Being AudHD at Family Events, Holidays, Funerals, and Other Social Endurance Trials
Let’s get something straight right out of the gate. Being AudHD means my brain is running two operating systems at once, neither of which was designed for fluorescent lighting, overlapping conversations, emotional landmines, or Aunt Linda’s unsolicited opinions. Each day is a complex navigation through a world that often feels like it was designed without considering the unique challenges that come with dual processing.
When I show up to family events, holidays, weddings, funerals, or gatherings of any kind, I am not arriving “as is.” I am arriving after a full mental briefing, emotional buffering, and sensory forecasting session that would impress NASA. It’s a detailed game plan in my head; mapping out potential sensory overloads, identifying who might launch into a debate about politics over dinner, or measuring the likelihood that Cousin Sam will bring up his latest conspiracy theory. There’s a constant flow of information and analysis happening before I even step through the door.
And if I’m there? I’m already trying. Trying to engage in conversations while filtering out the distractions, trying to maintain emotional equilibrium while navigating the dynamics of family relationships, and trying to be present in a situation that often feels overwhelming. I recognize that my presence is not just a physical one; it’s layered with effort, intention, and a genuine desire to connect, despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. The act of simply being part of the social fabric takes work, but it’s work I willingly undertake for love, tradition, and the hope of shared memories—however messy they may be.
About Hugs, Touch, and Why “Can I Hug You?” Is a Complete Sentence
I am not a hugger. Unless I am. I know it is confusing to me as it is to you. Believe me.
And when I do give or receive hugs, it is then only under very specific conditions. That sounds absurd to neurotypical people but makes perfect neurological sense.
What it takes for me to hug someone:
Usually it is only from certain people. This selectivity is not an arbitrary choice; it stems from a complex interplay of comfort levels and personal connections. The individuals I am open to hugging are those who have proven themselves to me over time, fostering a sense of safety and trust.
Certain pressure. [Yes, everyone hugs with different pressures.] The amount of pressure during the hug can greatly influence my comfort level. A gentle embrace is often more acceptable than a tight squeeze, which can feel overwhelming. It’s as if I can sense each person’s unique energy through the physicality of their hug, making it crucial that the pressure feels just right.
Certain angles. [I do not want you close to my ears or face.] I find that certain angles make me more comfortable, especially avoiding proximity to my ears or face. This sensitivity is not just about physical space; it transcends into my sensory perception. A hug that feels too close can create an uncomfortable overload of stimuli, which I strive to avoid wherever possible.
Certain directions. [Do not hug me from behind unless you are my husband or children.] There’s a sense of vulnerability that comes with being hugged from behind. The unpredictability that such an embrace brings can be unsettling, which is why only my husband or children are granted this privilege. It’s a boundary that helps me maintain a sense of control over my surroundings.
Here’s the clinical part. Understanding my boundaries and preferences within the context of hugging is essential not only for my comfort but also for fostering healthy interactions with others. The neurodivergent experience often encompasses the need for specific conditions in social interactions that may seem quirky or unusual to those outside my perspective. However, these nuances are pivotal in ensuring that every hug I engage in is one that I truly want, making those rare instances all the more meaningful.
Many autistic and AudHD folks experience atypical sensory processing. This means that touch isn’t merely a neutral stimulus; it holds varying significance and implications. For many, light touch can feel painful, alarming, or invasive, while conversely, deep pressure can be soothing and regulating. This phenomenon explains why some of us may crave the cocooning comfort of weighted blankets, finding them a source of stability, yet simultaneously recoil from surprise hugs as if we’ve been jump-scared, triggering a visceral fight-or-flight response.
When someone hugs me without prior consent or warning, my nervous system doesn’t interpret this gesture as an expression of affection. Instead, it reacts with a visceral alarm, triggering responses akin to a predator being detected. My brain immediately thinks, “Threat detected. Unknown variables. Abort mission.” In such moments, all previous social constructs or expectations dissolve; the primal urge to protect myself takes precedence.
This response is not an exaggerated reaction on my part; rather, it is a manifestation of my nervous system’s instinctual wiring. My brain fires off stress signals and adrenaline surges before my mouth can articulate, “Please don’t.” It’s a stark reminder that, for many individuals, the harsh reality of sensory processing challenges can often overshadow social norms. The discomfort isn’t rooted in the gesture itself but in the unexpected nature of it, which can be overwhelming for someone with atypical sensory processing.
