Loneliness

I do introverted activities. I leave social events early. I don’t “chit-chat.” Do I choose to be alone? Do I make myself lonely?... I’ll leave that for you to decide, but first, let’s investigate what often leads to loneliness as an autistic. 

When you have autism, making friends does not come easily. Most of my “small talk” is pre-planned, I don’t understand many jokes, I miss sarcasm, and I have a very, very short social battery. Add to that “quirky” rigid behaviors like my compulsive routines, my inflexibility to change plans, a strict bedtime, rocking, leg bouncing, zoning out, my lack of empathy, and blunt comments, and you can imagine how many people walk up to me and say: “Kloey you’re so cool! Let’s be friends!” I acknowledge these faults and autistic challenges and try not to let them stop me. I repeat, I try not to let them stop me. Most of the time, I mask (hide my true self) to find friends or, I end up as the “chronic afterthought,” the friend that people claim is their friend because it’s cool to have an autistic friend, but that when the time comes around, doesn’t get invited because I’m high maintenance (rigid behaviors) or I’m awkward (can’t read the room). When I run into these “friends” in a public group, they are more than happy to hang out together; however, after we part ways, that group of people continues to get together without me. “Try harder,” you say. Alright, I text them and try to plan something. They ignore it or are “busy.” Not having the mental energy or emotional regulation skills to be let down again, I let it go. I’ve learned to let situations like this not bother me. 

Scenario two: try to be friends with someone else. I put myself out there and try to talk to some new people at a volunteer event. I’m racked with nerves, trying to mask so they don’t sense anything weird. I read off a mental script of responses I planned for the day, and I try my hardest to make eye contact and act interested in what they are talking about (even though I could care less). I even try my best to feign empathy when they share a personal story. I think I am successful, but nonetheless, I feel completely exhausted; I put so much mental energy into communicating “correctly” that even if they would extend an invite to me for later, I am too mentally exhausted to attend…

Later that evening, I started to second-guess everything I said and did. Did I say the right thing? Did I make the right facial expression? Somehow I left the interaction with even more anxiety than I had going into it. My brain hyper-fixates on my doubts and I can’t get to sleep that night. When one of the people I met texts me later that week and asks to meet up, I am over the moon! I did it! But then I remember how exhausting, stressful, and emotionally draining the interaction was. Do I want to go through that again? Will it be loud, bright, or chaotic where she asks to meet? Maybe I just stay home and practice my cello, read, or color. I know I like those activities and I am comfortable in my room where I know the sensory stimuli. (I am in control of how those activities go). Greater yet, those activities are relaxing, not stressful. I decided to stay home. Do I make myself lonely? I guess I do. Is it my fault? Is it autism’s fault? Maybe both. For people with autism, socializing is not easy, so we have to make a choice: face rejection (scenario 1), face discomfort, stress, and insomnia (scenario 2), or just stay alone. Often, we choose option three. This is what gets us labeled as “withdrawn.”

The next logical thing people ask is: do you enjoy being alone? Mostly, yes. This is by our own design, and that of environmental influences like the rejection and mental exhaustion I just spoke of. When we choose to be alone, it is because we enjoy being alone. While there is no scientific data to explain why people with autism seem to be more content when they are alone (and can be alone for longer periods of time), I can explain from personal experience. When alone, the world is less overwhelming and less stressful. People with autism perceive 42% more information at rest than the neurotypical population, (i.e. our brains are on turbodrive all the time). Because of this, our brains need more time to calm down, and they can do so when we are alone in a controlled environment with no conversation. We also enjoy time alone because we can do preferred activities. Another plus side is that our solitary activities can all be done without needing to mask, struggling to communicate, scripting conversations, deciphering facial expressions, or facing other people’s judgment. Being alone is the only state that doesn’t drain us. I want you to remember that we (people with autism) don’t wallow in our solitude, so neither should you. I have no shame admitting I’m a solitary creature. Solitude is just something we need to thrive, and that is okay.

 That being said, it is still good for people with autism to socialize and be exposed to peers because that is how we learn to communicate better, read empathy, understand sarcasm, and add jokes to our memory bank. Parents/guardians, this is where you come in. Most times, I realize I need to socialize solely because my parents remind me that I should, or that it is good for me to do so, (thanks mom and dad). Socializing and solitude is all about balance. We need a bit of both to grow, but we need to make sure we foster socialization at the right times because people with autism need to prepare for social interactions, and we need to make sure our brain is calm and regulated. Positive socialization can look like a playground group every Tuesday evening. This is a social event that is 1) fun, 2) on a schedule, and 3) short in duration, allowing the person with autism to use their social battery to learn and connect without melting down.

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Back to loneliness…loneliness is not absent from the autistic experience. Loneliness sometimes creeps in when we see other peers our age hanging out with friends all the time. We may not even want to hang out or chat, but we envy them anyway for having so many friends and being able to communicate effortlessly. We find ourselves saying: I wish I could do that. It is important to remember that autistics seek connection just like everyone else does; humans were made to connect, yet our disorder hinders our ability to connect. Yes, we thrive on introversion and can spend more time alone than most, but we still need some connection, even if only for a short amount of time. 

What does loneliness feel like as an autistic? It feels like a pit in your chest. Guilt for not putting yourself out there, shame for your rigidness (autistic characteristics), pity for your self-isolation (even though it’s a conscious choice), envy for others’ friendships, anger for being different, but most of all fear. Fear of failure, the unknown, judgment, and mainly, rejection. The next time I put myself out there, will I be crushed more than I was the first time? Can I handle seeing those “friends” hang out together without me? 

I know most autistic parents worry most about their child’s social bonds with peers, and I cannot pretend that this blog is anywhere near reassuring. So what can we do to help our withdrawn autistic children, peers, friends, students, and family members? Always invite us, even if we say no. Let us know our needs aren’t weird or annoying, but are supported and accepted: “Will you come to this lecture with me? We can take a walk halfway through if you need a movement break.” Explain jokes if we don’t understand them. Include us in your conversations, even if we just sit back and observe. We enjoy being in the know and laughing with everyone. When I add nothing to the conversation, I am still learning, laughing, and most of all, I feel included. Being the one chronically left out takes a toll on you. As someone with autism, I don’t care if I am a tag-along friend, because, for me, it means less pressure to actively script my social responses and expressions, but more time to learn social skills and just be joyful that I am in the company of friends who want to spend time with me and accept me for who I am, autistic quirks and all. 

July 14, 2024