Tharon’s Thoughts - Autistic People Crave Connection

March 7, 2026




By Tharon

Neurodivergent Consultant at helpz


Autistic People Crave Connection, We Just Need Help Navigating It


Autistic people often come across as rude or antisocial, but the truth is we crave deep, meaningful connection. The challenge isn’t wanting relationships; it’s knowing how to make them happen. When we do engage socially, things can go sideways, and they go sideways fast. Miscommunication, mistaken intentions, and misunderstood cues create barriers that make forming friendships and maintaining them, difficult. One major reason is our limited understanding of social boundaries - a concept that neurotypical people often take for granted.


A common misconception is that autistic people prefer isolation. This couldn’t be further from the truth. We are starved for connection beyond family and paid professionals. Some of us do not even have that. However, many of us rely on professionals to meet our emotional and social needs, but even then there are levels of relationships that paid supports are unable to meet. What we really want are authentic relationships that aren’t transactional. The problem is we often don’t know the rules of engagement.


Social rules are like an unwritten manual that neurotypicals learn instinctively. For us, it’s different. We need those rules explained, mapped out, and justified. If we don’t know a boundary exists, how can we respect it? Even when we do know, we need to understand why it matters. Take eye contact, for example. Social norms say it’s polite and shows attention. For many autistic people, eye contact is distracting, we focus better by looking away. Yet, this is often misread as disrespect.


Our communication style also differs from neurotypical norms. Tone, facial expressions, and body language can be misinterpreted. We might sound blunt because we value truthfulness, we are told “be honest” but then we’re told, “that was mean and hurts my feelings.” That contradiction is confusing. And phrases like “It’s not what you say, but how you say it”- for us, tone and volume isn’t always something we can control (and same goes for facial expressions), and this leads to a misunderstanding where people incorrectly think we are upset or angry. So, how do we navigate that?


One creative way I’ve practiced social interaction is through poker nights, not for gambling, but for learning. Poker isn’t just about cards; it’s about reading people. It helped me build tolerance for social settings and sharpen my ability to interpret cues. Finding an activity that sparks interest while exposing you to social dynamics can be a game-changer.


We can learn social boundaries when they’re linked to something meaningful. For example, I love jump-scaring people, but I learned that some can’t tolerate it. I often ask for concessions for my own sensory needs, when I compared it to how I feel when those concessions are not met, it clicked. That empathy shaped my behaviour. Daily exposure and patient guidance works best. But here’s the catch: treating us like neurotypicals often invalidates our experience. We need tailored support.


Friendships for us can feel all-or-nothing. When we connect, some of us may want to be glued to someone’s hip, but that intensity can overwhelm others. Often with autistic people, our personal space bubbles are either way too big or way too small. For instance, an entire room may be our personal space, but for others, personal space does not exist. So we may be distant, or in your face. So, on initial first impressions, already there is a miscommunication. A barrier that has potentially already frightened the other person away from the friendship.


Neurotypical friendships grow slowly; ours often skip steps or feel hollow when forced to follow those steps. And when our love isn’t reciprocated? It hurts, a lot. Dating is even harder. We try too much, or not at all. We don’t mean to cling; we just want connection and don’t know how. We are doing our best with our limited understanding of the rules.


What we need is patience, guidance, and understanding. When we seem blunt, it’s not rudeness, it’s honesty. When we misread a relationship, it’s not manipulation, it’s misunderstanding. We love deeply, and when that love is shut down, it’s devastating. So next time you meet someone autistic, remember: we’re not antisocial, we’re trying. Hard. And when you help us navigate those invisible social boundaries, you’re not just teaching rules, you’re opening doors and forging the meaningful connections we crave.


Navigating Social Connections for Autistic Individuals


Did you know that research shows autistic people often experience higher levels of loneliness than neurotypicals, despite wanting friendships just as much? Our loneliness is not just a lack of connection and being lonely, it is also about not being anybody’s somebody. Studies also suggest that structured social activities, like board games or hobby groups, can significantly improve social confidence and reduce isolation. You can also introduce us to people – help us build a network around us.


Be patient with us, understand that an autistic person is not being rude, they are trying. What we need from you is patience, support, and guidance. Instead of expecting us to meet neurotypical social rules, try to also learn our social rules from our perspective, and maybe we can meet in the middle. The best thing we can be is our authentic selves.

