Navigating new connections is already complicated. There’s the uncertainty, the learning curve of understanding someone’s communication style, and the constant internal debate of how much to share without scaring them off. But when you add an AuDHD brain into the mix—one that overanalyzes silence, fills in the blanks with worst-case scenarios, and craves reassurance to keep from spiraling—it becomes even harder.
I know this is a me issue. I know that people have their own lives, that they might be busy, distracted, or simply not as attached to their phones as I am. But knowing that logically doesn’t stop the emotional reaction when I send a message and get no response. It doesn’t stop my brain from running through every possible reason why I might be too much, why they might be pulling away, why I should probably just back off before I inevitably ruin things.
And that’s where the real problem comes in—because if I don’t confront these feelings, they fester. They don’t just sit quietly in the background; they grow, they twist reality, they convince me I’m being rejected even when that’s not the case. And when that happens, I start to self-sabotage. I withdraw. I convince myself that I should stop reaching out because clearly, I care more than they do. I tell myself I’m setting myself up for disappointment, so I should just beat them to the punch and pull away first. I get trapped in a loop of wanting connection but being terrified of it at the same time.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to let my brain trick me into pushing people away when all I really want is to feel secure in a connection. But in order to break the cycle, I have to acknowledge it. I have to name the fear instead of letting it control me. And sometimes, that means having hard conversations. It means being open about how my brain works, even if it makes me feel vulnerable. It means saying, “Hey, I know you have your own way of communicating, but when I don’t hear from you, my brain fills in the gaps in ways that aren’t helpful. I don’t need constant attention, but I do need some level of acknowledgment.”
It’s not about needing constant validation. It’s about preventing my mind from turning silence into self-destruction. It’s about recognizing my own patterns and trying to work through them instead of letting them sabotage something that could be good. I don’t want to let fear win. I just want to be understood.
I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass, a burden, or even needy. I know we likely communicate very differently, and I don’t expect anyone to change who they are for me. But this is who I am, and this is why I am the way that I am. It’s why I text too much, why I check in, why I tell you I’m thinking about you. Because for someone with an autism brain, that momentary acknowledgment—just knowing we haven’t been forgotten—can change everything. It can quiet the spiraling thoughts, ease the anxiety, and turn what feels like rejection into reassurance. Connection doesn’t have to be constant, but a little effort goes a long way.
🫰❣️🫖 JRT
🎨 ArtCredit: Raven Shaolin Bluefeather
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I really feel this. The craving for reassurance, the overanalyzing, the fear of reaching out because what if they don’t actually care? That loop of wanting connection but being terrified of it at the same time—I know it too well. And you’re right, if we don’t face it, we push people away without meaning to.
I think it takes a lot of strength to put this into words, to say, ‘This is how my brain works, this is why I do what I do.’ And honestly? That kind of honesty isn’t a burden—it’s something rare, something that deserves to be understood. If only more people realized how much a little acknowledgment can mean. You put it into words in a way I never could, and I just… appreciate it.