When it comes to using rubber ducky technique, I can’t use an actual rubber duck – I need a person to listen to me.
In April 2025 I realised that maybe even more things in my life follow the same pattern:
- In kindergarten, I didn’t like to play with dolls, because they didn’t do anything by themselves (and, somewhat related, I’ve read every single book we had there for at least two times)
- I don’t like to go for a walk alone, but I’m way more likely to go with someone else (to the point that I wanted to find a person who would consistently take me for a walk and show me new places!)
- I tend not to re-read notes which I wrote for myself. On the one hand, it’s somewhat understandable with handwritten notes, since I dislike my handwriting, – however, the issue persists even when I write Obsidian notes on my laptop. On the other hand, I’m way more likely to write something down and then revise & edit it if I write for a blog, giving myself the ability to show my work to the world and gaining the possibility of improving my work even further with readers’ feedback
- Eventually I lost any motivation to write in my telegram channel, since there were almost no comments. Even before that I oftentimes felt that I’m talking to myself standing on a stage in an empty concert hall – for two years in row
I think we can call the general pattern “I prefer to do things with/for the others instead of doing them for/by myself”. This has several consequences, e.g. loss of motivation if it turns out that my work was never really needed in the first place. Being autistic, I also tend to overshoot the goal, while my neurotypical peers can’t understand why I even worry so much.
Side note: I can’t stop thinking about these quotes from Devon Price’s blogpost “How Society Forces Autistics to Become Inhibited & Passive”:
“Was I told sometimes to settle down and get used to how the world is?” Eric says. “Absolutely, I was. But more often, I would deliver an impassioned speech about my political beliefs or ask if I could wear my sunglasses indoors, and I’d just get this blank stare. Like I had not said anything.”
Being reprimanded for harmless awkwardness really stays with you. I’ve never forgotten the fury that Looney Tunes quote had earned me. But I also remember the far more intense and debilitating experience of being completely frozen out. When neuro-conforming people absolutely cannot stand what you have to say, their faces go vacant and they don’t even respond. It’s even more chilling than being told you’re saying something bad.
Eric says, “With my gay earrings and my stimming and my outspoken political views I was trying to say see me, see who I am, and everyone would just look past.”
I also have similar experiences, though I wasn’t openly contrarian during my childhood.
It feels extremely lonely to “be seen” for completely minuscule things like that I’m left-handed, have more than ten tabs open in my browser simultaneously, what I eat, how much time I spend in socials, etc., etc. I’ve heard all these unwanted comments so many times from sort many people that I wonder whether there’s a hub providing people with all these tasteless comments.
What I wasn’t being seen for were my interests. I remember the empty faces of my relatives, classmaam s, so-called friends when I tried to tell them what exactly keeps me going; I remember the silence in return. It got so bad that the best working method of connecting with others was oversharing about my trauma. Then the empathy resources of the others eventually got depleted, and I was all alone again, still completely unseen for who I am as my trauma became my public identity.
Perhaps the most chilling thing is that in my experience it seems that these empty stares weren’t caused by neurotype differences. I’ve heard that specific silence both from neurotypical AND autistic people.
I still don’t understand why can’t they ask when I’m trying to be sarcastic and then actually say something offensive. I still don’t understand so many things that it’s way easier to continue hiding that to show how vulnerable I am.
But I don’t want to hide anymore. Don’t want to lose the chance of meeting someone who will like me the way I am just because too many people didn’t. Don’t want to once again forget what makes my eyes sparkle just because no one else cared.
In July 2025 I realised that actually I can write for a one particular person if I need someone this much: namely, my partner. I can always show him work, and more-than-often it leads to quite awesome discoveries about our common interests. I finally feel accepted for who I am. If anyone else likes my work – cool! I just won’t count on it by default.