By Tim Aiello, MA, LPC, NCC, ADHD-CCSP, ASDCS
As an AuDHD therapist, I constantly navigate the balance between craving human connection and desperately needing solitude. My brain, beautifully wired at the intersection of Autism and ADHD, makes life vibrant yet profoundly challenging. Being alone isn't simply peaceful—it's necessary. It’s during these moments alone that I recharge, like plugging myself into a quiet, invisible energy source. Alone, my world feels calm and predictable, a sanctuary from the overwhelming sensory input of daily life.
Yet, the moment someone else enters—even my husband whom I deeply cherish—the energy shifts dramatically. It’s as though I’ve stepped onto a brightly lit stage, suddenly hyper-aware of every detail about myself. I feel perceived in ways that shake me deeply.
This awareness doesn’t bring comfort; instead, it feels like a magnifying glass intensifying every subtlety of my being, heightening my anxiety and self-consciousness.
Polyvagal Theory (PVT), introduced by Dr. Stephen Porges, helps explain why this shift occurs. According to PVT, my nervous system continuously scans for safety or danger in a process called neuroception. With AuDHD, my neuroceptive process is overly sensitive, easily misinterpreting even neutral social interactions as potential threats. Simply feeling someone's gaze or attention can activate my autonomic nervous system, triggering a sympathetic fight-or-flight response.
Research echoes my experience, illustrating that autistic adults frequently need solitude to recover from sensory overload and social exhaustion. Benevides et al. (2021) found that chronic sensory overload and social expectations create heightened stress responses in autistic adults. For those of us who also have ADHD, emotional dysregulation makes these stress responses even more intense and frequent.
This physiological reaction dramatically alters my emotional landscape. My heart races, my thoughts scatter, and a tightness fills my chest. Conversations, which flow effortlessly in the quiet of my mind, become tangled and frustratingly disjointed. My words come out strained, cautious, or overly blunt as my body struggles to regain safety and control.
But understanding this neurological reality through the lens of PVT has offered me powerful tools for navigating these challenging moments. Recognizing that my discomfort is rooted in neurological sensitivity rather than personal shortcomings has been profoundly healing. I've learned strategies like creating sensory-friendly spaces, scheduling ample alone time, and employing grounding techniques such as deep breathing and sensory modulation tools.
Equally important has been honest communication with my husband. Together, we developed rituals that give me essential transition periods from solitude to social interaction. This has helped foster deeper intimacy and understanding, reducing misunderstandings and tension between us.
Sharing this vulnerable part of my journey feels both daunting and liberating. I share it because I know I'm not alone in this experience. By acknowledging our neurological needs openly, we can build compassionate relationships that honor our unique ways of being, allowing us to connect deeply without compromising our emotional and neurological health.
References:
Benevides, T. W., Shore, S. M., Palmer, K., Duncan, P., Plank, A., & Andresen, M. L. (2021). Chronic stress and autism: A comprehensive overview. Autism Research, 14(11), 2343–2366. https://doi.org/10.1002/aur.2628
Porges, S. W. (2021). Polyvagal Theory: A biobehavioral journey. Comprehensive Psychoneuroendocrinology, 6, 100041. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cpnec.2021.100041
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