Autistic Connection: Creating Neurodiverse Friendships

My greatest accomplishments are my friendships. I’m fascinated by human connection and the intricacies of how we relate to one another. I always have been. I’m fascinated by relationships to the point of special interest, really. I’ve read psychology, I’ve read theory, I’ve read self-help. I've read anything I could find related to the way friendship works and more specifically, how one can make a friendship work. Anything about how to be a better conversationalist, a better communicator, a better confidant. I briefly considered a graduate degree in relationship science before realizing they don’t exist and the closest I could get was psychology. I opted instead for the world-class (and free) education that comes from making and keeping the friendships I have today.

I can study the unwritten rules of social connection, and I have, but there’s only so many I think are worth keeping. I like a lot of the basic rules. I’m in favor of saying please, thank you, excuse me - all the classics. I know general politeness and pleasantries go a long way to make people feel comfortable and acknowledged. I’m also happy to ask how somebody’s doing after saying hello - whether or not they choose to answer in the ubiquitous script of, “I’m doing well, how are you?” Even some small connection like that has value, a small recognition of another person’s humanity - even if we both would rather keep it confined to a script we know. I’ve always been more of a proponent of big talk than I am a fan of small talk, but there’s something beautiful about the shared experience of weather conditions. Maybe it’s my Chicagoan sensibilities but I’m comforted by commiserating with a stranger about how nice it would be outside, if it wasn't for the wind. I know there’s plenty of autistic folks that would disagree. And I think that’s beautiful, too. I have dear friends that would rather skip the rote dialogue they’ve had to pretend felt important and get to the conversational meat right away. I admire it. And in our friendship, they can tell me flat-out they’d rather get to the good stuff so that when we hang out, that’s just what we’ll do. 

I’m not interested in deciphering implicit messaging, or communicating in a way that would confine others to do the same. Isn’t the point of communicating mutual understanding? Well, let me do my best to make myself understandable and you can ask me to clarify however you need, whenever you need. I have no desire to inhibit my self-expression to conform to what might be more palatable and I would want anybody in my life to feel free to express themselves with the same candor. How will we ever find out if we’d like to be in each other’s lives if neither one of us is being our truest selves? I’m proud to say what I mean, and mean what I say. Discovering that for many, “let’s hang out!” was more of a pleasantry than an invitation was nothing short of a tragedy. Especially when I’ve always meant it. But I’ll continue to mean it, and it’s okay if others don’t. 

Among all of my personal and relational research, I’ve found Dr. Devon Price’s 2022 Book, Unmasking Autism, particularly resonant. He celebrates neurodiversity and demystifies some of the ways autistic people can create richer connections. On the topic of communication, he writes; “Autistic people usually prefer explicit, clear messages that don’t rely on non-verbal cues. We like having specific expectations laid out for us, and being given many opportunities to ask questions and clarify meaning. When we share these needs with the allistic people around us, our relationships can open up, allowing for much greater depth and breadth of connection. When we accept the unique features and strengths of our communication style, we can also feel a lot less socially inept and disempowered.” I have those same preferences for clear and concise communication, with fully articulated expectations. When I’ve made those preferences clear, it’s made my connections stronger. I strive to create a space where the people I love can ask for what they need and show up as their full, embodied selves.

Many of my closest friends are also autistic, or neurodivergent in some way. We have what I like to call meta-conversations about what friendship looks like for us so we can get on the same page and accommodate one another as needed. We often ask each other questions like;

“How do you like to communicate?”

“What does a good friendship look like to you?”

“What’s the most helpful way for me to support you when you’re stressed/burnt-out/having a shutdown or meltdown?” 

“What are your favorite things to talk about?”

I often check in with friends by asking “how do you feel about our friendship?” periodically. And maybe you’re reading this thinking that this sounds awfully like how one might talk to a potential partner. And you’d be right, honestly. I think the hierarchy of romantic partnerships over platonic friendships is another social convention I’d rather eschew. My friends are my family, and all of my relationships are intrinsically, deeply valuable. Even in my friendships with neurotypical people, I accommodate myself by having these meta-conversations and those same friends have told me they’ll take these prompts into their other friendships, too. While making the space to discuss these things is crucial for me to feel safe and fulfilled in relationships, making that kind of space for one another benefits everyone. 

I feel a kinship with other autistic people because even when we have opposing viewpoints or conflicting access needs, there's often a mutual understanding about just how difficult relational dynamics can be and so we give each other grace, empathy, and as much patience as we can muster. My autistic and neurodivergent friends are fierce leaders and advocates, brilliant artists and creatives, and each of them are people I love and admire. They make me feel accepted and empowered for all that I am, and through our care for one another, I am consistently made more hopeful for an accessible and loving future.