Discovering My Autism

Most mornings begin well.

There is prayer. There is Scripture. There is a quiet intention to be kind, measured, and encouraging. I often start the day thinking, Today I will be cheerful. Today I will say the right things.

And then something shifts.

It is rarely dramatic. No raised voices. No obvious conflict. Just a sentence — perhaps the tone is wrong, perhaps the timing is off, perhaps my face is doing something I don’t realise. Whatever it is, the atmosphere changes.

From that moment, the mental spiral begins.

• What did I say?
• Was it the wording?
• Was it my tone?
• Do I need to apologise?
• If so, for what exactly?
• How should the apology be phrased?
• Should I try to start a “normal” conversation?
• What does “normal” even sound like?

By the time I have run through these questions several times, the day feels heavy.

The Invisible Work

What many people do automatically requires deliberate effort for me.

Putting myself into another person’s perspective does not come instinctively. (Psychologists call this “Theory of Mind.”) Naming and describing my own emotions is also difficult — a trait often referred to as alexithymia.

So when something feels “off,” I do not have a quick internal explanation. I have a puzzle.

Meanwhile, my senses are busy. I may be distracted by movement, light, or sound. Or I may shut down and stare into space while my mind attempts to process what just happened. Facial expressions do not always match tone. Tone does not always match words. When they conflict, I become uncertain which signal to trust.

If I interpret anger — whether it is there or not — my nervous system reacts quickly. Not thoughtfully. Quickly. The urge is to retreat, to escape, to protect. All of this can happen in the space of a few minutes.

And it is tiring.

The difficult part is this: the day usually begins with good intentions. I genuinely want to connect well with the person I share my life with. I want warmth. I want ease.

Good Intentions, Complicated Outcomes

But communication is not simply about wanting it to go well. It is a two-way process. When one person has to consciously analyse tone, wording, facial expression, timing, and possible hidden meaning — while also managing sensory input and emotional confusion — the effort becomes enormous.
By mid-afternoon, I often feel as though I have run a marathon. Externally, very little may have happened. Internally, it has been relentless.

For those who communicate intuitively, it may appear that misunderstandings are simply carelessness or stubbornness. From the inside, however, it feels more like trying to tune a radio that never quite locks onto the correct frequency.

A Different Way of Seeing It

The desire for harmony is real. The effort is real. The exhaustion is real.
Perhaps part of the answer lies not only in trying harder, but in recognising that communication differences are exactly that — differences. Where one person relies on instinct, another relies on analysis. Where one assumes shared understanding, another must construct it step by step.

And constructing understanding, all day long, is hard work.

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