Asking for permission to hug fosters an immediate sense of safety and control. It grants my nervous system the essential time it needs to consent. By doing so, it allows my brain to process the impending touch thoughtfully, taking into account factors such as pressure, proximity, and emotional readiness. This moment of consent signifies that my feelings and comfort are valued, reinforcing my sense of agency in social interactions.
“Can I hug you?” isn’t just a matter of politeness. It embodies accessibility that acknowledges diverse sensory needs. This simple question opens the door for meaningful, consensual connection, providing reassurance that personal boundaries are respected.
Moreover, it’s vital to emphasize that familial ties do not nullify the need for consent regarding my sensory boundaries. The unconditional love and kindness from family members does not automatically equate to permission for physical touch. Each individual’s sensory experiences are unique, and consent should be revered regardless of relationship dynamics. Respecting boundaries is fundamental, as it allows for deeper, more trusting connections that are rooted in understanding and mutual respect.
Stepping Away Is Regulation, Not Rejection
If I excuse myself to another room, step outside, sit in my car, or disappear for a hot minute, I am not sulking, being rude, or making a statement.
I am regulating my nervous system before it hits DEFCON 1. In today’s fast-paced world, especially for those of us with AudHD brains—whether diagnosed or not—it is essential to understand that we can be particularly vulnerable to sensory overload and emotional flooding. These terms are not just jargon; they encapsulate a real experience where too much input can stack up quickly and overwhelm us. As sounds become louder, lights feel harsher, and emotions seem to weigh more heavily, the ability to communicate effectively drops off a cliff.
Taking breaks works because it helps to reduce the cognitive load we’re carrying. Less input equals more capacity to function, allowing our minds to reset and recuperate. Imagine your device overheating—if your phone begins to malfunction, you wouldn’t scream at it or expect it to immediately return to normal operation. Instead, you would stop using it for a bit, allowing it the necessary time to cool down and regain its functionality.
This same concept applies to our experiences. We often need to pause and step away, not as a sign of weakness or a desire to avoid others, but as a crucial part of self-care. Invalidating that need, or expressing anger towards it, only compounds the existing emotional stress on top of sensory overload. This can lead to severe shutdowns or meltdowns, situations that become deeply unsettling and exhausting, ultimately resulting in individuals withdrawing from social settings altogether.
The crucial takeaway is that letting me step away for a moment does not mean I am lost to the world; rather, it signifies my desire to return as a more present and engaged individual. If you trap me in the chaos without the space to decompress, I’m mentally gone anyway, operating on autopilot rather than actively participating. So remember, giving me that space is not just beneficial for me, but enhances the overall interaction for everyone involved.
Why It Takes Me Time to Respond (And Why That’s Not Disrespect)
If you ask me a question and I don’t answer right away, it’s not because I don’t care or I’m ignoring you.
It’s because my brain is busy running background programs that are often unnoticeable to you. People with Auditory Processing Disorder (often those of us with AudHD, Autism, and ADHD) often experience nuances in communication that can be difficult to articulate. My brain engages in a continuous process of translating sounds while also filtering out distractions that can overwhelm me in overstimulating environments. This includes dealing with the sounds around me, deciphering speech, and even controlling my emotional responses in situations where I might feel uneasy or pressured.
When you ask me something, I’m not just processing your words. I’m aiming to understand the context, the non-verbal cues, and the social expectations tied to the engagement. It’s a complex dance where each component must align, and unfortunately, this can lead to what appears to be a delayed reaction. That pause you see? That’s my brain loading the response, similar to how a computer takes time to process and retrieve information.
Adding pressure to this process often exacerbates my challenges. It can derail my thought process further, making it even more difficult for me to respond in a timely manner. In contrast, when you exhibit patience, it creates a more conducive environment for communication. It allows me to take the necessary time to organize my thoughts and articulate a response that is meaningful.
So, give me space, and I will meet you there. Your understanding and support make a significant difference in how I interact and express myself, allowing our conversation to flourish.
The Part People Don’t Like Hearing but Need to Anyway
Here’s the honest truth, delivered with love and just a pinch of sarcasm. I would rather be at home. Sure, there are times that I enjoy going out and doing things. But even those experiences are done in small bursts here and there. A small lunch at a little restaurant during off hours so as not to be in the thrum of its busiest time, a leisurely trip to a bookstore or a specialty shop of our choice, long rides into the countryside with carefully picked music wafting through the air… These are the moments I savor.
However, when it comes to big events filled with countless people I do not know or care about, the energy can be overwhelming. Even gatherings with friends and loved ones, while they bring joy, can sometimes tip the scale towards overstimulation, leaving me yearning for the quiet comfort of home. The thought of navigating through a sea of conversations, trying to catch snippets of dialogue while feigning interest, can feel like a chore.
