Dexter, ADHD, and the Quiet Labor of Masking

Masking has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Long before I knew I had ADHD, I was quietly sanding down my edges, trying to fit into a puzzle that never seemed designed for me. Being late diagnosed means I can now look back and finally name that struggle—every awkward attempt to belong, every exhausting effort to “pass” as normal.

That’s why watching Dexter has always felt strangely personal. I didn’t see a killer on screen; I saw someone wired differently, moving through the world with a set of invisible rules, constructing elaborate systems just to appear ordinary. For many of us who are neurodivergent, that rings painfully true. It’s the constant negotiation between what feels natural inside and what makes sense to everyone else.

I’d long wondered why I related to Dexter so much, why every win for him felt like a win for me. Looking back, I realize it’s because I didn’t have many of my own wins socially, but watching someone like him—someone like me—succeed fed the dopamine my brain was always chasing.

Hyperfixation in Action

That dopamine pull often shows up as hyperfixation. For six months, I was lost in a spiral of Dexter and Michael C. Hall. I watched the series, followed his interviews, and even found myself deep into clips of him performing with his band, Princess Goes. In one of those videos, he was bouncing around the stage in a pair of Crocs.

It sounds silly, but in a flash of childish delight I tracked down a pair of butterfly Crocs online—close enough to his—and ordered them. I told myself they’d only ever be worn at home, a quiet indulgence of a fixation. But comfort has a way of rewriting the rules. Soon enough, they wandered out into the world with me, clashing spectacularly with my all-black wardrobe.

The Mask and the Clash

The Crocs became more than shoes. They became a symbol of the impulsive, curious, unfiltered side ADHD always brings forward. They clash with my outfits in the same way ADHD sometimes clashes with my carefully constructed routines. Yet there’s a harmony in that clash, a reminder that identity isn’t about consistency—it’s about embracing contradictions.

Sometimes I even catch myself wishing I’d had a father like Harry, Dexter’s guide and rule-giver, someone to hand me the manual I was always missing. But maybe what I’ve needed all along wasn’t more rules. Maybe it was permission to loosen the mask.

Dopamine as Sanctuary

What makes the Crocs irresistible isn’t just their comfort; it’s the dopamine hit they carry with them. For a neurodivergent brain, that rush of joy—whether from a new pair of shoes, a hyperfixation, or a song on repeat—feels like sanctuary. Looking at them brings me an internal joy, for now, a bright little fix that quiets the noise and lightens the weight of overthinking.

So yes, I relate to Dexter -- not as a serial killer, but as someone who knows the effort it takes to wear a mask of normalcy while my mind follows its own crooked path. These butterfly Crocs, born from a Michael C. Hall ADHD hyperfixation, remind me that identity doesn’t need to be consistent. Sometimes the clash itself is sanctuary.

This piece first appeared on my blog, Small Sanctuaries where I write about ADHD, identity, and the small moments of sanctuary that help us breathe a little easier.