"You Don’t Look Autistic": High Masking, Psychic Powers, and the Art of Observation
When I received my autism diagnosis, it came with a phrase that stuck in my brain like a burr: high masking.
The psychologist told me, gently but honestly, that most people probably wouldn’t believe I was autistic. And, well—he was right. Very few people outside of my immediate family do believe it. I get it. I can do back-and-forth conversation. I make eye contact. I function, as they say. I don’t “look autistic”—whatever that’s supposed to mean (and yes, that phrase is more than a little insulting, and yes, it shows just how much we still have to learn about autism—especially in women—but I digress).
I’ve reflected on this a lot. Two full autism assessments later, it’s clear: I am autistic. But if that’s true… then why don’t I seem like it?
I don’t wear noise-canceling headphones everywhere. I don’t reject fabrics or demand only cotton or wool touches my skin. I don’t have the traits people expect—or, more accurately, the stereotypes people expect.
And that brings me to something that used to define a large part of my identity.
I used to think I was psychic.
Really. As a child, teen, and yes—even into my twenties—I believed I had some hidden ability to feel what other people were feeling. I could pick up on emotions, read the room in microseconds, and get a remarkably accurate sense of what motivated people and what they were going to do next.
It honestly felt like I was predicting the future. Spoiler: I wasn’t. But I was good—very good—at reading patterns. Observing human behavior. Picking up on nuance. Connecting dots.
Add to that the hyper-vivid dreams that seemed to come true (my maternal family has a whole dream-analysis tradition passed down from my grandmother, and it’s alive and well even in her great-grandchildren—there’s a whole story there, but again, I digress), and it wasn’t such a stretch to believe I had some kind of sixth sense.
I even love TV shows with psychic storylines—especially when there’s a good mystery involved (looking at you, Medium).
It wasn’t until my early thirties that reality finally chipped away at the psychic explanation. Trauma, academia, and logic did their thing, and I came to the conclusion that, no, I probably don’t have magical powers. Bummer.
But still—why am I so good at picking up emotions and motivations? Why do I feel so deeply tuned into other people, sometimes to the point of overwhelm?
Cue my therapist (because yes, even therapists have therapists—actually, especially therapists should have therapists).
I was talking to her about all of this, and she said something that hit me like a lightning bolt.
She explained that hyperempathy is also associated with autism, just as much as alexithymia is. (Quick definition: alexithymia means you have trouble identifying or expressing your own emotions—and sometimes other people’s too.)
This might come as a surprise to many people. There's a persistent stereotype that autistic people lack empathy, but current research paints a much more nuanced picture. While some autistic individuals do struggle with cognitive empathy (understanding others’ emotions), many experience affective empathy—the ability to feel others’ emotions—very intensely. In fact, some studies suggest that autistic individuals, especially women and those who mask heavily, may be more emotionally sensitive and hyper-aware of others’ moods.
For instance, a meta-analysis on cognitive and affective empathy in autism found that while autistic individuals may have difficulty understanding others’ emotions in a cognitive sense, they can still deeply feel those emotions. Another study using the CARER Task demonstrated that many autistic individuals can, in fact, share and experience others' emotions intensely.
The challenge isn’t a lack of empathy—it’s often too much empathy, to the point of emotional exhaustion. This is why some autistic individuals experience empathic burnout, particularly those who are highly attuned to social cues and emotions. A systematic review of 61 studies on empathy in autism found that emotional sensitivity is a key characteristic, though it varies from person to person.
And here's the real kicker. My therapist said,
“That’s probably why you’re so good at masking—because you’ve always been so good at observing people.”
Holy hell. She’s right.
That’s why I’m good at masking. That’s probably why I don’t “look autistic.” Because I’ve been studying people my whole life. Learning how to mirror them, speak like them, respond like them. I’ve become an expert at blending in, not because I’m not autistic, but because I am.
My brain has been working overtime for decades to adapt and interpret, often at great cost. The empathy, the observation, the so-called “psychic” intuition—it’s all part of the same story. A brain wired differently, brilliantly, and sometimes painfully, trying to find a way to belong.
So yes. I am autistic.
Yes, I mask.
And no—I don’t “look it.”
But that doesn’t make it any less real.
It just means we still have so much more to learn about what autism really looks like—especially in women.
For further reading on autism and hyperempathy: