For 57 years, I walked through life not knowing that I was on the autism spectrum. When I finally got the diagnosis, it turned my world upside down, but mostly in a good way. Some of the people in my life asked me why I had bothered to open this can of worms at this late date, because clearly I had been coping up to this point. To that I say, “Would you be willing to just cope with life? Wouldn’t you want to set the bar a bit higher than that for yourself?”
I know I do. So I searched for answers and found them in autism. Suddenly, many of the things that I’ve struggled with throughout my life made much more sense. I will admit, though, that the learning curve has been rather steep since then.
But I did learn a big lesson this week, and it has to do with the way I communicate. My whole life I’ve had the best of intentions when talking to people, so I never understood why I have such a hard time making friends. More often than not, I am misunderstood and/or distrusted. It’s been a great source of pain throughout my life. It has also been a great source of frustration for me, because I could never figure out what was “wrong” with me. I mean, yeah, there’s my sometimes incomprehensible body language and facial expressions that throw people off, but I sensed that this went deeper.
Here’s how I thought I was communicating: 1)Someone tells a story that I find fascinating, and I tell them so, enthusiastically. 2) Their story reminds me of something that happened in my life, or something that I’ve researched for my blog, so I tell them about it. 3) By doing this, I thought I was showing interest in what they were saying, and expanding upon their interest with my story, thus revealing a little about myself. It was my way of saying, “See? We have something in common!”
I thought this type of exchange would bring me closer to people, but it rarely did. In fact, there’s one couple that always exchanges a look and a smirk when I do that. It feels to me like they are “mean girling” me, and it really hurts my feelings.
I finally got some insight from one of the many autism groups that I’m in on Facebook, and it was later confirmed by my therapist. I wish I had learned this about 50 years ago, because it might have saved me a lot of pain and anguish. It will be hard for me to make a change at this late date, but here’s the crux of the matter:
It seems that many people on the spectrum like to communicate by exchanging information. I know I do. I thrive on it. I love learning new things and sharing the things I’ve learned. I honestly believe that everyone has had fascinating experiences and I enjoy having my horizons broadened.
Apparently, though, many neurotypicals do not communicate that way. In fact, they find these information exchanges obnoxious. It never occurred to me that by giving them a similar story back, they think that I’m trying to “one up” them, and then they dismiss me as being arrogant or only interested in talking about myself. Or, if I provide them with additional information on a subject, they feel stupid for not having already known that information, and they associate me with making them feel bad, or they think I’m trying to prove that I’m smarter than they are, and they resent it. Another possibility is that they are finding what I’m saying to either be extremely boring or they think I’m lying.
Jeez, I just can’t win with these neurotypicals. But now I get why I have trouble making friends. They perceive my well-intentioned anecdotes, my overall fascination with trivia and learning and sharing knowledge, and my desire to find the why of things and then share what I’ve found, to instead be proof of arrogance, a sense of superiority, and a talent for being an insufferable bore or a bullsh*t artist.
Well, ouch. If those things were actually true about me, I wouldn’t want to be my friend either. But I swear on all that’s holy that it never occurred to me to share this information to make people feel inferior in any way, and I always thought I told interesting stories. It’s ripping my heart out to think that people perceive me as being capable of ill intentions.
Unfortunately, another thing I’m learning is that once people form an opinion about you, rightly or wrongly, it’s very hard to get them to change it. That, too, would have been good to know about 50 years ago. I wouldn’t have wasted half my life desperately trying to be understood. (And apparently many neurotypicals interpret that as me being defensive, and that, in turn, somehow confirms their suspicions about me. And ‘round and ‘round we go.)
At this point I’m sorely tempted to just give up and live in a cave somewhere. Attempting to communicate in a way that is acceptable to the masses is just too much effort for too little return. And I’m not going to lie, most of the time I prefer solitude anyway.
But I suspect that Dear Husband and my dogs wouldn’t like cave dwelling. That, and all the books I have stored to put in my little free library would get covered in mildew. So I soldier on, and continue to be misunderstood.
I asked my therapist about new communication strategies, and he said that people love to talk about themselves, so I should ask questions about what they’re saying, even if I already know the answers, and keep any additional info to myself. Eventually they might be so gratified by my interest that maybe, just maybe, they’ll want to learn things about (and from) me, too.
I plan to practice this new strategy in future conversations, but it’s going to kill me. If will feel strange (and more than a bit ironic) to be disingenuous in order to be trusted and liked. And if it works, it means that the bottom line is that people don’t really care what I have to say or what I think, and that, in turn, will make me like them a bit less.
It turns out that people just want to be heard and praised and validated. Here I thought I was a raconteur, only to find out that that’s something to be avoided. I’ll have to bite my tongue a lot.
And of course, of course I only discover this communication strategy after moving to the Pacific Northwest, where the apparent cultural norm is not to ask too many questions, or people will think you are prying. (The slogan for the state of Washington should be, “I’m Happy to Help, but Mind Your Own Business.”)
So where does that leave me? Ugh. This is just too hard. At least I’m not having to date anymore.
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I would love your insight regarding my next communication hurdle, dear reader. Here it is: When I offer to help someone on a chore or a project, if they say no, I believe that they truly don’t want help. Usually I’ll add, “Well, let me know if you need me for anything.” and then I go on my merry way.
I’m now learning that this sometimes makes people irritated or frustrated with me or disappointed in me, or something similarly “I’ve-screwed-up-again-ish”. Is there some unwritten rule that if someone says they don’t need help, you’re supposed to keep asking? How many no’s are required for you to take no for an answer? How far apart are you supposed to spread your inquiries in order to avoid sounding like a myna bird? Or are you supposed to get pushy and help despite their protests?
I seem to be lost in a labyrinth of neurotypical subtext, and the Minotaur is hot on my heels. I’d love your thoughts on the matter in the comments below. Thanks as always, dear reader.
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The View from a Drawbridge 