October 4, 2024: The Cycles of Life
Fine. I’m Moody. Which Mask Do I Want to Wear Today?
I have finally admitted that I’m moody as hell. It’s funny, because I’ve always pretended I’m not. In fact, I would have been offended a month ago if you said I was.
Masking is a skill I’ve perfected over the years. Before I learned about ADHD I didn’t realize what it was. We all do it to some degree. For some people, especially those fitting into neurodiverse groups, we do it so much that it becomes absolutely exhausting.
As kids, we learn masking is a requirement if we want to fit in. In school, at church, basically anywhere but our bedroom (if even there). Everyone is masking to some degree, but for neurodivergent people, it’s like living on a never-ending Hollywood set. I’m constantly playing myself instead of just being myself, and let me tell you, if I’m going to do this much acting, I might as well be making millions in a blockbuster movie. Or… I could just BE myself. But, honestly, that feels like the most difficult role to play.
Masking impacts every part of life, and it’s hard to even notice until you go looking for it. And once you see it? You’re still stuck playing the game, trying to figure out how to “win” without totally losing your mind. Exhausting doesn’t even begin to cover it.
So, What’s My Problem Now?
Here’s the wild part: the people in my inner circle already knew I was moody. I’ve spent all this energy pretending, and they’re like, “Oh yeah, we knew that already.” My guy, for instance, calls it “cute”—which makes me question his sanity, too. But maybe that’s the beauty of it. When you find someone you can trust, someone you can feel safe enough with to be vulnerable, you start seeing things more clearly. Because with them, you are being yourself.
The pretending is the problem, not the moods. The people who love me? They love me with the moods. And frankly, no one else matters. A different lesson, but aren’t they all connected?
This current cycle of moodiness has been brought to me by “Elle’s Consumerism Role. Season 45, episode 10.
Playing Me With Only One Recess
Today, I carved out 30 minutes of quiet time, away from the never-ending buzz of work emails, notifications, and that glorious role of Playing Me. It’s not just about taking a break—it’s about finding a space where my brain can relax and be free. For me, that means writing. It’s like recess for my mind. I love to dig into topics that fascinate me, to research and write about things I care about. And no, I’m not interested in telling people about it in person. But on the days I don’t get those 30 minutes (at LEAST) for my brain’s favorite activity? My moodiness skyrockets. And if I’m feeling creatively blocked or forced into masking even harder than usual (because if you are going to play a role, why not go for the Oscar every time)? Yep, you guessed it—moodiness, again, skyrockets.
The cycle I’ve noticed is this: the more I mask, the more I need to find time to unmask and be creatively free. And if I don’t? It’s like setting myself up for bad days. Because my mind, in it’s ever-loving-sensitivity to stimulation is apt to kick the dirt and say…I’m not playing anymore, if there are too many rules.
Recognizing this cycle is a breakthrough, but now comes the harder part: doing something about it. Because the only person who can really solve the problem is myself. And…I’m an unreliable narrator. Ha.
We’re All Just a Rat In a Cage (Not Just a Good Lyric)
Speaking of cycles and societal games… let’s talk about consumerism for a second, the storm of my current bout of melancholy. Because the capitalistic hamster wheel is what holds me in this cycle. In America, the whole system is designed around who has the most play money. And that is exhausting because to play a role on the “America” stage, you have to get play money to survive. And then you’re driven to get more play money so that you can invest it into a “future” and so that the “Amercia” production can play Monopoly on my behalf.
This time of year, the election cycle, is when the worst comes out in many people. And it’s all over political ideology. It hits my sensibilities hard. And I just want to scream into the void that damaging relationships, and forcing yourself onto a “side” and negating the humanity of the other side…this is harmful. To everyone. The people seeing it and the people feeling it. And why? Because it doesn’t really matter when we get to this point. It really doesn’t. Not enough to hate others over.
Imagine an “America” play of 20 people. Two of them, Joe and Jane, own 99% of the resources. They’re making all the big decisions. Sure, maybe they listen to the others, but at the end of the day, Joe and Jane hold all the power. Now, multiply that scenario. Picture a production of 100 people, where only 10 hold all the cards, while the other 90 are just renting their lives from them. That’s life, folks. The same dynamics, just on a bigger scale and with a lot of government and rules built in.
And as much as we’d like to hope those in power have our best interests at heart, let’s be real. They don’t. Not really. I really digressed there.
I’m a Good Girl, Right?
Let’s get back to me, as a little girl. That’s when I first learned the art of playing the role of “Be a good girl.” Be quiet, be smart, but not TOO smart. Be still. Be nice. Be polite.
And so it begins…expectations are set and children start to try to live up to them.
The real question is what does being “good” even really mean? For a lot of children (and adults) it means masking. It means playing a version of yourself that fits what others want. And that’s when the endless cycle of defining what your roles in life begins.
So here I am, as an adult, still unraveling all those years of accepted expectations. Still figuring out how to JUST BE instead of “perform.” It’s a work in progress, but at least I’m starting to see the pattern and notice the impacts.
The Bell Rings
My recess is at an end. I can’t ignore the familiar ding of my emails in the background. Time to go back to “Playing Me.” The on-camera version, which is a whole other level of horror that I’m not even ready to get into yet.
Life on the stage.