When schools re-opened following the Covid-19 lockdowns, most children eventually returned to classrooms and routines. But for some, the closures marked a turning point. Among them were young people who had been masking—hiding their struggles to fit in. For some of these students, the sudden pause revealed how exhausting school life had been, and how much relief came from not having to perform every day. As schools reopened, many found they simply could not go back to “normal”. Their experiences highlight the lasting impact of lockdowns and the urgent need to rethink how our education systems support children who mask to cope.
Lately I have been supporting a number of young people who have not been able to attend school for a long time because of anxiety or stress. The educational term now used is Emotionally Based School Non-Attendance (EBSNA). It is described this way because there is a wide range of emotional difficulties at play, which may or may not come with an official diagnosis, but are no less real for that. The term “non-attendance” recognises that this situation is not a choice for these young people or their families. Many are desperate to be back in school, but cannot yet manage the reality of it.
What I am starting to see now is that one group of young people seem to have been impacted more than most. Perhaps we didn’t expect it, because these young people were hidden in our classes. They were masking. This coping strategy is becoming better understood, but I believe that Covid marked a turning point. For many neurodivergent learners, the closures didn’t just interrupt learning—they revealed how exhausting daily masking had been.
If you are not sure what masking is, think about the times we all mask in daily life. Perhaps you have a “telephone voice” that automatically comes out when you make an important call. You almost certainly behave differently with your elderly relatives than when you get together with your friends. Perhaps you know the feeling of taking a deep breath and putting on a smile when you go into a difficult or uncomfortable situation. These are forms of masking. The difference is that autistic masking is constant. Imagine that every social situation you encounter is difficult and uncomfortable. Imagine putting on a smile all day, every day, not knowing quite how to behave or what the social rules are. That is masking, and it is exhausting. It can lead to burnout and serious mental health difficulties.
I believe that many of the young people who have struggled most to return to school after lockdown are those who had been masking prior to lockdown. Many had been doing so for years, they had little choice, children have to go to school. School closures gave them the chance to see that there was another way of being, a way that must have felt like such a relief after all that stressful masking. No wonder they found it hard to come back.
So how do we support these young people, many of whom are desperate to get back to learning? My first suggestion would be to listen to them. Really listen—to understand how they experience the world, what they need from the learning environment, and what worries them about returning.
Hand in hand with this goes support for them to understand themselves. A sensory profile can help a young person recognise how their brain processes information from different senses, so they can identify their sensitivities and explain these to others.
This enhanced understanding can then be shared with schools through conversations with teachers about small adjustments that make a big difference. Seating arrangements, brain breaks, relaxed uniform rules, permission to wear headphones or eat snacks—these may seem minor, but they can transform whether a classroom feels overwhelming or supportive.
Another key step is to create a transition plan that allows a young person to return at a manageable pace. If a child has been out of school for some time, they need space to rebuild confidence and resilience. One helpful approach is to create a list of activities that feel a little challenging but achievable—taking the bus, ordering in a café, cooking dinner. The activity itself doesn’t matter; what matters is that, little by little, they expand their world and begin to believe they can overcome fears in their own way.
The impact of Covid-19 and school closures is still unfolding, and many young lives continue to be affected. Supporting these learners to return to school—while enabling them to be themselves and feel safe in lessons—is an important next step. And perhaps, in helping neurodiverse children feel secure, we can learn from them how to make education kinder, so that future generations do not need to mask simply to cope in school.