Making relationships work as an AuDHDer
What this personal development junkie has learned about navigating relationships with different neural wiring
Welcome to “(Not Always) Neurosparkly”, where I write about living as an AuDHDer recovering from trauma and chronic fatigue. I explore pathways to being authentic without shying away from the challenges that come with a complex neural wiring.
Watching all my friends settle down in long-term relationships or get married, I was convinced that there was something wrong with me. I never lacked partners, but the partnerships never felt stable or satisfying. For years, I attended therapy and did massive amounts of self-development work to improve the way I showed up in relationships. I was a personal development workshop addict, always hoping my healing was over the next horizon of another £300 weekend.
Time after time, I put my heart on the line, convinced that this next person would be ‘the one’, only to find that within three or four months I was once again receiving the message that I was ‘too much’.
Too intense. Too much work. Too high maintenance. Too selfish and not giving enough, even though I was trying as much as I could. Inconsistent and just not good enough.
In my mid-thirties, after the fourth relationship in a year crashed and burned, I started to wonder if I was just too screwed up for even therapy to help. I put it all down to my father issues and the childhood trauma I had experienced, but since discovering in recent years that I am neurodivergent, my relationship struggles have come into a different light.
Leave me alone — but don’t go
My autism means that I have a much higher need for space and time alone. My sensory sensitivities make it impossible to interact with others on an ongoing basis without breaks. My overactive brain, which drinks in each impression like water, needs space from the constant input that comes from others’ thoughts, behaviour and needs.
There’s also a deep contradiction here.
I want people around and get lonely and bored if alone for too long. My ADHD brain, after all, craves stimulation, and when left to my own devices, I get lost in the rabbit holes of my own mind.
But when people are there, I often struggle with their presence, feeling drained by the demands of another human’s feelings and needs and the requirement to ‘be social’. When my autistic overstimulation point is hit, I want it all to stop now, which can be painful for the other person.
The frequent autistic difficulty with being perceived is also at play here, even if the person I’m with demands little of me. Soon, my need for space drives me away, and then I miss my partner almost as soon as they’re gone. Loneliness comes up, I reach out, and the cycle begins again.
Proactive space protection
I’ve learned to communicate about my needs for space from the outset of a relationship, so people know what they’re signing up for. I explain that parallel play is a thing — spending time in proximity to each other, but doing separate things, something many autistic people find helpful. Luckily, I have a partner who loves having his feet gently massaged while I read a book, allowing me to escape into my own world while still staying connected.
Gradually, I’m learning to recognise the signs that I’m hitting an ‘enough’ point and need space to defrag. This can require proactivity, initiating time alone before I feel I really need it — because suddenly, in an hour, I might hit a meltdown point.
This can be challenging to partners because I’m inconsistent in my availability for affection and intimacy, but if I don’t listen to my own body’s signals, the fallout is always worse.
What did you say?
As an AuDHDer, one of the gifts of the way my brain is wired is the massive interconnectivity in my brain. I see connections between topics that others don’t always see, and I am excited to share them. This skill is useful in teaching and facilitating, but less so when I end up oversharing.
The connection between my brain and mouth is also very active, unless I’m in an autistic shutdown, when I can go quiet. My mouth often struggles to keep up with my brain. To my dismay, I’ve discovered that I regularly overwhelm or irritate significant others with my compulsive need to put every experience or realisation into words.
Especially for others who have sensory sensitivities, people don’t always have the capacity for receiving a whole ‘infodump’ as it’s affectionately called in neurodivergent circles. Telling someone everything in my brain about a special interest can be deeply satisfying, but it’s also a compulsion in which I can entirely tune out the other person and lose contact with whether they’re still with me or not.
In the same way that I’ll find myself telling my doctor the whole back story instead of sticking to the pertinent facts, I can start to intentionally tell my partner one piece of pertinent information, only to find that my mouth carries on into other stuff that I’d had no conscious intention of sharing with him.
This is ADHD poor impulse control and autistic hyper-verbalism at its finest! Because I’m so used to being misunderstood, I also tend to over emphasise and overexplain, which I’ve discovered actually makes it more likely I’ll not be heard. Cue shame and self-criticism in the aftermath.
But it’s not just others that can get irritated with divergent communication styles.
As an autistic, I have a strong need for communication to be clear, precise, accurate and complete. When a partner isn’t able or willing to do this, leaving out what I consider vital information, I get frustrated or confused, and relating can quickly break down.
