The Pains of Explains

I was diagnosed autistic recently (within the last year), and it's really the first and only thing in my sordid mental health history that has actually helped to make sense of my life. I'm still learning what that means day to day, especially as I build a business meant for neurodivergent people. A lot of what I'm learning right now is about communication, specifically about how much detail I need, and why.

Quirky? No... well, probably. Trying to be difficult, absolutely not.

For most of my life I thought needing things spelled out in detail was a personality quirk, or something I should apologize for. I'm learning it's not that. When I'm overwhelmed, my nervous system goes into a state I don't get to override with effort or a better mood. It's involuntary. And the way I get myself out of that state, or avoid it in the first place, is by getting information in a specific form: written down, concrete, with actual times and actual names and actual plans, not general reassurance that things will work out. Extrapolating implied information, or being expected to go with the flow and figure it out as we go, doesn't relax me. It stresses me out more, because now I'm holding the uncertainty by myself, guessing at a plan nobody actually gave me.

So when I write a long message, or ask for a list instead of a conversation, or lay something out visually instead of talking it through, that's not always me being calm and reasonable about it. Sometimes it is me spiraling. I'm done hiding that part of it. I want people to actually understand what chaos, or vagueness, or unpredictability does to a nervous system like mine, spiraling included, because I'm not the only person this happens to, and pretending otherwise doesn't help any of us.

I need details. If it was socially acceptable, all plans would require a form.

Cutting this process short doesn't remove the need. It just leaves the need unmet and unspoken, and in my experience it shows up later anyway, usually as stress or shutdown instead of words.

I've genuinely considered making actual forms, something people could fill out in the middle of a regular conversation, so I get real answers to my real questions instead of vague gestures in the general direction of one. Not because I want to interrogate anyone. Because "we'll figure it out" or "don't worry about it" doesn't give me anything to work with, and I end up filling in the blanks myself, usually with the worst-case version of the answer. A form isn't cold or clinical. It's just a format that actually produces a complete answer instead of an implied one.

Phrasing matters (insert Archer "phrasing" GIF here) - "Say less" means shut up to me

I think this matters for anyone supporting a neurodivergent person, including the people I'm building Reclamation for. The instinct to soothe someone out of explaining, to say "you don't need to say more, I've got it," usually comes from a good place. I remember the first time someone said "say less" to me, right after I'd explained something that mattered to me. I hadn't heard the phrase before and I took it completely literally. It felt like such a shutdown that I blocked them in that moment. I felt like a monstrous burden, like my own explaining was too much for them to carry. That reaction says a lot about how literally I process language, but it's real, and it's worth knowing that a phrase meant to ease pressure can instead end communication completely, in the moment it lands.

If I could ask one thing of anyone supporting someone like me, it would be this: let the explaining happen. Ask questions if something's unclear. Don't cut it short. What looks like too much information from the outside is, from the inside, someone doing the actual work of making themselves understood.

To Sum Up?

None of this is me asking people to be careful or filtered around me, and it's not me trying to make communication harder than it needs to be. It's the opposite. Detail, structure, and the room to actually finish explaining something are what let me show up steady instead of guessing my way through. I'm not writing this to complain. I'm writing it because I spent years hiding this part of myself out of embarrassment, and I'd rather spend the next part of my life saying it plainly instead. If you're building something for neurodivergent people, or loving one, or both, that's the whole ask: let us explain. It's not that we're trying to persuade or convince you of anything. It's not trying to be demanding. It's an attempt to show you what's happening on our side and get the details we need. It's how we get to okay. And we know it’s different than what means okay to you.