How to date when... you’re neurodivergent

If the memes are to be believed, then dating an autistic person is a thoroughly silly and goofy affair. We’re chock full of fun facts, have a laundry list of special interests to share with you and miss social cues to adorable effect.

The reality, of course, is pretty different. Being autistic and having ADHD is something I’ve had to construct my whole life around – often to an exhausting degree. It alters my experience of the wider world and the people in it, and has made dating fraught and confusing. As a result, I spent a very long time trying to date as if I wasn’t neurodivergent, keeping my differences and struggles to function out of sight. I made excuses for my absences, blamed my overwhelm and distress on mystery physical ailments and often avoided contact altogether on my hardest days. I saw myself as a list of deficits, and would try and compensate for that by being the most fun, sexy, interesting version of myself when I was able to show up.

Autism is a spectrum disorder, which means the way it looks and impacts people varies. It could mean a difficultly working in a traditional sense, leaving the house or travelling easily, managing money or time or regulating emotions. In recent years there’s been more in-depth public discussion and online discourse about neurodiversity, and with this has come some greater understanding (fab!) but also a sense that we’re are an adorable oddity in the dating world, with autistic women especially being fetishised and caricatured (not at all fab). I’ve no interest in this. I’m not a quirky collection of traits, I’m not a Manic Pixie Dream Girl or a Sheldon Cooper type with tits – I’m an adult woman with a way of experiencing the world and a specific set of needs.

Like me, Clara was diagnosed with ADHD and autism as an adult, and only recently entered her first “healthy” relationship. “I’ve hated myself for my ADHD all of my adult life, and long before I knew I had it. I was constantly told I was being lazy or uncaring even when I was trying my absolute hardest to show up and be a good partner and communicate like an adult,” she says. “Now I understand my own brain and that means my girlfriend can understand it as well.”

I’ve also committed to telling the people I date very early on (after the first sleepover, sometime before meeting the parents) what a life with me might look like, both on easy days and on harder days. I don’t do this to warn them off or beg them to validate who I am, but rather to let both of us live in reality. I am a person who has to manage their energy very carefully. Things like transitions, tiredness, unexpected changes to plans and prolonged loud noises can all trigger overwhelming stress and even shutdowns. I thrive with direct information, patience and planning, and I need a partner who can offer those things without feeling that they’re under siege.

An often-discussed aspect of neurodivergence is masking: eg the suppression of certain traits and responses to assume an appearance of “normalcy” and allistic (non-autistic) functioning. For many neurodivergent people, this can look like mimicking another person’s tone of voice, forcing themselves to maintain eye contact and going against their own comfort to fit it. It’s draining and time-consuming, a survival tactic in a world that isn’t built for us. If you see true love as somewhere you can be exactly as you are without judgement, then masking is a bit of a roadblock. Unmasking happens over time and in line with growing trust, and I’ve found it easier to explain it in theory before it comes out in practice. I tell a potential partner how I mask and how I unmask, explain that it isn’t personal and give them the information they need to be supportive.

I thrive with direct information, patience and planning, and I need a partner who can offer those things without feeling that they’re under siege

Another way that I’ve made dating more fruitful and bearable is by reckoning with my own view of myself. I can’t expect to find a partner who is able to meet me where I’m really at if I can’t accept that place as valid. I have support needs and those support needs aren’t negotiable, not even with someone I otherwise like or love very much. What can be negotiable is the way that we approach those needs together, what they can offer and how I can ask for help in a way that’s reasonable and doesn’t fall entirely to them.

Flor finds it difficult to date as an autistic person. “Even if I hit it off with someone on an app, I was always having to assume in person they would respond differently to me. I’m quick-witted by text but really struggle in person when I’m someone unfamiliar with someone I don’t know yet. It’s hard.” They say that they’ve only recently started asking for accommodations for their autism while dating, and instead of noisy pubs and bars at night they schedule dates for the morning or daytime, at cafés or parks that they’re familiar with and feel safe in. “I can either date how I need to date or I can burn out. I’ve reached a place where the former is the only option.”

Finding love can be hard when you’re neurodivergent, when the ways you communicate and process information seem entirely alien to many other people in the dating pool. It’s also hard to date when there’s existing stigma and misinformation about your brain which falsely suggests you’re difficult, or hopeless, or require constant coddling. I spent years feeling like a poorly made robot before I realised that I had to do things differently – namely accept myself, seek support and date people who want to understand me. The world is still a tough place to be, but if we can build our immediate worlds in our own image then we get to be as choosy as we want in deciding who else is allowed in. And anyone who doesn’t get that ultimately isn’t meant for you.