This blog is part of my Survival Algorithms series, where I explore the hidden strategies neurodivergent people develop to survive in a world that rarely meets us halfway. If you are new here, start with my Introduction to Survival Algorithms.
Growing up undiagnosed in a world that is not built for you means learning to navigate danger zones you cannot name. For autistic kids, especially those who fly under the radar because they are compliant, gifted, or simply too good at masking, childhood becomes a kind of survival exercise. The “rules” are invisible, constantly shifting, and often contradictory. But you learn to follow them anyway or face the consequences.
As a kid in South Carolina’s public school system, I did not know I was autistic. But I knew I was different. I obsessed over schedules and fairness. I took language literally and missed social cues. I worked hard to follow directions and stay out of trouble, yet somehow always felt like I was doing something wrong. I internalized that feeling, believing I was the problem.
This is the foundation of what I now call Survival Algorithms—the unconscious strategies neurodivergent people create to get through environments that are not designed for them. Research shows that autistic individuals often develop compensatory behaviors to navigate social and sensory challenges, particularly in school settings where conformity is prioritized over individuality (Dean et al., 2017). These algorithms might look like perfectionism, people pleasing, hypervigilance, shutting down, or compulsive self-monitoring. They keep us safe. But they also wear us down.
The problem is that these strategies are double edged. On one hand, they can lead to academic success, social acceptance, and a reputation for being “easy to work with.” On the other, they come with hidden costs: mental fatigue, delayed self-understanding, and a loss of authenticity. Studies on autistic masking suggest that sustained self-monitoring and adaptation contribute to burnout, anxiety, and depression (Cage and Troxell-Whitman, 2019).
Now, as an adult who finally has the language to understand my brain, I can look back and see how these patterns shaped every interaction, every classroom, and every report card. The survival strategies I developed helped me succeed in many ways, but they also delayed my self-awareness. And they came with a cost: burnout, identity confusion, and a profound sense of alienation.
This blog series will explore some of those survival strategies, their long-term effects, and what we can do to shift from survival to authenticity. If you see yourself in this, you are not alone. And you are not broken—you are adapting. My hope is that by naming these patterns, we can begin to loosen their grip, find safer spaces for authenticity, and create systems that do not require survival algorithms at all.
References
Dean, Michelle, et al. “The Art of Camouflaging: Gender Differences in the Social Experiences of Autistic and Non-Autistic Youth.” Autism, vol. 21, no. 6, Aug. 2017, pp. 678–689.
Cage, Eilidh, and Zoe Troxell-Whitman. “Understanding the Reasons, Contexts and Costs of Camouflaging for Autistic Adults.” Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, vol. 49, no. 5, May 2019, pp. 1899–1911.