Let’s start here: You are not a liar. The person you’ve been for the last 10, 20, or 40 years was not a fraud. She was a survivor. And every mask you ever wore was a brilliant, adaptive tool you engineered to get here.

After a late diagnosis, looking back on your life can feel like watching a film reel of strangers. There was the ‘super social’ you in college, the ‘quiet and agreeable’ you at your first job, the ‘perfectly put-together’ you with your ex’s family. You feel like a collection of scripts, and now that you know why you were acting, you’re terrified there’s no real person underneath it all. The question, “Who am I?” feels less like a philosophical query and more like a terrifying void.

The human brain is a prediction engine. From a young age, your brain made a brilliant calculation: “Deviating from the social norm results in pain. Conforming results in safety.” Neurodivergent masking is not a personality flaw; it is a learned, adaptive threat response managed by the prefrontal cortex to protect you from a world not built for your wiring. It is a testament to your ability to learn and survive.

You feel like an amnesiac trying to remember who you were. I want to offer a reframe: You are not an amnesiac. You are an archaeologist. Your job is not to magically ‘find’ a true self that has been buried under rubble. Your job is to lovingly excavate the artifacts of your own survival, piece them together, and become the curator of your own story.

Think about one of those “characters” from your past. Maybe it was the ‘agreeable’ you at a former job. That wasn’t a lie; it was a highly specialized tool. It was a mask you engineered to survive a specific environment—perhaps a workplace that prized conformity over innovation. Here in St. Louis, we have a perfect, city-wide example of this with the infamous question, “So, where’d you go to high school?” Many of us learned to have a smooth, simple answer ready—a conversational mask designed to navigate a very specific, and often exclusionary, cultural landscape. It wasn’t a lie. It was a keycard.

You are now the curator of your own museum. Your first task is to simply catalog the artifacts without judgment. You don’t have to throw anything away yet. Just take inventory.

• Your First Curatorial Task:

  • Pick one mask you’ve worn.

  • Give it an artifact name (e.g., “The Chill Girl Mask,” “The Nod-and-Smile Helmet”).

  • In what situation or era did you use it most?

  • What specific threat did it protect you from? (e.g., ridicule, exclusion, appearing stupid).

  • Acknowledge its service. Thank it for keeping you safe.

Your past is not a crime scene. It is an archaeological site rich with evidence of your resilience. The goal of late-discovery support isn’t to burn the archive of who you’ve been. It’s to give you the tools and the permission to decide who you want to become, using the wisdom you’ve already earned. You are not lost. You are finally holding the map. Get started on the expedition.