Neurodivergent phoenix

The Masks We Wear

Each dawn, I place it on

that mask of polished steel and steady smile.

A mask that says, I’ve got this,

even when my bones are tired,

my mind spinning threads of worry

about bills, meetings, and children’s hearts.

At the office, the mask gleams.

It speaks the language of deadlines and strategy,

of confidence sculpted sharp as glass.

I nod, I lead, I negotiate,

my laughter rehearsed enough to pass for natural.

They do not see the whispers in my mind,

the constant calculations,

the rewiring I do to appear “typical.”

And at home

another mask waits.

The Mother. The steady one.

The soft arms, the fierce advocate.

I wear it while decoding meltdowns,

while translating a world not built

for bright, beautiful, neurodivergent minds.

My children, little mirrors of my own wiring,

teach me truths the boardroom never could.

Their honesty cuts through pretence,

their emotions spill like rivers uncontained.

They remind me that masks are heavy,

that survival has trained me to wear them,

but love whispers; Here, you can take it off.

Still, the world demands performance.

Schools ask for compliance,

systems for proof,

society for silence.

And so I tie on the ribbons once more.

The mask gleams again.

I smile through meetings,

through parent teacher nights,

through the endless “you’re so strong.”

No one sees the nights

I curl into myself,

mask abandoned on the floor,

wondering how to keep rising,

how to keep fighting systems

that demand I be less me

and more acceptable.

But here is the truth

beneath the masks,

there is no fragility to hide.

There is strengths shaped by fire,

intelligence carved in the rhythm of difference,

and love that builds empires

from the raw earth of survival.

We are women who lead,

who mother,

who reimagine.

We wear the masks to shield,

but we do not forget

what breathes beneath

The wild minds of our children,

the beating drum of our ancestors,

the unmasked faces of women

who refuse to disappear.

So yes

we polish the masks each morning.

We wear them,

because sometimes the world will not let us

walk barefaced.

But remember this

the mask is not the woman.

The woman is the storm that birthed it.

The mother,

the leader,

the neurodivergent soul,

the warrior who will always,

always,

find a way to rise.