News & Insights

Check Our Latest Resources

Disability Awareness Hub: Depression and Intellectual Disability: The Signs We Might Miss

September 22, 2026
When most people think about depression, they often picture someone who looks sad, withdrawn, or tearful. But what if depression doesn't look like sadness? What if it looks like irritability, aggression, refusing activities, changes in sleep, increased dependence on others, or a loss of interest in things that once brought joy? For people with intellectual disability, depression can look very different from what many of us expect. As a result, it is often misunderstood, misidentified, or missed altogether. People with intellectual disability experience the same range of emotions as everyone else. They experience happiness, excitement, disappointment, grief, loneliness, stress and sadness. Yet they are often less likely to have their emotional experiences recognised or discussed. Sometimes this is because communication may be more challenging. A person may struggle to describe how they are feeling, find it difficult to identify emotions, or lack the words to explain what is happening internally. Instead, their feelings may be expressed through changes in behaviour. A person who previously enjoyed social activities may start declining invitations. Someone who was once engaged and enthusiastic may appear tired, withdrawn, or uninterested. A person may become more anxious, frustrated, emotional, or reactive than usual. Others may experience changes in sleep, appetite, motivation or concentration. Because these signs can look different from traditional descriptions of depression, they are sometimes mistaken for "challenging behaviour," a personality change, or simply part of the person's disability. This misunderstanding can have significant consequences. People with intellectual disability are known to experience higher rates of mental health concerns than the general population. Yet they frequently face barriers to having these concerns recognised and appropriately addressed. Too often, emotional distress is attributed to the disability itself rather than considered as a possible mental health issue. This is sometimes referred to as diagnostic overshadowing - when changes in mood, behaviour or wellbeing are assumed to be part of a person's disability rather than signs that something else may be happening. The reality is that depression is not a normal part of having an intellectual disability. Just like anyone else, people with intellectual disability can experience periods of poor mental health, and they deserve access to understanding, support and appropriate care. One of the most important things families, support workers and professionals can do is notice change. Has the person stopped participating in activities they usually enjoy? Have they become more withdrawn? Are they sleeping more or less than usual? Do they seem less motivated, less energetic, or more emotional than usual? Often, those who know the person best are the first to recognise that something does not feel right. Meaningful support starts with listening, observing and being curious. Rather than focusing only on the behaviour we can see, it helps to consider what the person might be experiencing beneath the surface. It is also important to remember that mental health is about more than treatment. Factors such as meaningful relationships, community participation, physical health, choice and control, routine, purpose and belonging all contribute to emotional wellbeing. A good life is not simply the absence of illness. It is having opportunities to connect, contribute and engage in activities that bring meaning and enjoyment. This is why promoting mental health should be everyone's responsibility. Families, disability professionals, educators, healthcare providers and communities all play a role in creating environments where people feel valued, understood and supported. The more we recognise that people with intellectual disability experience the same emotional highs and lows as everyone else, the better equipped we are to notice when something has changed and provide support when it is needed. Because depression does not always look the way we expect.  Sometimes, the most important thing we can do is look beyond the behaviour and see the person.

