For most of my life, I thought communication was one of my strengths. I can talk—endlessly—especially about things I’m passionate about. That’s good communication, right? Turns out, not exactly.
It wasn’t until my 30s that I realised my communication style was… different. People often described me as blunt or abrupt, which confused me because, internally, I felt warm and friendly. Why were people perceiving me as cold or confrontational when I was just a regular peron with zero bad intentions?
This disconnect between my intentions and how others received me caused massive anxiety. I’d leave conversations feeling like I’d somehow messed up, but I never understood why. I started avoiding social situations altogether because it felt like no matter how hard I tried, I was always upsetting someone. At one point, I genuinely believed I was just a terrible person who shouldn’t bother trying to make friends. My fears were compounded when one person took the time to explain how unbearable and annoying my communication was, and that was why no one liked me. Nice.
Realising I Was Autistic Explained Everything
When I came to the realisation that I am autistic, everything clicked—especially when I started noticing the same patterns in my five-year-old. It turns out, I’m not some unbearable human who ruins conversations by existing. I’m just incredibly direct, and a lot of people find that uncomfortable.
Many neurotypical people have learned to communicate through subtlety, social cues, and implication. They don’t always say what they mean outright, expecting others to “get it” through tone or context. That’s not how my brain works. I take words at face value, and if something is unclear, I ask for clarification. This, apparently, is a crime.
A Classic Example of Communication Breakdown
Let’s say someone is invited to an event. Instead of saying “no,” they reply with, “Oh, my car is in the garage that week.”
A neurotypical person hears: “I can’t make it.”
I hear: “My car is broken.”
My logical response? “Do you want to go? I can give you a lift, it’s no trouble.”
At this point, the person usually looks uncomfortable, gets defensive, or acts annoyed. I don’t get it—wasn’t I just being helpful? What actually happened is that I forced them into a direct answer they weren’t ready to give. They wanted to avoid saying “no” outright, but I didn’t pick up on the hint. In their mind, I ignored the social rules and put them on the spot.
Why Directness Feels Like an Attack to Some People
For a lot of people, direct communication is uncomfortable because it doesn’t allow for nuance, excuses, or social buffering. It demands a clear response, and many people aren’t used to that.
It’s not that I choose to ignore social cues—I just don’t understand them. When people hint at things, it’s like listening to the adults from Charlie Brown: “Wah wah wah.” No useful information.
Embracing Direct Communication
These days, I no longer feel bad about my communication style. It’s not a flaw—it’s an asset. I make it clear to the people around me:
- If you ask me a question, expect a direct answer.
- If you need something from me, say it outright—I cannot read between the lines, no matter how hard I try.
- If you want to decline an invite, just say no! I won’t be offended.
- If I ask you a question, I need a direct answer from you. A political style, duck and weave of an answer is likely to lead to me becoming agitated because I can’t understand if you are saying yes or no.
Despite this, some people still refuse to communicate directly, even when I explain that I need clarity. I suppose it’s possible that they are so unfamiliar with direct communication that it’s something that is difficult to attempt.
I am no longer apologetic about what I need. There is nothing I can do about the way my brain functions, and in many cases it can be an asset. A lot of work meetings benefit from someone cutting through the fluff and poking directly at the issue. I am the Queen of Awkward Conversations and I believe it can lead to healthier personal and work relationships all around (in the right circumstances).
I don’t speak neurotypical. I speak with accuracy, clarity, and zero subtext. If that’s uncomfortable for someone, well… I hope I can help them learn how freeing it can be.
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