Cloak of Competency
Part 2 of 2: Cloak of Competency, The Cost We Don’t Talk About Enough
Before I understood the Cloak of Competency, I paid a price I couldn’t explain.
After the conference in April, my body made it impossible to ignore again. The fatigue. The flare-ups. The days of recovery that no one around me could see coming because, from where they stood, I had done something reasonable.
But that’s the thing: the visible part of what I do has never been the whole story. The real work wasn’t just the sessions. It was the constant shifting:
moving from expert to parent
from advocate to peer
from “on stage” to informal conversations in the hallway
from explaining FASD... to living it in real time, in the same space, on the same day
That kind of switching isn’t just social. It’s neurological. It’s physiological. And for those of us with FASD, especially when layered with other health conditions, it adds up quickly.
What Years of This Actually Do to a Body
Here’s what I haven’t said out loud enough: the years before I understood the Cloak of Competency weren’t just confusing, they were damaging.
When you don’t have a name for what’s happening, you don’t protect yourself from it. You push through and recover in private. You show up again because the work matters and because you’ve convinced yourself (and others) that you can handle it. Repeat that enough times, over enough years, without awareness or accommodation, and the toll stops being temporary.
It has had long-term physical health consequences. I’m not saying this for sympathy. I’m saying it because it’s true and because I think a lot of people in this community are living it right now, still in the “before” understanding phase, still without a name for it, still wondering why they keep crashing in ways that feel disproportionate to what they did.
This is why naming the Cloak matters. Not just intellectually, but practically, as a form of protection.
What “Doing It Differently” Actually Means
There were moments during the conference when I was surrounded by others with FASD, and I went quiet. Not to be disengaged, just still.
Looking back, I think those were the moments when something important was happening. I was being allowed to just be, without performing any version of myself. And something in my body recognized the difference. So this is what I’m learning to hold: capacity is not the same as capability.
I am capable. That’s not the question. The question is what it costs to demonstrate that capability in any given context and whether that cost is sustainable. Appearing “fine” doesn’t mean there isn’t a cost.
If you see someone with FASD who seems articulate, capable, and “high functioning,” there’s a good chance you’re seeing a well-developed Cloak of Competency. What you’re not seeing is the energy it took to get there, the recovery that will be required afterward, or the internal effort happening behind every word.
Sustainability has to matter just as much as impact.
I don’t want to stop doing this work; it matters too much to me. But I also can’t keep doing it the way I did before, when I didn't have language for what it was costing me. So I’m making space, intentionally, not reluctantly, for the version of me that doesn’t have to wear a cloak at all. Because that version? He’s the one who makes all the others sustainable.
If you’re someone who lives this too, I see you.
If you work alongside people with FASD, I hope this gives you a little more context for what “competency” can sometimes hide. It’s not about doing less. It’s about making sure we can keep showing up, but without it costing us everything.
Written by Carl Young
Note: We at Embracing Neurodiversity cover four overlapping neurodiverse symptoms related to autism (ASD), attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), fetal alcohol spectrum disorders (FASD), and trauma.