Masking at Work - Juliet Obaniyi

Masking at Work Is Costing Neurodivergent Women Their Careers

Juliet Obaniyi -Lagos, Nigeria 

I belong to a neurodivergent women’s group where members regularly share their lived experiences. One theme appears again and again: quitting. A woman will post that she has resigned from her job, sometimes without another one lined up, simply because she could not continue. The exhaustion described is not ordinary tiredness; it is the kind that feels like something inside you is slowly being worn down. Each time I read those posts, I understand.

I once wanted to quit a job on my fourth day. On paper, the role suited me. I was qualified, capable, and genuinely interested in the work. Yet by the fourth day, I felt as though my life expectancy was reducing every time I showed up. That may sound dramatic, but it did not feel dramatic in my body. It felt physical and urgent. I eventually left, not because the work itself was impossible, but because staying felt more harmful than leaving. What I have since realized is that the issue was never just the job; it was the structure surrounding it.

Traditional workplaces are often built around rigid schedules, constant social interaction, sensory stimulation, and the expectation that employees can move seamlessly from one demand to another without pause. For many neurodivergent women, that structure is not neutral. It is exhausting. There was a period when I experienced ulcer attacks triggered by work-related stress, yet I struggled to identify a single cause. It was not one task, one colleague, or one deadline. It felt like the entire concept of work was stressful. That is difficult to explain to people who can pinpoint a specific pressure point and adjust accordingly. When the stress is systemic, there is nothing obvious to fix.

From the moment I wake up on a workday, the process begins. In a busy city, leaving the house already means entering a flood of stimulation—traffic, noise, crowded buses, conversations, movement. By the time I arrive at the office, my brain has been processing intensely for hours. There is rarely time to settle in quietly. Instead, I move directly from commute to greetings, from greetings to tasks, from tasks to interruptions. There is no transition period, no opportunity to “boot up” before engaging.

At my last job, I had to leave home at least one or two hours before resume time, and I still often arrived after most people. That meant I walked into an already active environment with no moment to ground myself. The only time I felt calm was after everyone had gone home. Sometimes I intentionally stayed back just to sit in silence for ten to fifteen minutes before leaving. That silence felt like oxygen. It was the only space in the day where my mind could slow down.

Deadlines compound this strain. Many workplaces treat “ability to work under pressure” as a standard job requirement. Urgency is normalized, even celebrated. In one role, we began discussing a 500-attendee event in February for a July date. In my mind, February was the appropriate time to begin planning in earnest. However, no serious planning started until the end of April, and we did not truly begin until May. That left roughly two months to prepare. I expressed concern, explaining that I do not function well under compressed timelines and that starting earlier would reduce unnecessary stress. Despite this, the schedule remained tight.

The event was completed successfully, but the internal cost was significant. Completing a task does not mean the system works; it only proves that the individual absorbed the strain. For some people, pressure activates productivity. For me, sustained urgency erodes focus and stability. The expectation that everyone thrives under last-minute intensity privileges certain nervous systems while quietly disadvantaging others.

Beyond workload and deadlines, there is the social performance embedded in workplace culture. A neutral facial expression can be interpreted as anger. Choosing silence can be mistaken for disengagement. I often feel I must smile even when I do not have the energy to do so, because failing to perform friendliness can create discomfort for others. The energy required to manage these perceptions is rarely acknowledged as labor, yet it consumes real cognitive and emotional resources.

Masking in the workplace is not theatrical deception; it is subtle and constant self-adjustment. It is monitoring tone, facial expression, posture, and reactions while simultaneously trying to focus on professional responsibilities. When your energy is already stretched by sensory overload and constant transitions, that additional layer of performance can become the tipping point. By the end of the day, I am not only tired from completing tasks; I am tired from sustaining an acceptable version of myself.

This is why so many neurodivergent women leave roles they are otherwise capable of performing. It is rarely about competence. It is about accumulation—the commute, the stimulation, the lack of processing time, the compressed breaks, the pressure-driven culture, and the expectation of continuous sociability. Individually, each factor may seem minor. 

Together, they become unsustainable.

Inclusion does not require dramatic overhaul, but it does require intentional design. Processing time matters. Quiet spaces matter. Flexible break structures matter. For me, one long, fixed break in the middle of the day is less restorative than several shorter breaks that allow my nervous system to reset before overload becomes shutdown. Starting projects earlier rather than relying on urgency would reduce unnecessary stress. 

Recognizing that a straight face is not hostility would ease social strain. These adjustments are not special treatment; they are strategies for sustainability.I often wonder how many capable women are lost to systems that were never built with their brains in mind. How many resign quietly, questioning their resilience, when in reality they were navigating environments that demanded constant adaptation. 

The workplace is often presented as neutral and merit-based, but neutrality assumes uniformity. Different brains process stimulation, time, and social interaction differently. If we continue to define professionalism around uninterrupted stimulation, high-pressure output, and constant performance, neurodivergent women will continue to exit, not because they lack ability, but because the cost of staying is too high.Masking may allow survival for a time, but over time it extracts payment. And too often, that payment is a career.