Disability Myths We Need to Let Go Of

September 22, 2026
Every generation inherits ideas about disability. Some are helpful. Many are not. While society has made significant progress in how we understand and support people with disability, there are still misconceptions that quietly shape the way people are treated, supported and included. Often these myths do not come from a place of malice. They come from outdated assumptions, limited exposure, or a desire to simplify something that is far more complex and human. Perhaps it is time we let some of them go. Myth 1: Independence Should Always Be the Goal Independence is often presented as the ultimate measure of success. But for many people, the goal is not independence. The goal is a good life. A good life might include support workers, assistive technology, family involvement, community participation and ongoing assistance with daily tasks. Requiring support is not a failure. It is simply part of being human. All of us rely on others in different ways throughout our lives. The question should not be, "How can we make this person independent?" Instead, we might ask, "How can we ensure this person has the right supports to live the life they want?" Myth 2: If They Can Do It Sometimes, They Can Do It All the Time One of the most common misunderstandings in the disability community is assuming that ability is consistent. A person may be able to attend a social event one day and struggle the next. They may communicate confidently in one setting but find it difficult in another. They may complete a task independently when rested, regulated and supported, but require assistance when stressed, overwhelmed or fatigued. Capacity can fluctuate. Disability is often dynamic, influenced by factors such as environment, health, sensory demands, stress levels, relationships and available supports. Judging someone based on what they can do on their best day can create unrealistic expectations and unnecessary pressure. Myth 3: Behaviour Is Just Attention-Seeking When someone is distressed, frustrated, overwhelmed or unable to communicate their needs effectively, their behaviour often tells a story. Yet behaviours of concern are still frequently dismissed as "attention-seeking." What if seeking attention is not the problem? Attention can mean connection. It can mean safety. It can mean a need for help, understanding or reassurance. Instead of asking, "How do we stop this behaviour?" we might ask, "What is this person trying to communicate, and what support do they need right now?" That small shift can completely change the support we provide. Myth 4: Communication Means Talking Some people communicate with speech. Others use devices, signs, gestures, pictures, behaviours, facial expressions or body language. Communication is not measured by how many words a person uses. Every person communicates. The responsibility is not only on the individual to communicate clearly. It is also on the people around them to listen, observe and create opportunities for communication in ways that work for them. When we broaden our understanding of communication, we broaden opportunities for connection, choice and self-determination. Myth 5: Disability Is Always Visible Many disabilities cannot be seen. Autism, ADHD, intellectual disability, psychosocial disability, chronic pain, acquired brain injury, neurological conditions and many health-related disabilities may have little or no obvious physical indicators. Because of this, people are often told they "don't look disabled." The reality is that disability is not defined by appearance. Someone's support needs, challenges and lived experiences remain valid whether those differences are visible or invisible. Myth 6: People With Disability Need to Be Fixed Perhaps the most harmful myth of all is the idea that disability is a problem that needs solving. Many people with disability are not looking to be fixed. What they want is understanding. Accessibility. Choice. Respect. Opportunity. Meaningful relationships. Communities where they belong. The barriers people face are often not created by their disability, but by environments, systems and attitudes that fail to accommodate human diversity. When we focus less on changing the person and more on changing the barriers around them, inclusion becomes possible. Let go of the myths Letting go of these myths does not mean ignoring challenges. Disability can involve genuine difficulties, support needs and barriers that require thoughtful responses. But when we replace assumptions with curiosity and judgment with understanding, we create space for something more important than awareness. We create acceptance.  And perhaps that is where meaningful inclusion truly begins.

The Hidden Full-Time Job of Having a Disability

September 22, 2026
Most people think of disability in terms of the challenges they can see. They might notice a mobility aid, a support worker, a therapy appointment or a visible difference in how someone communicates, learns or moves through the world. What they rarely see is the work happening in the background. The forms. The phone calls. The appointments. The waiting lists. The reports. The advocacy. The explaining. The repeating. The planning. The worrying. For many people with disability and their families, managing disability can feel like a full-time job. One that nobody applied for. One that has no annual leave. One that does not finish at the end of the day. Behind every support a person receives is often a long process of coordination and administration. Families may spend hours organising appointments, communicating with providers, navigating funding systems, responding to emails, attending meetings and ensuring supports are working as intended. A simple change in circumstances can generate a surprising amount of work. A new therapist. A school transition. A support worker leaving. A funding review. A change in health needs. Each can trigger a cascade of meetings, paperwork and decision-making. For many people, this work occurs alongside all the usual demands of everyday life. Parents are still parenting. People are still working. Families are still managing finances, relationships, household responsibilities and their own wellbeing. Yet hidden beneath it all is an additional layer of responsibility that often goes unrecognised. There is also the emotional labour. Advocating for support can be exhausting. Having to repeatedly explain a person's needs, justify access to services or provide evidence of challenges can take a significant toll over time. Many families become experts in systems they never expected to learn about. They develop knowledge of funding processes, legislation, assessments, therapies and service pathways simply because they have had to. Not because they chose to. Because someone needed to. What is remarkable is how often this work is done with extraordinary determination. Families continue showing up. Participants continue advocating for their goals. Support networks continue navigating complex systems because they know what is at stake. Opportunities. Safety. Independence. Quality of life. A future that reflects the person's hopes and aspirations. Recognising this hidden work matters. It reminds us to approach people with empathy. To understand that a delayed phone call or missed appointment may not be a sign that someone does not care. It may simply mean they are juggling far more than we can see. It reminds us that support is about more than providing a service. It is about reducing burden. Making systems easier to navigate. Helping people feel heard. Sharing responsibility where we can. Most importantly, it reminds us that behind every participant is a person living a life, not managing a case. A person with interests, dreams, relationships, strengths and ambitions. Because while disability may be part of someone's story, it should never become the entirety of it. The goal is not to spend a lifetime navigating systems. The goal is to spend a lifetime living.