Autistic Friendship and the Language of Showing Up
- Elle Dee
- Jul 25
- 3 min read
Updated: Oct 8
Relationship Series: 2 of 3
Friendship, when you're autistic, can feel like learning a second language later in life. You pick up the grammar eventually. But the ease? The slang? The flow of it? That never fully lands.
As a kid, I was always the “too much” friend - too intense, too quiet, too analytical. I wanted to talk about death, time, memory, existence. My peers wanted to talk about hair scrunchies and what was on MTV. I didn’t have the vocabulary for their world, and they didn’t have the patience for mine.
The cost of connection
Adulthood brought some relief. I could finally choose who I spent time with. But it also raised the stakes. Maintaining friendship as an adult requires energy, consistency, and what I call social endurance.
And when you’re autistic, that endurance can run out fast.
It’s not that I don’t care. It’s that caring lives alongside executive dysfunction, sensory limits, and emotional fatigue.
The hard part isn’t love or loyalty. It’s remembering to text. It’s organizing logistics. It’s having enough battery left to show up - and then enough time afterward to recover.
The loop
Sometimes I go weeks without reaching out. Not because someone doesn’t matter to me, but because my brain is spinning with tasks, scripts, and sensory debris.
And then I spiral.
Is it weird to text now?
Do I owe an explanation?
Have I waited too long?
That internal loop can stretch into months.
And suddenly, a friendship I care deeply about feels like a train I missed. One I can’t quite catch, no matter how fast I run.
The recovery window
Even when I do see people I love, I often need time to recover.
It’s confusing, even to me. I might have had a joyful lunch with a friend - but afterward, my nervous system needs a full day (or two) of silence.
Autistic friendship doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy connection. It just means connection costs something. And I have to budget for it.
All of nothing can be the norm
I like depth. I like honesty. I’m not great at small talk or casual catch-ups. That means I either click with someone immediately - or not at all.
There isn’t a lot of middle ground. And that can make some people uneasy.
But the friendships that do work?
They’re beautiful.
Steady.
Nourishing.
Built on mutual understanding and low-maintenance trust. These are the people who don’t make me explain why I disappeared. Who don’t take it personally when I cancel plans. Who trust that I’m doing my best - even when I’m quiet.
The real story on autistic friendship
Autistic people are often mislabeled as aloof or antisocial. But that’s not the truth.
We just have a different way of being in relationship.
We’re often loyal in quiet, unspectacular ways. We show up through listening, remembering, sensing. We don’t always initiate, but we don’t forget.
And once someone learns our rhythm, what they find is presence.
Not performance. Not obligation. Just presence.
A final thought
Friendship, in translation, is still friendship.
It just speaks a different dialect. One made of space, trust, and the understanding that love doesn’t always look like constant contact. Sometimes it looks like showing up exactly how - and when - we can.
--Elle
Want to Keep Exploring?
This space is still new, but it’s already full of big questions, half-formed truths, and stories that might sound a little like yours. If you’re curious where to go next, here are a few places to wander:
Or, if you just want to be here quietly, you can join the list and I’ll send new things your way when they’re ready. No pressure. No performance. I love that you’re here. |
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