The World is Loud and I am Tired: Autistic Social Exhaustion

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There’s a whole category of social moments most people move through without a second thought - quick pleasantries at the checkout line, a few words by the office microwave, the automatic “Hey, how’s it going?” exchanged in passing.

For me, those brief interactions don’t register as light or casual. They demand strategy, energy, and a kind of internal choreography most people don’t even realize they’re performing. I’m usually calculating how long to hold eye contact, deciphering tone, trying to regulate my own, and hoping the sensory background doesn’t tip everything into static.

It’s not dislike. It’s not disinterest. But even these small moments carry weight - and often, that weight shows up later in exhaustion I can’t quite explain.

The invisible workload of casual socializing

Most people seem to come pre-loaded with a social operating manual. They move through interactions with built-in instincts - how long to hold eye contact, when to smile, when to speak or step back.

I wasn’t issued that manual. I’ve had to reverse-engineer it through observation, trial-and-error, and sheer willpower. Even now, I overthink tone, forget my face has expressions, or miss cues entirely. Small talk, for me, requires big effort.

Something as simple as chatting in the grocery store can become a multitasking event:

• Make eye contact, but not too much

• Smile, but not too wide

• Keep your tone friendly

• Don’t overshare

• Don’t freeze up

• Also, don’t forget you came here for food

None of this is automatic. It’s a checklist I run through in real time - and it drains me before I even reach the produce aisle.

Sensory chaos in the background

Now add the environment:

• Buzzing fluorescent lights that bore into my skull.

• The beeping scanner at checkout.

• The clatter of carts, crying child in aisle six, and someone’s cologne that smells like synthetic pine and memory loss.

While I’m trying to be socially “on,” my nervous system is often in full defense mode. And that background noise isn’t in the background - it’s right up front, demanding my attention while I try to find words that don’t sound robotic or forced.

Even typing this is tiring. Living it is exponentially more.

When it doesn't go well

Sometimes, I walk away from a brief interaction and feel fine. Other times, I spiral. I replay every word I said. I scan for signs I was too blunt, too awkward, too much. My brain picks me apart with a precision I’ve never used on another person.

I know where this comes from: a lifetime of being misread, misunderstood, or gently mocked for getting it wrong.

And I know I’m not the only one who’s internalized that scrutiny.

What I haven’t yet learned, even after all this time, is how to offer myself the same grace I so freely extend to others. That’s a blog series in itself.

What I hope people understand

If you know someone like me - autistic, ADHD, or just socially exhausted - please know this:

If we skip the small talk, leave the party early, or don’t match your social rhythm, it likely isn’t because we don’t care. It’s probably because we’re doing the behind-the-scenes work of staying regulated, grounded, and functional. And sometimes, that means spending our energy wisely.

In my life, that energy often goes toward showing up with real presence, not polished pleasantries.

And if that means I forgo the usual script to stay steady and connected in my own way - please let that be enough.

Holding on to what matters

I don’t think I’ll ever find casual socializing… casual. I’m okay with that. There’s a kind of dignity in knowing what costs you energy, and in choosing to spend that energy on what actually matters.

The world wasn’t built with brains like mine in mind. But I’m here. And I’m doing my level best to live a beautiful, connected life within it.

It means more than everything when the people who matter to me let that be enough.

--Elle

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Want to keep exploring beyond autistic social exhaustion?

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:

• Start Here: What Even Is Divergent Adulting?

  For those of us learning how to care for ourselves the second (or third) time around.

  
  

• What Does Neuroqueer Actually Mean?

  Musings on identity, softness, resistance, and showing up queerly diverse in spaces that weren’t built for us.

  
  

• The Neuroqueer Life Map Quickstart (free download)

  A gentle, self-paced journal for autistic, ADHD, AuDHD, queer or otherwise neurodivergent humans who are ready to unmask, unlearn, and rewrite their story from the inside out.

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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