As an AuDHD individual, my journey with socialising has been… let’s call it a rollercoaster. From a young age, I was what some might describe as “social enough to get by but weird enough that other kids knew I wasn’t normal.” I didn’t realise it at the time, but I fell into that all-too-familiar category of being tolerated, not truly included.
In primary school, I had a tight-knit group of three lads. They were my safe space, but beyond that, my social life was sparse. Other kids tolerated me because they had to, not because they wanted to. Birthday party invitations were courtesy of polite parents rather than genuine friendships.
One memory stands out: playing hide and seek with a group of kids who conveniently “forgot” I was playing. They all ran off to do something else, leaving me hiding for far longer than necessary. I stayed hidden, waiting, because I was a rule-follower. It didn’t even occur to me that they’d ditched me. Looking back, I can see this for what it was—bullying—but at the time, it simply didn’t register. That was just how kids behaved, wasn’t it?
The Odd One Out
I didn’t follow pop culture, had zero interest in fashion, boys, or makeup, and didn’t understand the social dynamics that dominated school life. By the time I reached secondary school, I gravitated towards the “uber-nerd lads” who talked about Star Trek and computers. They didn’t care about social norms either, which made them my people.
But the wider world wasn’t so kind. A lot of people weren’t nice to me, though they never seemed to have a clear reason why. I didn’t dress oddly, smell bad, or do anything that would make me an obvious target. I was just… me, and that seemed to be enough to draw ire.
I was a shy child who somehow found confidence in drama class. Acting became my outlet, my way of expressing myself. I poured myself into learning about it and even started feeling more at ease talking to my peers. Looking back, I can see that this wasn’t genuine social development—it was masking. I was learning how to present a version of myself that was more palatable to others.
The Masking Masterclass
By the time I entered the workforce, I thought I’d nailed socialising. I was, in my mind, a “great communicator” and a “people person.” But what I actually excelled at was talking at people. I could info-dump like a pro, spewing out endless facts and information with enthusiasm that was often overwhelming for my audience.
Work became my social life. I didn’t need to see friends outside of work hours because I thought I was getting all the interaction I needed during office hours. I believed I was thriving.
But cracks began to show. Colleagues were friendly at first, but over time, they withdrew. Complaints started to trickle in: I was too loud, too blunt, too rigid. I’d unknowingly upset people by asking too many questions or challenging processes, thinking I was being helpful. I thought I was excelling at my job, but my social missteps undermined me.
The “Get Social” Era
About 10 years ago, personal upheaval made me reevaluate my life. I decided it was time to get social. A group from work invited me out, and I went along, hoping this was my chance to finally crack the code.
At first, it was fun. I laughed, joined in, and felt like I belonged. But what followed was three years of relentless anxiety. Every interaction became a minefield. I constantly second-guessed myself, wondering what I’d done wrong this time. Someone was always upset with me, whether it was for being too rigid, too literal, or just too… me.
The breaking point came when someone sat me down and listed all the reasons why I was unbearable: too loud, too honest, too intense, too much of a rule-follower. I was devastated. This feedback confirmed my worst fear—that I was inherently flawed and unworthy of friendship.
The experience triggered a mental health breakdown. I retreated into myself, abandoning any attempt to socialise. My anxiety eased almost instantly, and for the first time in years, I felt safe.
A New Beginning
When I had Large Child, my social world changed. I started chatting with other parents during preschool pick-up. These interactions were brief and low-pressure, which suited me perfectly. Over time, I began to recognise faces, and some of these casual acquaintances turned into something more.
When summer holidays arrived, myself and three other mums decided to get together to keep our kids entertained. I was terrified. I didn’t want to mess it up again. But to my surprise, these women embraced me. They laughed at my jokes, invited me to join them again, and didn’t bat an eye when I nervously mentioned that I was waiting for an autism assessment.
Finding My People
It took time, but I realised these mums were my people. They accepted me wholeheartedly, quirks and all. They didn’t mind my info-dumping, my need for structure, or my occasional retreat into hermit mode.
The best part? Many of them had neurodivergent kids and were likely neurodivergent themselves. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged.
I’ve learned so much from this experience. It takes me over a year to form a genuine connection with someone, and that’s okay. I need boundaries to avoid burnout, and that’s okay too. Sometimes I go through quiet patches where I don’t feel like seeing anyone, and guess what? That’s okay.
The Truth About Socialising
For most of my life, I tried to socialise the way I thought I was supposed to. I mimicked the behaviours I saw around me, forcing myself into spaces that didn’t suit me. It was exhausting and, ultimately, unsustainable.
Starting over, on my terms, allowed me to discover what works for me. I found people who accept me as I am, and in doing so, I reclaimed my confidence and joy in connecting with others.
Final Thoughts
If you’re struggling with relationships, maybe the problem isn’t you. Maybe it’s the environment or expectations you’re trying to conform to. Socialising doesn’t have to look the same for everyone.
Take the time to figure out what makes you feel comfortable. Seek out people who value you for who you are, not who you think you should be.
It’s not selfish to set boundaries. It’s not unreasonable to need time and space. And it’s certainly not wrong to be exactly who you are.
You’re not broken. You’re just navigating the world in your own way—and that’s more than enough.
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