To Mask or Not to Mask — That Is the Question

Over the last couple of months, I’ve been knee-deep in trying to secure a placement for my final year of counselling. And wow… what a ride it has been.

The first placement was perfect. Close to home. Ideal in almost every way. I battled through the paperwork (an executive function nightmare), smashed the interview, completed the induction, and all that was left was a meet-and-greet to collect our badges. Then, two days before, an email landed in my inbox: the entire company was closing down.

Pants. Utterly, spectacularly pants. Back to square one.

The Paperwork Spiral (Again)

So off I went. More emails. More forms. Back into the admin labyrinth. CVs mean nothing, apparently. Application forms must be completed… in full… every time.

Then, finally, a glimmer of hope. A lovely woman called, said I sounded ideal, and we booked my interview and induction. Two days before: she was unwell. Fair enough. I stayed loosely in touch so I didn’t apply pressure. Weeks passed. Then, another email — this time from a man covering her absence. He invited me in for an interview.

I travelled there. He greeted me, asked questions, but something felt off. His eyes glazed over. His tone flat. Odd, considering he was meant to be the counsellor. After twenty minutes he announced he had a client coming, gave me a blink-and-you-miss-it tour, and sent me on my way.

I walked out feeling utterly deflated.

Cue the phone call to my husband where I declared I had just wasted three hours of my life — not counting the energy expenditure. And then came the replay. ADHD + imposter syndrome + rejection sensitivity dysphoria = a carnival of self-doubt.

Did I overshare? Speak too much? Answer wrong? Did he hate me? Did I imagine the whole thing?

Round and round and round.

Trying Again

A couple of days later, I talked myself down. I had been me. Genuine me. In a counselling organisation, surely that’s the point?

Three days later, a generic rejection email arrived. Oversubscribed. No spaces. I asked for feedback. Four weeks later, I’m still waiting.

Great. More paperwork. Again. FFS.

I emailed another organisation — one I’d contacted months before — and by some miracle they were shortlisting the next day. I fired off the application at 10pm after running the youth group. Their form asked for honesty and a real sense of who you are as a person.

To a neurodivergent person… that’s basically “take the gloves off.”

And I did.

A few days later: interview invite. Cue excitement.

The Big Interview

I did my research. Prepared. Dressed as mainstream as possible. Arrived two hours early because if I’m not early, I’m late — time blindness is a whole thing I battle daily. I got a coffee, sat in my car, tried to regulate my nervous system.

I was already running on low spoons — one of my long-term clients was having a huge day, and later that evening I was heading off for the first night of my shamanic training. A lot happening at once.

The interviewers were two genuinely lovely women. They asked questions. I waffled. I knew I was waffling but I couldn’t stop. I lost the question mid-answer multiple times. Each time I checked whether I had actually answered the question, and each time they reassured me: “Yes, you did.”

So I relaxed. I disclosed my ADHD. I told them about my client work, my groups, my dreams, my shamanic path, my spiritual work. I hoped I showed congruence. I left feeling good. Hopeful. Happy.

Then Wednesday came. Another rejection.

The feedback? They didn’t get a strong sense of me “as a counsellor” or of my “internal world.” They felt the placement was very autonomous and that I might need more confidence in my work.

Which was… confusing. I already work autonomously. I manage my own clients. I’ve supported people for twenty years. So I asked for more feedback.

They explained that I didn’t draw enough on my client work for them to hear the breadth of my experience.

And the first thought in my brain?

“But I asked you whether I answered properly. You said yes. Was that a lie? A trick?”

This is the ND dilemma: we take words at face value. And then in comes the imposter syndrome. And the rejection sensitivity. Again.

You overshared, you muppet. You told them you suck your thumb. You forgot to mask. You forgot that typical people speak a different language.

Unmasked… and Unemployable?

I’ve joked for a while that I’m unemployable now because I’ve been unmasked for five years. And now? I’m seriously considering a social experiment: apply again, don’t disclose neurodivergence, mask like hell, see if that’s what gets me accepted.

Maybe selling my soul is what it takes. Maybe masking is the key.

So… to mask or not to mask? That is the real question.

And right now? I genuinely don’t know.

But what I do know is this: I’m not alone. Other neurodivergent counsellors, trainees and professionals are walking the same maze. Trying to be ethical. Trying to be congruent. Trying to be ourselves in systems not designed for us.

Maybe the problem isn’t the masking.

Maybe the problem is why masking is still necessary at all.

The Bigger Truth No One Wants to Talk About

Before any of this, I’d already heard whispers about how tough it can be to navigate counselling training as a neurodivergent person. I joined a support group for ND counsellors and trainees, and their stories echoed the same themes:

Misunderstanding. Barriers. Prejudice. Sometimes outright discrimination.

I listened and hoped my journey would be different. That my authenticity and passion would shine through.

I forgot that prejudice exists.

And that’s the heart of it. Masking isn’t just a personal dilemma — it’s a symptom of something deeper.

When your disability is invisible, unmeasured or misunderstood, the burden of proof is always on you.

You have to perform your competence.

You have to translate your inner world into a format others can digest.

You have to hide the invisible labour it takes to keep yourself regulated and functional.

This is ableism — quiet, subtle, and ever-present.

It shows up in interview norms, in ideas of “professionalism,” in expectations around eye contact and neat answers.

It shows up in “just be yourself” invitations that punish authenticity.

It shows up in systems built around neurotypical norms, guarded by people who often don’t notice they’re gatekeeping.

Unseen disabilities force you to live in the in-between.

Fine… until you’re not.

Capable… until the environment makes your access needs inconvenient.

Inspirational when you succeed, “too much” when you struggle.

You’re expected to advocate for accessibility — but not be too disruptive.

And the more competent you are, the more invisible your struggles become.

The Truth I’m Holding On To

Masking isn’t a simple choice. It’s survival. It’s protection. It’s a strategy learned through years of feedback that says:

“Your real self is too much.”

But here is what I know, deep in my bones:

There is nothing unprofessional about being neurodivergent.

There is nothing inappropriate about having a different brain.

There is nothing wrong with the way I think, speak, feel, or show up.

And the more ND counsellors I meet, the more I see:

Our ways of being aren’t deficits.

They’re strengths.

They’re depth.

They’re real presence.

They’re lived experience that cannot be taught.

So What Now?

Maybe the next placement will be different.

Maybe it won’t.

But I’m done shrinking to fit a model that was never built for me.

I’m done apologising for my wiring.

I’m done letting internalised ableism convince me that I am the problem.

Because I’m not.

The system needs to change.

The training pathways need to change.

Interview processes need to change.

And if we keep speaking, keep showing up, keep existing loudly even when spaces try to quiet us… then maybe one day, a neurodivergent trainee will not have to ask:

“Should I mask to belong?”

Maybe they will simply belong.

Until then, I’ll keep going — masked or unmasked, anxious or confident, rejected or accepted — because my place in this profession is not a mistake.

It is needed.

It is valid.

And it is long overdue that the counselling world caught up.