A common assumption/stereotype/fear around autistic people is that we’ll never be able to maintain a romantic relationship. And it is true that the social challenges many of us face can make it difficult to initiate and sustain relationships, whether the partner is autistic or neurotypical. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Yes, maybe they’re a little different — maybe the onus is going to be on the NT person to make the initial approach, or on a third party to arrange a setup (my guy and I were set up by a mutual friend), and maybe they take a little extra patience and understanding while the daters figure each other out (and to be honest, I took so much time that my guy almost gave up on me, but I managed to sneak it in under the wire) — but something real is possible. More than 15 years into our relationship, my guy and I both remain as happy and fulfilled and committed (or so he says, at least, for his part) as ever. If not more so.
And getting my diagnosis at age 40 has actually been good for our relationship — he’s had to adjust to the adjustments I’ve made for myself now that I understand the reason for some of my quirks and foibles, but knowing said reasons for said quirks and foibles has helped us both relate to us better. But even beyond that, before I knew I was autistic, there were already a lot of areas of overlap — places where the way he is as a person meshed well with the way I am as a person — and so our relationship has been stronger than any I’ve had or could hope to have. (Seriously, before I met him, I’d kind of resigned myself to the kind of relationship I’d have to work hard at — after all, we’re always told that “marriage takes work” — and then I met him and realized I could be actually happy.)
And, just like any couple, there are areas where we don’t mesh so much, sometimes just because we’re humans and sometimes because I’m autistic and he’s not. (I don’t know if I’d specifically call him “neurotypical,” because there are some areas where he clearly diverges from the typical, but autism ain’t it.) So here are some areas where we do and don’t mesh that are more related to my autism, because believe it or not, relationships can happen.
Yay: Directness
My guy is naturally a very direct person — he actually gets about as frustrated as I do when people talk around a subject or misinterpret questions. So there’s very little pussyfooting or misunderstanding. Honestly, the directness might be direct to the point that some people in relationships would find it off-putting, or even deal-breaking, but for us, it’s perfect. There’s never (okay, rarely) any resentment around it, because we’re both getting what we need and the lack of pussyfooting heads off the confusion and misinterpretation that might cause friction for other people.
Yikes: Emergencies
In emergencies, I’m… yikes. It’s when my slow processing becomes especially a problem, because what’s usually slow anyway grinds to a near-halt in the face of panic. His brain? Gets even sharper and quicker, like a shot of nitrous to an already-superpowered engine. Which means the delta between our processing speeds widens even more, so when he needs me to be on the ball, I’m in need of even more clarification than usual. I’m not going to pretend that some emergent situations haven’t gotten a little ugly due to our mutual frustration, but now that we’re conscious of this phenomenon, we do our best to give the other a little grace. Or at least take time to smooth things over after the urgency has passed.
Yay: Chilling
He and I are both pretty introverted. He’s a lot better at performing extraversion than I am — he can go out and hang out with people in groups, or have work meetings, or whatever, without having to expend the energy to make eye contact, interpret social cues, script, etc., in the way I do. But it still takes effort for him, and by the end of the day, he’s generally pretty good to sit in the living room and watch TV or read with me also watching TV or reading, and while we have some conversation, we’re also content to sit in silence and just take pleasure in the other’s presence. It’s nice.
Yikes: Food
He’s a foodie. He loves cooking. Or rather, he likes cooking, but he loves finding new recipes and things to try out. We have kitchen gadgets upon kitchen gadgets. (I actually can’t stand the kitchen, because of the multi-sensory overload, so he’s generally the boss of gadgetry and kitchen arrangement and such anyway.) I just don’t really care about food. Maybe it’s the autism, maybe it’s my history of eating disorders (which can do a real number on your relationship with food), probably it’s a bit of both, but the result is that I just don’t really care what we eat. I’m not a samefoodie, but when we’re talking about food, whether it’s at home or restaurants or takeout, I come up with the same ideas because they’re what I can think of off the top of my head. I try to participate when he asks about dinner, but it’s an effort, and I know it’s frustrating to both of us.
One good thing, at least, is that food is one of the only areas of my life where I’m sensory-seeking rather than sensory-avoidant. So whatever he does end up cooking (or wherever we end up going), I’m usually into it. I love complex flavors as much as he does, and he’ll frequently make an effort to add extra textures to a meal because he knows how much I like it.
Yay: Hugs
For the most part, I’m not a hugger. They feel kind of awkward. And in the South, a hug is sometimes even a substitute for a handshake, even between work acquaintances, and I HATE HATE HATE it. I’ll generally allow a one-armed half-hug, but that’s a major concession for me. I think a lot of it is that I hate light little sensations — ugh to fans, turtlenecks, and shirt cuffs that hit at my wrist — and a hug with an acquaintance is naturally going to be one of those rather than a great big bear hug. With a loved one, though, a big, tight hug is great, and he gives the best hugs I’ve ever had. He loves giving ‘em, and I love getting ‘em.
Yikes: Noise
He likes it loud. He has some hearing loss from jobs he had in his youth, and he just likes stuff loud, so he tends to listen to TV and music and video games loud. I, of course, can’t stand loud noises. Headphones (on him) help when he’s playing video games, and/or I’ll just go into a different room, or he’ll go into a different room. We keep the TV at a medium level — louder than I really like it, quieter than he really likes it — and since we both watch with subtitles (my brain, his ears), volume isn’t so much of an issue. The only place where it really becomes a problem is when we’re in the car. He loves super-loud industrial music when he’s driving, and while I’m sometimes in the mood for it, those times are few and far between. It’s one of the few areas where I feel bad about the burden my autism places on others — him not getting to do a thing he specifically enjoys because I just can’t take it.
Yay: Understanding
I mentioned above that my guy isn’t what I’d really call neurotypical — not autistic or anything, but on the scale from “neurotypical” to “nonneurotypical,” he tends toward the non. And having divergences of his own helps him better understand mine — not understand them from personal experience, of course, always, but understanding that some people aren’t like most people and that’s just a thing, and loving each other with — sometimes, honestly, in spite of, but mostly with and even because of — that unlikeness is a thing. When we’re having a debate and tears start flowing even though I’m in no way upset? He knows it’s just a thing. When I get super overheated when it’s 85 degrees out? He knows it’s just a thing. When I get super grumpy with him and have to go off and hydrate and have a snack? He knows it’s just a thing. And I won’t list all of his things that I know are just a thing, but they’re there, and they’re… just a thing.
I’m different and accept him being different, and he’s different and accepts me being different, and that’s a wonderful feeling and a big part of loving each other the way we do.
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(Also, we share the same weird, twisted sense of humor, and while that may or may not be related to my autism, I’d say it’s a cornerstone of our relationship.)
Of course, those aren’t all of the areas where we mesh and/or don’t mesh. But when it comes to areas of conflict, or of distinctly non-conflicted bliss, they’re the big ones. And while every autistic person is different (IYMOAPYMOAP) and every relationship of any combination of neurotypes is different, at least we have one data point that real, thorough, enduring relationships are possible for people of the autistic persuasion.
Myth busted.
Now off to bear-hug my guy.
Some Autistic Chick 