Code Switching, Not Masking

A Different Way to Think About Autism Support

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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