For nearly 60 years, I’ve been walking around with autism without even realizing it. I mean, I always knew I didn’t fit in. I always knew I was misunderstood. I just didn’t know why.
Now that I’ve finally been officially diagnosed, I am starting to understand many of the things that have confused me throughout life. Puzzle pieces are falling into place. When your brain processes information completely differently than the neurotypical brains in the world do, communication tends to jump the tracks quite a bit.
It’s not unusual for people to be irritated by me, or to assume I’m just being aggressive, argumentative, judgmental, or I’m acting stupid to avoid doing something, or that I’m challenging authority. They couldn’t be more wrong about my motivations, so I’m then confused and frustrated by their reaction, and I try to ask more questions to figure out what’s going on. This, in turn, is used as proof that their negative assumptions are correct.
At my current job, I’ve gotten the reputation that I “push back too much”, and the original guy who said that about me spread that poisonous misinterpretation to others, not because he was attempting to turn people against me, but simply because he thought it was true. Now, every interaction I have with certain people is viewed through that lens. That’s a recipe for failure for me, and it isn’t even a recipe of my own making.
But I have to continue to ask questions, because I need answers in order to do my job. It has gotten to where that guy and a few others have simply started ignoring my emails entirely, which is not at all helpful to my situation, and causes me a great deal of stress. It’s frustrating to go through life needing answers, and being misunderstood.
No two people are alike, and that’s also the case for those of us who are on the spectrum. I’m not speaking for all autistic people here. But I would not be surprised if what I’m saying here resonates with quite a few of them.
When I ask a question, there are only three possible reasons why I’ve asked. 1) I need information in order to understand what is going on. 2) I’m genuinely curious about a certain topic, and want to learn more. Or 3) I have figured out that when you ask questions about a person, it seems to break the ice, because people tend to appreciate talking about things in which they have expertise. It’s definitely better than awkward silence. (Figuring this out, for me, was like finding the holy grail. It’s a rare occasion when this doesn’t work, except perhaps when I ask something intrusive. I am the first to admit that I lack subtlety.)
I can assure you that I’m very literal. The question you hear is what I want to know. There is no hidden agenda (unless you count that “breaking the ice” thing).
It is only recently that I’ve come to understand that neurotypicals ask questions for those reasons as well, but they also ask them for many other reasons that I can’t really comprehend or relate to. Neurotypicals seem to live in a world of subtext, implications, and inferences. There’s this other level of language, along with body language, that flies right over my head.
It seems that questions can be quite loaded in ways I never realized. Neurotypicals, I’m told, often make extreme policy changes without even knowing why they’re doing it themselves. In those instances, they find my questions embarrassing or uncomfortable. They view them as my attempt to reveal their incompetence.
I’m not trying to be obnoxious or uncooperative, truly. I’m capable of change. But for me to do something, it has to make sense to me. If it doesn’t, I have to ask questions until it does make sense. If your response to my question causes further confusion for me, then I have to ask even more questions.
I find it all but impossible to let an illogical thing go until it finally makes sense to me. “Because I said so” throws me into “this does not compute” mode, and I tend to become incapable of functioning. At the risk of proving that I’m a total nerd, it reminds me of that scene in the original Star Trek, in the I, Mudd episode.
KIRK: He lied. Everything Harry tells you is a lie. Remember that. Everything Harry tells you is a lie.
HARRY MUDD: Listen to this carefully, Norman. I am lying.
NORMAN: You say you are lying, but if everything you say is a lie then you are telling the truth, but you cannot tell the truth because everything you say is a lie. You lie. You tell the truth. But you cannot for. Illogical! Illogical! Please explain.
Looking at me from the outside, my continual Why, Why, Why, to a neurotypical, must look like I’m a three year old who’s just wanting to get attention by being a pain in the butt. Hence, their irritation toward me.
I am well aware that my asking you a question is slowing you down or creating additional work for you. But your lack of a logical response is slowing me down and rendering me incapable of doing the task at hand. So if you want to get me out of your hair, if you want to move on to other things, just. Answer. The. Question. And then I’ll be able to get back to my logical treadmill, and the cogs of industry will spin smoothly once again.
Trust me, just having to talk about this stuff has me feeling irritated, too. If I had a penny for every time I thought, “Just answer the damned question!!!” I’d be a billionaire.
Just answering the question seems so simple to me. Ask me anything. I’ll tell you. I have no filter.
Another bone of contention when asking questions seems to have to do with social hierarchy. Apparently, some people feel that they’re high enough in the pecking order to simply be obeyed without question even if what they’re wanting from you seems to be total nonsense. Way up there, all questions are viewed as a challenge of power.
That seems absurd to me. If you are the leader, wouldn’t you want the people who work for you to understand what’s going on so that they can operate more efficiently for you? I’ve never seen a situation that ended well when people were kept in the dark. In fact, blind obedience seems really dangerous and scary to me. If I wanted to function in that realm, I’d have joined the military.
Requiring people to check their brain at the door is also extremely dismissive of people’s abilities. You’re missing out on a lot of talent that way. Why would you want to do that? WHY?
I’m not trying to be intrusive or aggressive or judgmental or insubordinate by asking that. I genuinely would like to understand. The fact that society is able to function with so many unanswered questions is beyond me.
Another thing I’m starting to realize is that neurotypicals do not like people to be direct. They like you to read between the lines, blow smoke, and make assumptions based on context. Sadly, I don’t know how to do this.
I also struggle with rhetorical questions. If you didn’t want an answer, why would you ask? That’s one of those subtle neurotypical things that is beyond my ken.
I once sent a boss into a blind rage when he ended a statement with the phrase, “Am I right?” and I said no. Then I interpreted his look of shock to mean, “Really? Please explain.” And so I did. He actually ran away from me. And I thought, “Dude… you asked.”
Another common source of confusion is that a lot of times, when it seems like a neurotypical person is asking for your opinion, they’re not wanting an honest answer, What they want is affirmation of their opinion, which you’re supposed to somehow already know. For example, if someone asks you for your opinion about a couch they just bought, they don’t want you to tell them that you dislike the color. They want you to tell them it’s great, because if they bought it, they think it’s great and they want confirmation that it’s great. Nothing less will do. NTs are often offended by the truth.
So, yeah, is it any wonder we’re so often misunderstood? Is it surprising that many autistic people can’t hold jobs or relationships, despite having no ill will toward others? Can you see why interacting with NTs can feel like walking in a mine field for us?
I hope, with this added context, you will cut the next autistic person that you encounter a little bit of slack. We’ve been run through the wringer of human discourse more than once in our lives. We’re a little bit drained.
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The View from a Drawbridge 