It's a Jungle Out There: Navigating Social Life as a Neurodivergent Person

Everett is riding a lion from 2012. Yes, it has nothing to do with this article. 

I've had a few people question me when I’ve mentioned my lifelong social awkwardness or struggles with fitting in. Since discovering in November that I’m neurodivergent, I’ve realized these challenges aren’t just quirks—they’re wired into how I experience the world. 

So, I thought I’d share some of the social struggles that have shaped my interactions: 

🔹 I pick up on tiny shifts in body language, tone, or facial expressions—and immediately assume they mean something about me. When really, they might just be holding in a fart. 

🔹 I crave deep, meaningful conversations and tend to dive straight into complex topics. I’m learning this can overwhelm people who weren’t expecting a full-on philosophical debate when they just asked how my weekend was. 

🔹 I overshare. What starts as small talk can spiral into a deep dive into my inner workings—which isn’t always the response people expect when they were just asking me to pass a pen. 

🔹 Eye contact wasn’t something I even thought about until my 20s. Now, it takes surprising mental effort to remember to do it “correctly.” 

🔹 I love being around people but socializing drains me. My brain races to keep up with expectations (like not constantly interrupting people). Eventually, I hit a wall and suddenly need to disappear. 

🔹 I often feel like I’m talking at people instead of with them. I also get lost in long conversations and blurt things out when I get an idea. 

🔹 Speaking of long conversations, my always-bounding brain means I sometimes lose focus even when I care deeply about the topic. It takes more effort than I’d like to admit to stay engaged. 

🔹 My brain tells me that silence or short responses = disinterest. Even when that’s not remotely true. 

🔹 I overanalyze even the simplest comments. A casual remark can bounce around my head for days, twisting into something entirely different. I’ll convince myself someone secretly hopes I fall off a cliff when all they really meant was, “Hope to see you at the dessert bar.” 

The funny thing? Emily has told me that my ability to talk to people, ask thoughtful questions, and discuss diverse topics is what initially drew her to me. Clearly, I’m not as bad at this relationship thing as my brain keeps screaming. 

At least now I know why my brain works this way, and I’m slowly learning strategies to remind myself that my perception isn’t always reality. 

If you’ve ever felt this way, you’re not alone. And trust me—you’re probably way less awkward than you think.

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