Masking, Burnout and Addiction in Neurodivergent Adults

The Hidden Cost of Keeping Up

I didn’t turn to drink or drugs – I turned to doing.

For some people, addiction shows up in a bottle or a line; for me, it showed up in my inbox. The harder I worked, the easier it was to hide the noise in my head. Work became my way to cope – a constant, exhausting performance of being in control.

Like many adults with ADHD and other forms of neurodivergence, I became skilled at masking. Learning to appear calm and focused, even when my mind was racing. On the outside, it looked like ambition. Inside, it was anxiety wrapped in achievement.

I now understand that my drive to seem fine was part of the same pattern that fuels other addictions. It was about soothing overwhelm and quieting self-doubt. My coping turned into burnout and eventually, a kind of workaholism that looked admirable but felt impossible to stop.

In this article, I’ll explore how masking leads to burnout, how burnout can become compulsive overworking or substance use, and why recovery for neurodivergent adults often begins with learning how to stop performing and start being real.

What Masking Really Is

Masking is what happens when you learn to copy the world around you just well enough to fit in. For neurodivergent adults – especially those with ADHD or autism – it can mean forcing eye contact, over-explaining to sound organised or staying late to make sure every mistake is caught before anyone notices.

It starts as survival. You want to be liked, respected, capable. You study how other people behave and build a version of yourself that seems to match.
The problem is that maintaining that version takes constant mental energy. Every conversation is rehearsed, every reaction calculated, every moment monitored.

“I’d sit in meetings and replay every word I said, terrified I’d sounded scattered. Masking wasn’t pretending to be someone else; it was deleting parts of myself so no one would see the parts of me that felt less desirable. In many ways, echoing a sort of trauma-response.”

At work, masking often looks like perfectionism and overachievement. You double-check everything, over-deliver on deadlines and smile through the panic because slowing down feels dangerous. Over time, the act becomes automatic and the line between who you are and who you perform starts to blur.

Masking protects you in the short term. It earns praise, promotions and approval. But it also drains the very energy you need to regulate emotions, focus and rest. That constant output sets the stage for the next phase: Burnout – the point where even trying to seem fine becomes impossible.

When Masking Turns Into Burnout

Eventually, masking catches up with you. You wake up one day and the engine that kept you going just… stops. You can’t concentrate, can’t fake enthusiasm, can’t remember why you ever cared about proving yourself in the first place.

That’s neurodivergent burnout – the collapse that happens when you’ve spent too long pretending to be okay. It’s not laziness or weakness; it’s exhaustion on every level.

Common signs include mental fog, irritability, physical fatigue and a deep sense of disconnection – from work, relationships, even your own identity. Everyday tasks suddenly feel impossible. The smallest decision feels like a test you’ll fail.

“When my burnout hit, it was quiet. I stopped caring. I stared at emails for hours, paralysed by simple choices. My brain felt like it was done pretending.”

For neurodivergent adults, burnout is intensified by years of trying to live up to neurotypical expectations – to manage focus, time, and emotion in ways that don’t come naturally.

When that effort finally collapses, the emptiness can be frightening. Some people retreat entirely; others swing to the opposite extreme, looking for anything – substances, screens, or work – just to fill the void.

It’s here that masking and burnout often blend into addictive patterns. The mind, desperate to feel regulated again, clings to whatever brings relief – even if it’s the same behaviour that caused the crash in the first place.

Workaholism: The “Respectable” Addiction

When most people think about addiction, they think about alcohol, drugs, or gambling. Few imagine a laptop. But the same mechanics that drive substance addiction – dopamine reward, tolerance, withdrawal, compulsion – can play out through work and other behaviours.

Workaholism is socially rewarded, even celebrated. Long hours, late nights, endless productivity. These are all signs of dedication in a culture that glorifies busyness. For neurodivergent adults, especially those with ADHD, that busyness offers something deeper: regulation.

The rush of deadlines, new projects and quick wins gives short bursts of dopamine; the same neurochemical reward the ADHD brain constantly craves balance from. The problem is that tolerance builds. What once felt like healthy motivation slowly turns into dependency.

“Every time I finished a project, I felt relief. But it never lasted. I needed the next one, and the one after that. Work became a way to silence the noise, to prove I wasn’t broken.”

Like alcohol or cocaine, workaholism promises control but delivers chaos.

