Unmasking to Taylor Swift: From The Archer to You’re On Your Own, Kid
Realizing you’ve been living a double life without meaning to is a special kind of vulnerability. You think you’re being “yourself,” but really, you’ve spent years running an internal focus group to decide which version of you is allowed to show up. That’s masking.
For me, Taylor Swift was playing in the background as I started removing my own mask. Three of her songs—The Archer, Mirrorball, and You’re On Your Own, Kid—ended up mapping onto the stages of unmasking I didn’t even know I was going through at the time I couldn’t stop listening to them. Together, they chronicled the terrifying, messy, and occasionally liberating process of figuring out I’m autistic, learning how to be myself, and trying to build a life that actually fits.
Lover and The Archer: Starting to Look Too Closely
When Lover came out in 2019, I was exhausted. Not the “I need a nap” kind of exhausted—the deep, bone-crushing kind that comes from carrying the weight of being a person all wrong. I knew I was some flavor of neurodivergent—I’d lived with anxiety and well-managed depression, sensory overwhelm, and perfectionism long enough to be sure of that. But I was too afraid to look closely. Anxiety and very well-managed depression felt like a safe label.
And then Taylor dropped The Archer.
“Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?”
Hearing that lyric was like being struck by lightning in the worst and best way. It put words to a fear I hadn’t been ready to name: the fear that if anyone really saw me—beneath the layers of overachieving, overthinking, and over-apologizing—they’d leave. But what wrecked me even more was the second part of the question: What if no one stayed, even if I kept the mask on?
Listening to The Archer felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at all the questions I’d been avoiding for years. Why do I keep twisting myself into someone I think people want? Why am I so afraid of being misunderstood? And most terrifying of all: What if I’m not just anxious and depressed, but unaccommodated, and have been the whole time?
The song didn’t give me answers, but it opened something. For the first time, I let myself wonder if there was more to my struggles than I’d ever admitted.
Folklore and Mirrorball: Breaking the Mask
When Folklore came out in 2020, I was standing at a crossroads: I had self-diagnosed as autistic and scheduled my neuropsych evaluation that would formalize that self-diagnosis. For the first time, I was pulling apart the layers of masking I’d built up over decades, and Mirrorball was there to soundtrack every crack and shimmer.
“I’ve never been a natural / All I do is try, try, try.”
If The Archer made me cry in my car, Mirrorball was the song that had me sitting on the bathroom floor, reckoning with the cost of trying to be everything, all the time. I wasn’t just masking—I was performing, reflecting what I thought other people wanted so flawlessly that it felt like I didn’t know who I was half the time anymore.
“I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight.”
Those words felt both like a promise and a warning. I was starting to see the parts of myself I’d hidden away, and while there was beauty in letting the cracks show, there was also grief. Grief for the time I’d spent pretending. Grief for the ways I’d made myself smaller or shinier just to feel safe.
Unmasking wasn’t graceful. It was a slow-motion collapse of the persona I’d spent years perfecting. But every crack in the mirror let a little more light in, and Mirrorball reminded me that even in the rubble, I was still shining.
Midnights and You’re On Your Own, Kid: Building From the Rubble
By the time Midnights came out in 2022, I had left my marriage, embraced my autistic identity, and was standing in the rubble of a life that no longer fit. Unmasking doesn’t come with a roadmap. Once you figure out who you really are, the next question is: What now?
Taylor answered with You’re On Your Own, Kid.
“I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this / I hosted parties and starved my body / Like I’d be saved by a perfect kiss.”
That verse gutted me. It forced me to see just how much I had sacrificed in my pursuit of belonging—my energy, my authenticity, my sense of self. For so long, I had clung to the idea that if I built a perfect life, everything else would fall into place. But perfection was just another mask.
And then came the line that became my mantra:
“I looked around in a blood-soaked gown
And I saw something they can't take away.”
That lyric wasn’t just a lifeline—it was a reckoning. It reminded me that everything I had been through—the exhaustion, the letting go, the grief—had given me something unshakable: clarity. Even though I didn’t know exactly where I was going, I knew I was walking toward a life that felt authentic.
A Winding, Wry, Beautiful Soundtrack
Looking back, The Archer, Mirrorball, and You’re On Your Own, Kid feel like chapters in a book I didn’t know I was writing.
• The Archer was the beginning: the moment I let myself ask the questions I’d been avoiding.
• Mirrorball was the middle: the collapse of a mask that had outlived its usefulness.
• You’re On Your Own, Kid was the turning point: a reminder that rebuilding is never perfect, but it’s worth it.
Taylor Swift didn’t write these songs about autism, but for me, they became a guide. They’ve been there in the moments when I didn’t know who I was, when I was scared to let go, and when I finally realized I didn’t have to be everything constantly anymore.
Unmasking is awkward, painful, and rarely linear. It’s also deeply worth it. Sometimes, all you need to get through it is a good lyric and the permission to cry in your car.