How Do I Human? And Other Questions I Can't Answer

It happened again. I thought I was being helpful—no, super helpful. My friend was facing a tricky, time-sensitive task, and I sprang into action. I made adjustments, grabbed my laptop, and got to work, doing what I do best: efficient research and problem-solving.

As I worked, I checked in regularly, asking for their input at every step. From my perspective, this was a team effort, and I was nailing it. Yet, when the task was complete, my friend seemed annoyed. When I asked if anything was wrong, I was blindsided by their response: I had been aggressive, pushy, and had steamrolled them through the process.

I was shocked. I thought I had been collaborative and supportive. I hadn’t noticed a single objection or hesitation in their responses. But here’s the thing—those objections had been there. They just hadn’t registered with me.

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The Communication Gap

This situation highlighted a significant challenge I face as an autistic adult: understanding indirect communication.

When my friend expressed frustration or tried to slow me down, I didn’t interpret their comments as signals to pause. For example, a statement like “That doesn’t seem correct” was, to them, an invitation to discuss the issue further. To me, it was a question to resolve swiftly and move on from. Comments like “sure” or “whatever” didn’t register as signs of irritation; I took them as neutral confirmations to continue.

This wasn’t about me ignoring them—it was about how my brain processes language. Without a clear and direct “stop” or “no,” I don’t naturally pick up on the subtle cues that someone might want to change course.

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The Emotional Impact

Learning that I had upset my friend despite my best intentions was devastating. I want to be the best friend I can be, and it’s crushing to know that my efforts can come across as pushy or inconsiderate.

In moments like this, I find myself asking: Why am I so bad at helping people? Why, after 40-plus years, do I still struggle to hear what others are saying? My inability to pick up on context feels like a personal failure, and I often end up drowning in feelings of shame and inadequacy.

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Reframing Responsibility

After some reflection, I realised something important: While I take responsibility for my communication challenges, it’s not only my responsibility. Communication is a two-way street, and if someone knows I’m autistic, they share in the responsibility of adapting their communication style to help bridge the gap.

I’ve taken steps to explain my needs to those around me. I’ve told them that I struggle with indirect communication and need clear, direct language to understand what they’re trying to convey. When someone doesn’t adjust their communication style accordingly, how can I be expected to “hear” them?

This isn’t about blaming others—it’s about recognising that effective communication requires effort from both parties.

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Finding Solutions

After this experience, my friend and I agreed on a strategy to prevent future misunderstandings. We decided to use code words during tasks or conversations. These are unusual, random words chosen to grab my attention and signal that something needs to be addressed.

For example, instead of a subtle “That doesn’t seem right,” my friend might now say “DINOSAUR RAMPAGE!” or “BANANAS BANANAS!”, whatever we choose as a code word doesn’t really matter. These phrases force my brain to stop and focus, giving us a moment to recalibrate and ensure we’re on the same page.

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Why Subtlety Fails

For me, subtle comments and indirect cues are like background noise—they go in one ear and out the other. My brain is wired to prioritise direct, actionable statements, so anything else often gets filtered out.

This isn’t laziness or stubbornness; it’s just how my neurodivergent mind works. Code words and direct communication act as bridges, helping me navigate the gaps in understanding that can arise in social interactions.

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A Balanced Approach

I’ve learned that addressing communication challenges isn’t about placing blame—it’s about finding solutions that work for everyone involved. As an autistic person, I’ll continue to advocate for my needs and strive to improve my social skills. At the same time, I hope those around me will meet me halfway by using language that’s clear and direct.

This experience has taught me that communication isn’t just about speaking or listening—it’s about understanding. And when both parties are willing to adapt, that understanding becomes much easier to achieve.

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Closing Thoughts

If you’re autistic and struggle with similar challenges, know that you’re not alone. Communicating your needs to others and finding tools like code words can make a world of difference. And if you’re a friend or family member of someone who’s neurodivergent, remember that small adjustments in how you communicate can have a huge impact.

At the end of the day, we all want the same thing: to be heard, understood, and valued. With a little effort and empathy, we can make that happen—together.