The early stages feel productive, energising, even stabilising. But over time, the cycle tightens. You chase the next task to avoid the crash that comes when you stop. Rest feels like withdrawal. It feels uncomfortable, undeserved, unsafe.

And because society praises hard work, the addiction hides behind success. Promotions and praise reinforce the behaviour, making it harder to see the damage beneath, such as strained relationships and health issues.

The danger is not in the work itself, but in the relationship to it: when it stops being a choice and becomes a compulsion; when doing replaces being.
In that way, workaholism is equally destructive, just easier to justify.

The Loop That Keeps You Going

Every addiction, whether to work, substances, or approval, feeds on the same emotional loop – relief, reward, regret, repeat. For me, work delivered all four.

Finishing a project brought a rush of relief, a hit of validation that briefly quieted the doubt underneath. But the silence never lasted. Within hours, I’d be chasing the next goal, already anxious about slipping behind.

When you’ve spent years masking, every quiet moment can feel unsafe – space for self-doubt to creep in. So you fill it with noise: new tasks, new targets, new proof that you’re okay.

“I wasn’t addicted to success, I was addicted to escaping failure – or at least, the temporary feeling of it. The fear of letting people down goes deeper than work, it’s a lifetime of trauma embedded within my nervous system.”

That cycle doesn’t break through effort; it breaks through awareness. Once you recognise that the drive to “do more” isn’t about achievement but relief, the journey to self-compassion can begin to take form.

Breaking the Cycle: What Recovery Looks Like

Breaking free from addiction isn’t just about stopping the behaviour, but relearning how to feel safe without the thing that kept you going – whether that was work, alcohol, drugs or constant achievement. This is true for both neurotypical and neurodivergent adults.

For many neurodivergent adults, coping patterns begin as a form of survival. They quiet the mind, create structure or give a brief sense of control. Over time, they become the only way to manage stress or self-doubt. Recovery means finding gentler ways to meet those same needs, ways that heal rather than deplete.

When you’ve lived in fight-or-flight for years, slowing down can feel unbearable. The silence lets everything you’ve suppressed rise to the surface: anxiety, shame, old memories of rejection. That’s why recovery has to start with safety, not shame.

For me, that meant noticing when “doing more” was really about trying not to feel.

“When I stopped chasing every deadline, I realised the craving wasn’t for success, it was for calm.”

Addiction recovery – of any kind – is about rebuilding regulation and implementing healthy boundaries with yourself and others. It’s learning to recognise tension before it explodes, to pause before reaching for the thing that numbs you, and to treat rest as repair rather than failure. Above all, it is about learning to love yourself again in the most authentic way.

For neurodivergent adults, that process often includes adapting environments to match their wiring: structured routines that allow flexibility, sensory balance, and relationships built on understanding rather than judgement. Therapy, community and self-compassion become the new sources of dopamine, stability and belonging that addiction once promised.

Over time, the question shifts from “What do I need to escape?” to “What helps me feel safe?”
That’s when recovery begins to take root – not the absence of craving, but the presence of peace.

Moving Toward Authenticity

For many neurodivergent adults, authenticity is the opposite of addiction. It’s the moment you stop needing to mask, overwork or self-medicate to feel okay. It’s learning that your brain speaks a different language. Connection can be difficult for neurodivergent adults, but it’s not impossible in an environment that welcomes diversity.

“When I stopped chasing the version of myself I thought everyone wanted, I finally started to meet the person I actually am. That’s when the healing began. Ongoing therapy alongside medication has worked wonders for me.”

In recovery, authenticity can look like saying no without guilt, taking a break without explanation and allowing silence instead of overcompensation. These moments, repeated often enough, become new experiences: proof that safety can exist without performance.

Authenticity also thrives in community, in spaces where difference isn’t corrected but celebrated. That’s why recovery for neurodivergent adults often flourishes when therapy, connection and self-knowledge come together.

At Abbington House, we believe that healing is about creating environments where people can unmask safely. Whether the addiction was to work, substances or survival itself, the goal is the same: not to erase your wiring, but to understand it, honour it and build a life that fits.

If you or someone you love is reading this and it resonates, or if the effort to keep up has left you exhausted, anxious, or numb, know that you’re not alone. There is help and there are safer ways to live than survival mode.

Recovery begins the moment you stop hiding and start reaching out. Learn more about neurodivergent-friendly rehab at Abbington House or reach out to our dedicated team today to discuss your treatment options.