I am never the life of the party. Ever. If you’re lucky enough to even catch me at a party – something I avoid at all costs – you will find me at the fringes. I’m more likely to be playing with the children so I can avoid making eye contact and horrifying small talk with the adults. Shudder.
Once, this made me feel like a bad friend. TV shows and books made it look like the loud, extroverted, hilarious friend was the right kind of friend. The kind of friend to aspire to be. The quiet, awkward one like me didn’t get the limelight. If anything, someone like me would be made fun of for being ‘anti-social’, ‘too shy’ and shamed for not making enough eye contact.
The default setting of so much media today is the neurotypical standard, so I’ve learned that it’s time to embrace an entirely different standard – my own.
I am overwhelmed by small talk, and I enjoy deep diving conversations about shared special interests like peaceful parenting, decolonisation and science fiction novels. I dislike false pretences and thrive on meaningful connections. I dislike gossiping about others and love supporting my friends through their own struggles.
On my hard days, social interaction is too difficult. These are the days where it’s easier for me to be indoors with my daughters. I enjoy my cosy days with them where we have story-time and cuddles. If my friends reach out to me during my hard days, I let them know I’m overwhelmed and don’t have the capacity to hold space for them. I loop back in when I’m able to. I tell my friends not to apologise if they vanish off the map for a while too. Life happens.
On my hard days, social interaction is too difficult. On my better days, it’s easier to reach out to friends I care about.
On my better days, it’s easier to reach out to friends I care about. Playdates at each other’s homes are easier when we have our kids with us. When our kids are at school (or if they don’t have any), I prefer meeting them in quiet cafes. As adults, true vitality in a friendship means showing up and holding space for one another. Over the years, I’ve learned to hold space for my big feelings, so it feels intuitive for me to hold space for theirs. A close friend of mine said that she values how I validate her struggles and don’t just tell her to ‘be patient’.
Despite that, adult friendships still confuse me. Sometimes, it feels like I’m always the one who reaches out first. I’m always pleasantly surprised when I hear from my friends before I reach out to them. It feels good, to feel remembered. I also know that my neurodivergent friends, especially mothers, are struggling with a lot, too. It’s hard not to take long radio silences personally, but I’ve learned to reach out and do a quick check-in, instead of letting my imagination run riot.
I’ve had to draw strong boundaries and eventually let go of one-sided friendships. I don’t have the margin to be trauma-dumped upon. I used to feel bad about that, but feel so much calmer now I don’t have friends I dread hearing from. I have empathy, but I also don’t have an infinite supply of it.
I’m the one you can leave your child with because you need to attend to a family emergency.
I show up for my close friends, especially when it’s important. I’m the one you can leave your child with because you need to attend to a family emergency. I’ll remember to ask what their favourite cartoons and safe foods are. I know what it’s like to struggle, and to feel marginalised. That has been my entire life experience.
I care deeply about my friends but rarely call them. It’s almost impossible for me to make a phone call when my daughters are around me because that is the precise moment they need to go to the toilet, or need my help to resolve an argument. Instead, I love exchanging voice notes with my closest friends. This is how I keep track of the latest happenings in their lives, and the latest happenings in mine. All of us have very different schedules, and those of us who are mothers are united in our exhaustion. My friends laugh out loud at my hilarious voice notes. My sense of humour helps me cope with the stress in my life.
I’ve made my peace with my autistic self. I’ll never be the life of the party, and I don’t want to be. What I can be is sincere, connected and real, with my safe and favourite people – and sometimes, just my own company.
*Real name of author is not used.
