Not an Impostor. A Survivor.
On neurodivergence, dignity, and the courage to show up differently.
The first time I encountered Romina Massa's writing, I stopped scrolling. Her posts on neurodivergence in the workplace speak with clarity and uncompromising honesty.
As a strategist and storyteller, Massa doesn't just describe challenges: she reframes the conversation entirely. She talks about masking, authenticity, and what it truly means to navigate professional spaces with a different neurological makeup.
What makes her perspective invaluable is how she transforms vulnerability into strength, helping others reclaim their experiences not as deficiencies, but as unique ways of moving through the world.
In our conversation, we explored what it means to survive—and eventually thrive—by showing up as yourself.
Lilian:
You once wrote: “When you’ve spent decades masking to fit into rooms that weren’t built for you… it starts to feel like the mask is the ‘real’ you.”
What did it take for you to finally speak from underneath the mask?
Romina:
I didn’t know I was autistic until I was 41.
By then, I’d spent a lifetime unknowingly masking, not just at work, but everywhere. I thought everyone felt like this: the constant monitoring, the rehearsed responses, the exhaustion after being around people. I thought it was normal to need a script just to exist in the world.
It wasn’t self-awareness that made me unmask. It was burnout. Real, body-level collapse. My health forced a full stop long before my mind was ready. And that’s what led me to my diagnosis: not as a revelation, but as a survival tool. A name for why I was always “too much” and “too tired” and “too sensitive” in spaces that rewarded sameness.
Speaking from underneath the mask didn’t come from empowerment; it came from necessity. But once I started, I realized I wasn’t unraveling. I was arriving.
Lilian:
Many people, even outside neurodivergent communities, are trying to figure out what version of themselves is “allowed” in professional spaces like LinkedIn.
What does authenticity mean to you now, after years of self-protection?
Romina:
For a long time, authenticity felt like a luxury. Something other people could afford because their default settings already fit the mold.
Self-protection wasn’t performative—it was survival. I became an expert at mirroring, softening, over-delivering. I knew how to be what the room needed me to be. But in doing that, I left out the parts of me that didn’t fit the script. The parts that actually make me who I am.
Now, authenticity isn’t something I put on for LinkedIn. It’s how I live. It means showing up whole in work, in writing, in real life. It means letting people see the full picture, even if it makes them uncomfortable. Especially if it sets someone else free.
I’m not interested in being palatable. I’m interested in being real. Because anything less than that isn’t sustainable, and it isn’t me.
Lilian:
You’ve spoken openly about the cost of emotional labor, the one that’s invisible, but so heavy.
What do you wish more workplaces understood about the invisible effort it takes just to show up each day?
Romina:
What I wish more workplaces understood is that showing up isn’t neutral for everyone.
For neurodivergent folks—and really, for anyone who’s ever felt “other”—just being present often comes with a hidden cost. It’s the mental gymnastics of decoding social cues. The pressure to sound polished when your brain is still processing. The hours spent masking so no one has to feel uncomfortable around your difference.
This emotional labor is invisible because it’s preventative. It’s the work we do so that you don’t see the mess. But it’s still work. And over time, it adds up, until you’re overextended, overstimulated, and no one understands why you’re so tired.
And it doesn’t end at work. The emotional labor of being a woman, a mother, a caretaker, a survivor, it follows you into every room. When you carry that much unspoken weight, it makes the spaces you can control feel even more essential. That’s why I need my work to be safe. Human. Clear. It’s not just about inclusion. It’s about sustainability.
This is what leaders need to understand: emotional intelligence isn’t a soft skill. It’s a survival skill. Especially if you want your team to feel safe enough to stay.
Lilian:
In one of your most powerful posts, you wrote about being laid off after requesting a simple accommodation: written instructions. You said: “They didn’t eliminate the role. They eliminated me.” That line resonated with so many people.
How do you reclaim your sense of worth after an experience like that?
Romina:
That post resonated more than I ever expected, and I’m grateful it did, because it reminded me I’m not alone.
I reclaim my worth by building what I couldn’t find and refusing to stay quiet about why it was missing in the first place.
After six months of job searching, I stopped waiting for someone else to offer safety. I started creating work that fits me. Work where I don’t have to perform clarity or apologize for needing it. Where accommodations aren’t a battle, they’re built in.
And I talk about it. Not because it’s healed, but because it’s real. Because telling the truth is its own form of resistance. And because I know I’m not the only one who’s been made to feel difficult just for needing something different.
It’s not easy to share while I’m still inside the story. But silence asks me to disappear. And I’m done disappearing.
“They didn’t eliminate the role. They eliminated me.”
Lilian:
You've built this remarkable space on LinkedIn where neurodivergent professionals—and really, anyone who's felt like an outsider—can feel seen.
Did you expect such a powerful response when you first shared that you're autistic?
Romina:
I knew sharing that I’m autistic would mean something. I just didn’t realize how deeply it would land.
The response was overwhelmingly positive, and unexpectedly personal. People didn’t just comment and send DMs. They told me they felt seen.
That line keeps echoing. It’s stayed with me more than anything else. Not because it validated my story, but because it connected it to so many others.
This experience has reminded me that honesty doesn’t just reveal who you are. It invites other people to be who they are, too. And that has been transformative.
Lilian:
You once wrote: “Authenticity isn't an unlock. It's a lifeline.”
What does that look like for you beyond the posts, in real life?
Romina:
When I say authenticity is a lifeline, I’m not speaking in metaphor. I mean it literally.
If I don’t show up as myself, I get sick. Masking for too long wrecks my nervous system. And at this stage in my life, I don’t have the capacity—or the willingness—to shape-shift for approval. Authenticity isn’t about being brave. It’s about being well.
It’s also the foundation of the work I do for others. I’ve built a full strategic framework around it: the Authenticity Unlock. It’s how I help clients grow on LinkedIn in a way that’s human, sustainable, and trust-driven. Not surface-level storytelling. Not polished vulnerability. Actual alignment that creates traction.
Because when you stop performing and start aligning, you don’t just unlock growth. You unlock wellness.
For me, being real isn’t a marketing angle. It’s how I stay in the room, stay in integrity, and stay standing.
“Authenticity isn’t just an unlock. It’s a lifeline.”
Lilian:
You’ve said you’re not chasing job titles—you’re looking for the right problems to solve.
What kind of challenge makes you want to dive in and get to work?
Romina:
I’m a digital marketer, a born growth strategist. But I’m not chasing numbers for the sake of it. I’m focused on amplifying what matters.
The problems that energize me are the ones rooted in purpose: How do we scale the message that should be heard? How do we grow the brand that’s doing meaningful work? How do we get the right people to pay attention?
Whether I’m working with a founder or a mission-driven team, my goal is the same: clarity, traction, and trust. Growth is the outcome, but purpose is the reason.
Lilian:
For someone reading this who’s still hiding, who maybe hasn’t yet felt safe to unmask, what would you want them to hear?
Romina:
I would never presume to know someone else’s circumstances. I know how hard it can be to stop hiding, especially when hiding has kept you safe.
All I can share is what’s been true for me: I have never felt more like myself than I do now, after deciding to live in my full truth. And yes, not everyone has embraced that version of me. Some of the resistance has come from people closest to me, and that hurts. But I’m learning to build something better: a circle of people who see me clearly and love me without the mask.
That has been life-changing.
Protecting my peace is my priority now. And being true to myself was the first piece of that.
Lilian (closing):
Romina doesn’t just write about being seen.
She creates space for herself and for others to show up whole.
And in a world that still asks people to shrink, that’s not just powerful.
It’s necessary.