Tag: neurotypicals

What My Autism Diagnosis Has Taught Me About Communication

I just can’t win with these neurotypicals.

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.

Like the way my neurodivergent mind works? Then you’ll enjoy my book! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5

You Neurotypicals Sure Do Talk Funny

“Get to the point!!!!”

Sometimes I feel as though I’m in a foreign country, even in my own town. Usually that’s because I’m with a group of neurotypical people who are speaking in their neurotypical ways, and I just don’t get it. On days when I’m tired, they may as well be speaking Esperanto, for all the sense it makes to my overwhelmed autistic brain. It can be disconcerting on the best of days, and completely isolating on the worst.

When neurotypicals hear me speak, they often describe me as blunt. To them, that means I must be being rude. But no. I’m just taking a direct path to the point I wish to make. I don’t like to waste time with abstractions and vagaries and metaphors. However, I do like to be sure I’m giving you all the pertinent details, and it seems that many NTs find that boring.

If you think I ask too many questions simply to be contrary, you’re wrong. I’m asking those questions to understand. I’m trying to get to those pertinent details that you seem to think are unnecessary.

And here’s the best way to drive me absolutely crazy: don’t answer a question. This is even worse now that so much of our communication is in writing. I assume most neurotypicals think they can get away with avoiding awkward questions simply by not answering them. That’s a lot harder to do when you’re face to face, but all too easy to do via text or email. Just because it’s easy doesn’t make it right.

If you’re ignoring my question, I can only conclude that you find it irrelevant, which is extremely rude and dismissive. Or perhaps you are afraid I won’t like the answer. But I wouldn’t be asking the question if I didn’t feel the need for an answer. Don’t cut me off from information just because direct communication makes you squirm. It’s the only way for me to know what’s going on.

From my point of view, NTs can be frustrating, because they seem to want me to read between the lines and jump to the same conclusions that they jump to. Inside, I’m screaming, “Get to the point!!!!” But my therapist assures me that neurotypical people often don’t know what their point is. That was eye-opening. They are so busy being subtle and vague so as not to ruffle feathers that they aren’t even sure what it is that they want or need or feel. That must be exhausting.

Why can’t you take responsibility for your own message? Don’t make me have to solve a puzzle to figure out what you’re trying to say. Just say it. I suppose if you’re vague enough and someone takes offense to your message, you can backpedal furiously and claim that’s not what you meant. It must be nice to have that amount of social wiggle room. I just find it a lot easier to say what I mean and mean what I say, and consequences be damned.

That is not me trying to be obstinate or manipulative. It’s not me being selfish or acting stupid to avoid doing something. It’s me being autistic and devoid of an agenda.

Please stop trying to force me to become neurotypical, because it’s not possible. It’s time to let go of the fantasy that autistic people can just snap out of it with the proper amount of nagging. We just don’t speak your language fluently, and we can’t seem to drop the neurodiverse “accent” just because it annoys you. And here’s a big ol’ scoop of food for thought for you: we shouldn’t have to.

And then there’s the whole body language thing. I’m focused on your words. I can’t be bothered to take in the change of the shape of your smile or the way your head is tilted. For me, it’s all about the words.

In fact, it’s so much about the words for me that I wish you wouldn’t focus on my body language either, because it’ll be confusing to you. I may not be looking you in the eye, but I’m paying close attention to what you’re saying. I may not be smiling, but that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy or disapproving or judging. It usually means I’m concentrating on your words so much that I forget that my face needs to be doing something in order for you to feel comfortable. Sorry.

Also, I have a very capable brain, but it has a slow processor. I often have to mull things over, or let them sink in, before I can respond. If I’m pausing, it’s not a sign of disagreement or dim-wittedness. It’s more like a slower wifi speed. The information may be moving at a snail’s pace, but it still has value. And if you are a fast talker, my anxiety goes through the roof and my processing time gets even slower. That often makes people get impatient with me, and that makes them talk even faster, which… well, I’m sure you can see the downward spiral toward total communication meltdown.

If your speech is peppered with the current pop culture references or cutting edge slang, odds are very good that you’ll have lost me. I’ve been described in many ways, but I’m fairly certain that no one has ever accused me of having my finger on the pulse of society. (Not that I’d want to anyway.)

I’ll also be the last person in the room to get a joke, and I find that humiliating because then I seem to become the joke. I particularly hate sarcasm, because it feels like cruelty to me. It’s like lingual bait and switch. People that use that form of humor are enjoying the fact that they are confusing people, and from my perspective, that’s just mean. I’m the easiest mark you’ll ever find. Let’s just concede that you won and that I don’t have a whip-crack mind. Let’s move on, shall we? Too much of that “making others look stupid” tactic and I’ll start avoiding you.

I am a very literal person. If you state an opinion, about me or anything else, I assume that’s really what you believe, because that’s how I process opinions. I’ve taken people literally my whole life, so I find it really hard to think they’re not doing the same when I speak. So, to avoid confusion, you can rest assured that I mean what I say. I speak my truth, always.

Also, if you ask for my opinion, I’ll give it to you. Why does that cause so much resentment? You asked. I don’t read between the lines, where it apparently says, “I don’t really want your opinion. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings, and in exchange I expect you to reflect the opinion that will be most agreeable to me.”

I’m rather new at autistic awareness, but what I’m finding is that neurotypical people are offended when they’re told the truth, and neurodivergent people are confused and offended when they’re told a lie. Of course, no two people are exactly alike. Your results may vary. But now that I’m more aware of our differences and similarities, that’s the conclusion I have arrived at. I don’t thrive in a lying world. I can’t understand why anyone would prefer that.

Here are a few examples of what it’s like to interact with others, from my neurodivergent perspective:

During spring break in college, I brought a friend home with me. She had to share a bedroom with my sister. At one point my sister wanted to go to bed early, and my friend said, “Would you mind if I left the light on and read a book?” My sister said, “Sure! No problem. Turn the light on any time.”

The next day, we got home late, and my friend went into the bedroom and turned the light on. My sister sat up and screamed at her to the point that my friend ran out of the bedroom and asked to share the very uncomfortable sofa bed with me. When I tried to defend my friend to my family the next day, none of them could understand why she would take it literally when my sister said, “Sure! No problem. Turn the light on any time.” To this day, I still think, “Why wouldn’t she? That’s what you said…”

Recently, a coworker showed me, for about the 10th time, how she cleans the bathroom sink. I couldn’t understand why she kept doing that. I learned how she cleaned the sink the first time she showed me. I didn’t see the point of all that repetition, but that’s not unusual for me. Finally, after months of this foolishness, I figured out that she wasn’t trying to show me how she cleans the sink, she was trying to show me how she wanted me to clean the sink, because she doesn’t like the way I do it.

Why didn’t she just say that? It could have saved a lot of frustration on her part. It would definitely have saved a lot of confusion on mine. So please, just cut the crap. Say what you mean. Life’s too short for all this neurotypical foolishness.

Which leads me to one other issue that seems to be the source of the bulk of my conflicts: It never occurs to me that when I express an opinion, people assume that means I want them to have the same opinion, and the result is that they become upset at that prospect. But who the hell am I to tell you what to think? I can only tell you what I think, and even though it is just my opinion, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a fact that I have that opinion, and that’s absolutely, positively as far as my thought process on the subject goes. What you do with it after that is up to you.

At the risk of sounding blunt, I have to say that you neurotypicals are the weird ones. You expect people to be clairvoyant. You weave and bob and meander and backtrack. Excuse me, but I can’t follow you. It’s all I can do to walk a straight line, here.

Like the way my neurodivergent mind works? Then you’ll enjoy my book! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5