My communication takeaways
I’ve learned that sometimes, I can get too stuck in the words and in my head, totally disconnected from my body. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to stop, and other times, I can find different outlets for my hyperverbality. I’ll send a long voice note to a fellow AuDHD friend who also loves to forensically explore every nuance, or take some time to journal.
I’ve also discovered the value of wordless co-regulation. When no amount of analysing things is going to change the situation, it’s time to simply lie together, belly to belly, and breathe until it all calms down. Or simply flop out to Netflix side by side and give the issue some space.
I practice agreeing with partners on times to share and times not to. I agree to check in with the other person before launching into something, rather than assuming they’re available for what I want to share. It’s all about Boundaries.
Only … boundaries are hard
“But I told you I don’t like that. Remember, we agreed?”
The thing is, I don’t remember.
I really don’t.
I often forget what others have requested me to do or not do, forget what I’ve said, and forget what I’ve agreed to. Other times, I have an exaggerated memory of every word of a difficult conversation, that will replay in my mind in endless rumination, until I want to end the relationship just to make the pain stop.
My ADHD impulsivity and autistic struggles with certain social cues mean that I can act before perceiving or understanding a boundary. Not only does this upset my partner, but it also creates a shame hangover in me.
Even if I do ‘get’ the relevant boundary, I might struggle to accept it because my Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (common with ADHD and autism) comes into play.
Someone asking me to stop doing something can trigger feelings of being accused and made wrong, tapping into childhood memories of bullying and abuse (yes, despite all the years of therapy). When criticism cuts like a knife, and even an innocent comment can be perceived as criticism, I have to work hard not to get defensive in an attempt to protect my sensitive skin.
I have to get comfortable with being wrong in the eyes of the other in that moment, and still feel OK about myself.
Navigating healthier boundaries
Healthy boundaries are, of course, an essential part of functioning relationships, and I’m committed to doing them well. When I run up against ADHD-related struggles with working memory and other aspects of executive functioning, I get frustrated that I don’t measure up to my own standards.
I need to remember to cut myself some slack, because, after all, this is a disability, and I can only try my best.
To navigate this, I repeat back to my partner(s) what I understand our agreement to be, making sure we are on the same page. I’ve developed a habit of recording voice notes and typing notes on my phone when key things are agreed upon. I try to take a breath before responding to WhatsApp messages and ask myself, “Do I need to say this to them? And do I need to say it now?”
Anything but the same
I’ve often been amazed at my friends’ ability to stay in boring, dead marriages, essentially conducting parallel lives to their partners. “I’ve made a commitment and I have to keep it,” they’d say. I got it, but I also knew I couldn’t do the same.
As someone with ADHD, my need for novelty, interest and variety is high. My dopamine-deficient brain just can’t get on with the idea of a shallow, same-same long-term relationship where people get complacent and there’s a lack of adventure, new experiences and growth together.
It wasn’t about a lack of commitment; I believed deeply in and worked hard on my relationships, often flogging away for years at something that just didn’t work. But if someone wasn’t prepared to engage deeply with me and continue to evolve on a journey together, eventually I had to get out.
Twelve years ago, I broke off my engagement with my son’s father when it became clear that my feeling of being completely alone in the relationship wasn’t going to change — and since then, I haven’t looked back.
Exploring alternatives
I’ve focused on meeting my needs for variety, interest and novelty through creating community with like-minded folk. It’s not always been easy, but attending creative festivals, community summer camps and participating in online neurodivergent spaces has helped.
I have explored alternative relationship styles which have led to much higher fulfilment for me, including polyamory, which have an anecdotally high co-occurrence with autism and ADHD.
Consensual/ethical non-monogamy isn’t the answer for everyone, of course, but accepting the fact that one person couldn’t possibly meet all my needs, and that that’s OK, has opened up a lot more possibilities for me. For others, the solution may be to expand their circle of friends through their special interests.
Most of all, I try to give myself grace and self-compassion, because relating to people takes work and effort. My longing to be better at relationships has meant relating and communication have become two of my special interests.
I know I can stumble and get it wrong, and still be worthy of love and connection. I no longer feel that I’m ‘too much’ — I’m just different, and I’ve found partners who appreciate what I bring to the table and how it expands their worlds.
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That's fascinating about the perimenopausal connection. Thank you for your lovely feedback.
I love this! Thank you for sharing your insights - I love the creative craft of your writing style and resonate so much with your experiences. I’ve been considering my own social isolation and social anxiety today - which feel louder now I’m moving into perimenopause and my need for community is so much stronger