Like anything, finding true connection while neurodivergent offers its unique set of challenges. We all navigate social circles differently, sometimes masked, sometimes unmasked — hopefully more of the latter. And while not every environment is a safe space of open mindedness, being our authentic selves is the ultimate goal. Only then, can we click and connect with the right person in a real way. Sometimes it takes a few learning experiences to get to that point, as you’ll see below, but once we find our flow, it all seems to click.
ADHDating
At some point in my late-30s dating life, I noticed a pattern I couldn’t unsee.
The dates that felt the easiest, most energizing, and most alive all shared a common thread: the men had ADHD.
I wasn’t consciously seeking out ND partners. I just kept leaving dates thinking, That was fun. That flowed. The conversations ping-ponged effortlessly. We followed curiosity down side paths without apologizing. Words overlapped in that endearing, excited way that NT people often label as “interrupting.” There was an organic emotional depth rooted in joy and shared enthusiasm, not performative vulnerability. Plans felt flexible and fun instead of rigid, with more grace around timing and a shared understanding when someone ran behind.
I wasn’t “too much” or “bad at dating.”
Dating ND men taught me that the way I most enjoy connecting isn’t through small talk, perfectly curated dates, or cosplaying as the chill, cool girl. It’s existential questions. Random side quests into hyperfixations. Opening the door to each other’s inner worlds instead of skating on the surface. Being honest about feelings, asking for clarity, opting out of the games. That kind of connection doesn’t feel chaotic to me, it feels alive.
That realization also helped me reflect on my own neurodivergence. I wasn’t “too much” or “bad at dating.” In fact, the feedback I get most often is how much people enjoyed hearing my opinions and diving deep conversationally.
Neurodivergent or not, dating got a whole lot easier when I learned just how lovable ND traits are, and how much fun we are on dates. – Megan Looney
‘Our Own Language’
Shared neurodivergence can be a bridge-builder in romantic relationships. At least, that’s been my experience! I’ve never felt more “seen” than when my partner and I eagerly ramble about our current hyperfixations or echo our favorite viral sound clip back to each other on work breaks.
ND-ND pairings often invite opportunities for learning about each other’s needs and ways to accommodate. My partner knows I’d rather have the television set at a certain volume; I know to buy him the sea salt — not salt and vinegar!! — chips at the corner store.
We’ve developed our own “language,” often unspoken…
We’ve developed our own “language,” often unspoken, to invite each other out of stress spirals — be they professional or personal — and to “snap back.” And knowing the power of structure, we remind each other to honor the routines that give our lives form and function.
Sharing my life with someone who understands that the paths we’re on may not be typical and require some intentionality — but are nonetheless good — is a joy. – Céire A. Kealty
Motion Detected
I hate dates for the same reason I hate haircuts. To be imprisoned in a chair, threatened with the possibility of a sliced artery if you budge even an inch? Haircuts are pretty annoying, too. Just kidding, I’ve never been held hostile.
But I do hate both dates and haircuts for the same reason: I must sit still.
I am like a shark; I must constantly cross and uncross my legs, sit on my ankles, and shake my leg. Otherwise I die. My neurotypical dates have often found this offputting.
But I do hate both dates and haircuts for the same reason: I must sit still.
One time, I was so hyperactive that I spent 75% of a date talking about a failed relationship that I had with a closeted Mormon guy with IBS. Throughout this oversharing marathon, my date ordered us ten hot dogs to ensure that neither of us would be bottoming that night.
Another time, I completely zoned out while a date was telling me an important personal story. I spent the next three dates trying to find natural ways to bring it up again, hoping he’d tell the story verbatim and release me of my guilt. We have now been together for three years. I still don’t know what the story was. – Evan E. Lambert
Apart, Not Alone
For the first four months, we spent every night at my apartment. It had been more than a decade since my previous relationship, and I assumed that I’d find sharing a bed with someone uncomfortable because of my sensory issues. Instead, sleeping with him made me feel safe and calm. My night terrors even stopped.
Then one day he announced that he was going to sleep at his own apartment. One part of my brain knew this was completely reasonable. Another part of my brain made me feel like he was breaking up with me, and went into crisis mode.
I thrive on schedules, and his one-night sabbatical was throwing mine off.
My rejection sensitivity kicked in. I was hyper-aware of anything that could possibly be a type of rejection, and this fit the bill.
I thrive on schedules, and his one-night sabbatical was throwing mine off. If him sleeping over was our norm and meant everything was OK, I concluded that if he deviated from this routine it meant something was wrong. I fought back tears as he explained that this had nothing to do with me and that we were fine, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe him.
Eventually I did, and occasionally sleeping apart became part of our routine. I still don’t like it, but I can accept it. – Anonymous
‘Our Weird Little Brains’
My boyfriend and I moved in together on our first date. No social conventions stood in our way, and we never masked with each other, because we were immediately on the same wavelength (cough, spectrum, cough).
We’re both bad at small talk, so our conversations got really deep, really fast. We didn’t play games because neither of us knew the rules.
Most of the time, when I’m with him, my little brain doesn’t feel weird at all.
It’s been three years, and we still sing nonsense songs to tell the other one they’re pretty. He listens to my excited, nonstop stream of consciousness, and I ask about his special interests. I don’t always understand what he’s saying — I usually zone out around the third type of FPV camera for an RC plane — but I stare at him adoringly anyway, because I love how deeply he loves.
Sometimes my RSD kicks in because he seems a bit grumpy, and I’m convinced it’s over between us, and the whole world falls apart. Sometimes he’s overwhelmed because something feels noisy or itchy or sticky or wrong, and he lashes out at me. Sometimes our weird little brains are hard to manage.
But when we cuddle, the whole world is set to rights. Most of the time, when I’m with him, my little brain doesn’t feel weird at all. – Eloise Stark
Honestly Perfect
I approached dating like any other topic I wanted to learn more about: by checking out a stack of library books. But there was a disconnect between the rules of the dating game (and I liked rules) and what my brain seemed inclined to do. I wasn’t interested in being in a romcom where the first 80 minutes passed before the main characters told each other how they felt.
I wanted romantic relationships to be as straightforward and honest as I tried to be.
I wanted romantic relationships to be as straightforward and honest as I tried to be.
When I didn’t want to go on a date with someone, I said so. When I was disappointed with something a significant other did, I told them. My bluntness largely wasn’t appreciated. Reactions ranged from confusion to anger. I got called names by men I (politely) rejected and was ghosted by a boyfriend when he got fed up with my radical honesty.
While my candor was a turnoff for some, it eventually caught the attention of the right person. My husband, originally surprised by my straightforwardness, came to appreciate that I didn’t play games. My tendency to spill my guts, while annoying at times, means he never has to wonder what I’m thinking or feeling.– Sara Mount
