Hey there, friends! Stephenie here—your friendly neighborhood neurodivergent.
Today, I want to talk about something that’s been hitting me hard lately: skill regression.
It’s a phenomenon that’s popped up as I’ve been unmasking and embracing my neurodivergent self. And let me tell you, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows.
What Is Skill Regression?
Basically, skill regression happens when a high-masking neurodivergent person starts unmasking and suddenly “loses” skills they were once good at. The catch? Those skills were often tied to masking behaviors—things we did to fit in, to seem “normal,” or to keep up appearances. Once you stop masking, those skills can disappear overnight.
Small Talk: The Expected Skill Loss
One of the first things I noticed was my ability to do small talk. To be clear, I was never amazing at it, but I used to be way better at navigating casual conversations. Small talk was a necessary part of interacting with people, and for a long time, I got through it just fine.
Now, after unmasking, I find myself preferring deeper and more meaningful conversations. It’s not that small talk is bad or fake—I just no longer have the same instinct to keep a conversation going for the sake of it. I’d rather talk about ideas, experiences, and connections that matter to me.
It’s been an adjustment because small talk is how a lot of people build rapport. But I’ve found that when I do engage in conversations, they tend to be more intentional and fulfilling now.
Concerts: The Unexpected Grief
But the skill regression that really hit hard was my ability to handle concerts. Concerts used to be my thing. I loved live music—the energy, the vibe, the shared experience. I’d go to shows whenever I could and leave feeling alive and inspired.
Then, unmasking happened. And suddenly, concerts went from being a source of joy to a source of pain.
The Death Cab for Cutie Incident
I’ll never forget when I went to see Death Cab for Cutie—a band I’ve loved for years. I was so excited to see them live. But as soon as the music started, the sensory overload hit me like a truck. The sound was so loud it felt like my teeth were vibrating in my skull. The bass reverberated through my whole body, making my chest tight. Even my compression clothing—meant to help with pain—felt like it was trying to mummify me, squeezing the life out of me.
I ended up having to sit in the lobby, watching through the doors while trying to keep my head from exploding. It felt unfair and confusing. Why did something I love so much suddenly become unbearable?
Why Does This Happen?
The thing about skill regression is that it’s not actually about losing skills—it’s about losing the ability to force yourself into uncomfortable situations. For years, I endured loud concerts because I thought that’s what you were supposed to do. I powered through the discomfort, ignoring how it affected me because masking meant pushing past my limits to fit in.
Unmasking means listening to my body and honoring my needs. And when I finally did that, I realized: concerts were actually overwhelming for me all along. The love I had for them was tangled up in the pressure to enjoy what everyone else enjoyed.
The Emotional Impact: Grief and Frustration
Losing the ability to enjoy concerts isn’t just about sensory overload—it’s about grieving a part of my identity. It feels like something was stolen from me, like I’ve lost a piece of who I am. There’s a sense of betrayal, too—like my body and brain are working against me.
It’s one thing to lose skills like small talk, which I don’t mind letting go of. But it’s a whole different kind of painful to lose something that genuinely brought me joy.
Finding New Ways to Engage
So where does that leave me? I’m still figuring it out. I’m learning to mourn what I’ve lost while trying to find new ways to engage. Maybe I can’t handle big concerts anymore, but I’m exploring smaller, more intimate shows, or outdoor performances where the environment feels safer. I’m learning to enjoy music in different ways, at a volume that doesn’t send me spiraling.
Skill Regression Isn’t Failure
Here’s the thing: skill regression isn’t failure. It’s not a sign that I’m falling apart. It’s a sign that my brain and body are finally resting. I’m no longer forcing myself into roles and activities that were never sustainable for me.
I’d rather be a little clumsy, a little uncertain, and a whole lot more authentic than keep pretending to be something I’m not.
A New Kind of Joy
Unmasking isn’t easy. Sometimes, it means letting go of things we never thought we’d lose. But it also creates space for new kinds of joy. Joy that isn’t tied to masking or performing. Joy that’s real and sustainable.
If you’ve experienced skill regression, know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to grieve the loss of old skills, and it’s okay to feel frustrated. But it’s also okay to rest. To listen to your body. To find new ways to engage with the world that honor who you truly are.
Thanks for being here, for reading, and for existing. Have the day you deserve!
Kommentare