I do research on ways to enhance learning among people with neurodevelopmental disorders, and in that capacity, I’ve spent countless hours with clinicians and educators who dedicate their careers to helping people with disabilities. Their mission is to help their clients lead full, independent lives, so they teach practical skills that improve daily living and social interactions. They work on things like social greetings, maintaining eye contact, and managing intense emotions.
These clinicians and educators are remarkable people. They’re patient, devoted, and genuinely invested in their clients’ wellbeing. But, unfortunately, they’re often targeted by critics who accuse them of encouraging “masking.”
If you’re not familiar with the term, masking in the autism community refers to when autistic individuals suppress or hide their natural behaviors to appear neurotypical. The argument against masking is that autism isn’t a disorder; it’s just a variation of normal human functioning. By teaching autistic people to mask—to suppress their natural signs of autism—we’re wrongly telling them they’re broken and in need of fixing.
I get why this resonates with people, but I see it differently.
The professionals I work with aren’t teaching people that their natural behaviors are wrong. Instead, they’re expanding their repertoires. They’re giving their clients more options: more ways of being and interacting with the world. And this sort of expansion of skills is normal and beneficial for everyone, autistic or not.
Instead of thinking about it as masking, I think about it as code switching. Code switching is when you adjust your communication style and behavior depending on your context. Code switching isn’t about shame. It’s about adaptability. It’s about connecting with others. It’s about matching your approach to what works in different environments.
We all code switch constantly. I present myself differently with my kids than I do with my graduate students. My tone with friends is different from my tone with coworkers. It would be weird—and ineffective—if I acted exactly the same in every situation.
I even teach my daughter to code switch. I tell her that her jokes about private parts and human excrement might land on the playground but probably won’t in the classroom. That’s not me telling her she’s doing something wrong or bad; it’s me giving her the tools to navigate different social contexts successfully.
Of course code switching can be exhausting for people whose primary codes are not the dominant ones, and supporting code switching only works if we’re also committed to creating institutions that genuinely value inclusion and don’t require people to hide who they are. But if we can really honor that commitment, then we can give people the ability to code switch effectively when it serves their goals.
I think it’s very possible to expand people’s skill sets without telling them their existing skills are insufficient or problematic. We can preserve authenticity while building competence.
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Who else loved this one?
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9/15/25 UPDATE: As we transitioned back to school, one of my grad students1 approached me regarding this post. Here’s what she had to say:
Before graduate school, I worked as a psychology technician at Weill Cornell’s Center for Autism and the Developing Brain. I saw firsthand both the dedication of professionals serving the autistic community and the resilience of autistic individuals navigating a world not built for them. That experience shapes how I respond to conversations like this one. I value the care behind the original post and its intent to reframe autistic support. At the same time, I think we need to be precise about the words we choose because language shapes practice.
Masking is not simply a matter of changing one’s presentation. As Chapman et al. (2022) show, autistic teens experience masking as a survival strategy - suppressing stims, rehearsing scripts, flattening affect - so they can be tolerated in neurotypical spaces. The costs are steep: exhaustion, anxiety, loss of identity, even suicidality. These consequences are profoundly distinct from the emotions neurotypical people feel when they adopt a new attitude in more formal arenas. Moreover, this experience is very different from code-switching, a term rooted in linguistics and deeply tied to Black experiences of navigating safety and belonging. Conflating the two flattens distinct struggles and erases their specificity.
This is also why therapeutic goals matter. When clinicians impose neurotypical benchmarks, we risk replicating the very pressures that drive masking. However well-intentioned, this can undermine autonomy, damage trust, and tell kids that thriving means assimilation. Therapy should instead center the client’s goals and respect that flourishing may not look like “normalcy.”
Parents, of course, play a central role in a child’s therapeutic journey. But when therapy bends entirely to parental expectations of typicality, the child risks being erased. Psychoeducation is essential: helping parents understand their child’s limits and authentic communication. This is true for every kid, regardless of neurotype.
To be clear, this doesn’t mean leaving every behavior untouched. Supporting kids often means guiding them toward safer, more functional strategies. If a child communicates through hitting or grabbing, it’s our job to offer alternatives (e.g., gestures, words) that respect their intent while protecting others. But we must distinguish between behaviors that are unsafe and those - like stimming or gaze differences - that are intrinsic and harmless.
So while “code-switching” might sound like a softer metaphor, it obscures the harms autistic people consistently describe. Our responsibility isn’t to teach kids to mask better, but to support them in growing into their most authentic selves.
Importantly, I try to heed the autistic community’s call: nothing about us without us. For those wanting to listen directly, I recommend self-advocates Kaelynn Partlow, Joy Johnson, and Orion Kelly, who share their lived experiences with power and clarity.
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How to Dance in Ohio Clip for sure at the end!!
Maddie Burton is a second-year student at Yeshiva University’s Ferkauf Graduate School of Psychology working towards a doctorate in School-Clinical Child Psychology. A proud graduate of Northwestern University, she double-majored in Theatre and Neuroscience. After college, Maddie worked as the Lead Psychology Technician at Weill Cornell’s Center for Autism and the Developing Brain, supporting the clinical team with diagnostic testing, early intervention, and social skills groups. Currently, she is serving as a Psychology Extern at the Cooke School, supporting children with neurodevelopmental disabilities to develop independence through education. When she is not in school, Maddie tutors students across Manhattan and Westchester and is actively involved in the theatre community as a performer, producer, and patron.