For over 30 years, I thought I understood myself. I believed the depression and anxiety I carried were just part of my story, an inevitable weight I had to bear. It wasn’t until recently that I realized those struggles weren’t the root—they were the branches of a much deeper truth: I am autistic.
As I’ve been peeling back the layers, I’ve come to see how much of my life has been spent hiding—masking—who I really am. In the process of burying the parts of me deemed “too much,” “too emotional,” or “too weird,” I lost touch with myself.
Emotional Dysregulation and Sensory Overload: A Hidden Battle
One of the most challenging aspects of my experience has been emotional dysregulation. I’ve always felt things deeply—waves of emotion that could wash over me, sometimes leaving me exhilarated and other times pulling me under. But as a child, those big feelings were met with disapproval.
When I had outbursts or struggled to manage my emotions, I wasn’t given tools to navigate them. Instead, I was told I was “too emotional,” that my feelings were “unladylike,” and that “good girls don’t act that way.” I learned quickly that showing those parts of myself would lead to rejection or shame, so I did what I thought I had to do: I shoved those feelings down.
Sensory challenges added another layer to this struggle. Loud noises, like a dog barking or the hum of a fluorescent light, felt like nails on a chalkboard to me. But every time, I endured it because I thought that’s what everyone did. Clothing was another minefield. Certain fabrics felt awful on my skin—like being trapped in an itchy cage—but I wore them anyway because they were “trendy” or deemed “professional.”
Even as an adult, sensory challenges were dismissed or minimized. As a professional, I was told what looked “professional” and what didn’t, regardless of how those clothes made me feel. I threw away my comforting plushies because I was a grown woman, not a child—or so I was told. My need for sensory comfort was framed as immature, not valid.
This constant endurance of discomfort became another layer of my masking. I learned to push through, to ignore my needs, to pretend like I wasn’t bothered. But inside, I was always overwhelmed, always struggling.
The Cost of Suppression
In addition to ignoring my sensory needs, I masked every other part of myself that didn’t fit the mold. My stimming behaviors—shaking my legs while sitting, using my hands to self-regulate, repeating words from TV shows that felt comforting—were labeled “weird” or “unladylike.” My need for structure and control, which sometimes led me to be labeled “bossy,” was framed as a flaw rather than a legitimate need.
So, I adapted. I hid. I watched others and mimicked their behaviors, crafting a version of myself that was palatable to the world around me. I became an expert at performing “normal,” but it came at a tremendous cost.
The constant suppression of my true self—the emotions, the sensory needs, the stimming, the need for structure—took its toll. Depression and anxiety became my constant companions, the inevitable byproducts of living a life out of alignment with who I really was.
The Turning Point
It wasn’t until I began exploring neurodivergence, particularly autism, that the pieces of the puzzle started to come together. I learned about masking and how common it is for high-masking autistic adults, especially women and people socialized as women, to go undiagnosed for years. I learned about the connection between emotional dysregulation, sensory needs, and autism.
For the first time, I saw myself in these stories. I realized my depression and anxiety weren’t personal failings—they were symptoms of a life spent hiding. My big emotions and sensory sensitivities weren’t problems to be fixed; they were a part of who I am.
Finding My People
Ironically, I’ve worked with autistic individuals since 2012. Throughout my career, colleagues and others around me would often praise me for being so “good with this population.” They’d remark on how deeply I understood my clients, how easily I connected with them, how naturally I could anticipate their needs and emotions.
At the time, I thought it was just my clinical skills, my training, or my empathy. I didn’t realize then what feels so obvious now: I understood my clients so deeply because I was one of them.
It’s a strange and beautiful thing to reflect on. I spent so much of my life feeling like I didn’t belong, like I was constantly performing to fit in. But in my work with autistic individuals, I found a sense of ease and connection I didn’t have anywhere else. Without even realizing it, I was finding my people—and my own reflection.
Reclaiming My Emotional and Sensory Self
Unmasking has been both liberating and terrifying. Allowing myself to feel emotions fully, after years of suppressing them, has been one of the hardest but most rewarding parts of this journey. I’m learning to honor my sensory needs instead of ignoring them.
Now, I embrace the things that bring me comfort, whether that’s soft clothing, a quiet space, or yes, even plushies. I’m learning that stimming, structure, and big feelings aren’t flaws—they’re part of what makes me, me.
Depression and anxiety haven’t disappeared overnight, but they’ve lessened as I’ve allowed myself to live more authentically. Instead of fighting against my neurodivergence, I’m learning to embrace it.
Reintroducing Myself
So here I am, reintroducing myself. My name is Dr. Panicha McGuire, and I am a high-masking autistic adult. For most of my life, I thought my big emotions, sensory sensitivities, and “weird” quirks were things to be ashamed of. Now, I see them as integral parts of who I am.
This journey hasn’t been easy. After decades of hiding, unmasking feels raw and vulnerable. But it’s also freeing in a way I never imagined.
To anyone out there who feels like they’ve been told they’re “too much”—too emotional, too weird, too sensitive—you are not alone. You’re not broken. You deserve to live a life where you can be your full, authentic self.
If any part of this story resonates with you, and you’re wondering where to go from here, Living Lotus Therapy is here to help. Whether you’re just beginning to explore your neurodivergence or looking for support in unmasking and reconnecting with yourself, I’d be honored to walk alongside you. Reach out for a consultation—we’re here to create a space where you can finally just be.
— Dr. Panicha McGuire