyone wears them. Whether neurodivergent or neurotypical, we all learn to present ourselves in ways we believe will help us fit in. These masks are crafted to hide our weaknesses, our uncertainties, our fears, and the sheer weight of obligations that life, especially as we age, can impose. We venture so long trying to please everyone, to project an image of competence and belonging, that we risk becoming hollowed out. The promise of the self becomes drowned in the noise of the demanding crowd.

Think of it like this: we spend so much time performing a version of ourselves that we can end up feeling utterly empty inside, like a vessel that’s been shaped to hold something precious but has never actually been filled. Every single one of us, in our own way, can end up wearing masks, presenting what we believe is the prime version to fit in — often without realizing that everyone else is doing the exact same thing. We end up having shadows floating amongst shadows. The substance evaporates.

This shared pretense, this universal act of wearing masks, is a profound testament to our deep-seated need to belong, and the quiet cost it exacts from us all.

The Magnetism of the Mask 

Just as bait on the hook attracts certain fish, so too the masks we wear attract possibilities into our lives — both good and bad. What we put out into the world acts like a magnetic force that is both attractive and rejective in nature. Being more authentic will draw those who stand with you, not against you. My new way of existing has made life simpler, and certainly a lot more peaceful.

If our “bait” draws in superficiality, we become trapped in a cycle of performance. To break free, we must stop using bad bait that attracts the wrong kind of connection. Even an authentic person will be disliked, but they tend to dislike themselves a little less.

Exhaustion and Pretense  

Who our masks attract into our lives carries a profound cost, especially when fuelled by pretence. I remember this vividly from my own life; in fact, a part of the reason I ended up in prison stemmed from the way I attracted people with complex issues. These individuals, with their own “mess,” became attached like weights dragging me down. Because of my own messiness, theirs added weight to mine.

Without correction, forward movement becomes nearly impossible. You are constantly pulled backward by the sheer burden of what they carry. Consider a proficient marathon runner focused on the finish line. As they run, imagine people periodically dropping a rock or a brick into their backpack. Over time the cumulative weight makes it impossible to perform the task they set out to achieve. They can no longer run; they can only sit on the side of the road, defeated. This is the reality of living in pretence. We create masks and magnetic attractions to those who will ultimately weigh us down. The superficial becomes a constant weight that constrains momentum in life and development.

Letting Go Allows Momentum 

It was in a prison cell, separated from my family and my beautiful wife, that a profound clarity emerged. Looking back, I realized how often I had carried the weight and burdens of so many others while neglecting to truly look after myself. This recognition, born from crisis, shook me awake to the consequences of pretence and a failure to mature authentically.

The truth is, when you release the demands of performative masking and lean into a more authentic reflection of who you are, an almost immediate spring comes to your step — a renewed momentum. You begin to get off the ground, putting down the bricks you’ve accumulated, and perhaps even finding the courage to reject the entire sack on your back.

It often takes an extreme crisis to force this recognition: to see that you’ve made too many choices, or surrounded yourself with too many people, that simply don’t blend well with your authentic self. My own neurodivergence presented a particular vulnerability — a naivety that assumed people wouldn’t lie or deceive, that they’d think as I do and be as vulnerable and open as possible. Unfortunately, such openness can attract exploitation, which is exhausting. Letting go isn’t about rejection; it’s about reclaiming your space and your true momentum. It is about agency and possibility.

Take a Breath and Live  

I appreciate my life now, even with the extraordinary lessons learned through the crucible of prison. Knowing what I know today is far more valuable than the person I was before. As a song recently put it, “I’m glad that the old me no longer exists. It didn’t do me much good anyway.” I’m pleased with this new me, one that allows me to evolve and become even more the authentic person I aspire to be.

My hope is that others don’t need to endure such extreme experiences to learn these vital lessons. True change doesn’t require losing so much. If honesty, self-awareness, and a desire for authenticity are present, one can begin to see the forged patterns and the magnetic attractions shaping their life. By looking inward, you can stop, take a breath, and truly live. 

You can break the cycle of attracting detrimental people, change your environment, your job, whatever is required to move forward. Crucially, the majority of this change is not external; it resides within. So don’t start by asking who to blame, but rather: what do you need to do to get up, drop those bricks, and actively cultivate your marathon with only the weight that is truly yours?