Home is my sanctuary, a safe haven where my spirit can unwind and breathe freely. It’s the place where I can curl up with my dogs, their calm presence grounding my often racing thoughts. Wrapped under a cozy blanket, I find solace in the sweet predictability of comfort shows I know by heart. The familiar hum of the television fills the room, serving as background music to my retreat, while the comforting pages of a book transport me to different worlds.
In my home, I am free to exist in a sensory environment that doesn’t feel like my brain is being shaken in a jar. Instead of putting on a brave face and engaging in small talk, I dream of the blissful simplicity of my own space. The warmth of my dogs snuggling beside me offers a kind of love that is genuine and unobtrusive. Each episode of my favorite show brings back memories of laughter and joy, and the sweet escape of getting lost in a captivating book allows my mind to wander in the most delightful ways.
This idyllic scene is where my heart truly lies—surrounded by the things and beings that bring me peace. My sanctuary is not merely a physical space, but a state of being where I can recharge, reflect, and simply be myself, away from the noise and hustle of the outside world. In these moments of solitude, I find clarity and satisfaction, knowing that the world will still be there when I’m ready to step back out into it.
So if I am at your event, your gathering, your wedding, your funeral, your holiday dinner…
That is effort. That is care. That is me spending limited energy to show up for you. I want you to know that I value our relationship enough to step outside my comfort zone and immerse myself in the whirlwind of social interaction, even if it means setting aside my own desires for a little while.
Both things can be true at the same time. I can love you deeply and still hate being here. The struggle of the heart and mind in this scenario isn’t lost on me. My presence speaks volumes about the connection we share. It’s a balancing act of affection and introversion, where my love for you is matched only by my yearning for solitude. All in all, there’s a quiet beauty in this dichotomy that makes our moments together all the more special, reinforcing that love transcends even the most uncomfortable circumstances.
How to Support Your Autistic or AudHD Loved One at Events
Actual Support, Not Just “But We’re Family”
Here’s why these things help and why they matter.
- Ask before touching. This gives the nervous system ample time to prepare and consent, ensuring that the person feels comfortable and respected in the interaction.
- Offer an exit plan. Knowing they can leave lowers anxiety before it even starts, providing individuals with a sense of control and empowerment over their situation, thereby fostering a more positive and less stressful environment.
- Drop the guilt. Shame increases stress, which increases shutdown, leading to a cycle that can be hard to break. Instead, focus on self-compassion and understanding, as these practices can help reduce feelings of guilt and allow for a more positive mindset.
- Lower social expectations. Eye contact, small talk, and “acting normal” all take a significant amount of energy, which can be particularly challenging in social situations. It’s essential to recognize when these interactions are draining and to adjust our expectations accordingly.
- Believe them. Overwhelm isn’t something we exaggerate for fun; it’s a genuine feeling that can manifest in various aspects of life, impacting both mental and emotional well-being significantly.
Support isn’t about forcing participation.
It’s about making participation survivable by creating an environment where individuals feel safe and valued. This involves understanding their unique needs and providing them with the resources necessary to engage meaningfully. When people are encouraged to participate at their own pace and comfort level, they are more likely to contribute positively. It’s crucial to foster a culture of inclusion, ensuring that everyone’s voice is heard while also offering the necessary emotional and practical support to help them thrive in collaborative settings.
Tips for AudHD Folks Navigating Family Obligations
Survival With Dignity
If you’re the one bracing yourself before events, here’s why these strategies help.
- Set boundaries ahead of time. Predictability reduces anxiety.
- Plan breaks in advance. Proactive regulation works better than damage control.
- Bring sensory supports. Familiar stimuli calm the nervous system.
- Leave before you’re empty. Staying past your limit leads to burnout.
- Schedule recovery time. Social exhaustion is neurological, not personal.
You are not too sensitive.
You are not antisocial.
You are not failing.
Your brain just processes the world at full volume.
If this post resonates, let this be your reminder.
You are not alone.
You are navigating a world that wasn’t built with your nervous system in mind, and you are doing the best you can with the tools you have.
And that is more than enough.
Life can often feel overwhelming, especially when it seems like everyone else is managing just fine. The world can feel particularly challenging when it doesn’t take into account the unique way you experience it. It’s important to remember that your feelings, your challenges, and your journey are all valid.
In a society that often prioritizes speed and efficiency, taking the time to care for your own well-being can feel like an uphill battle. Yet, acknowledging your struggles is a significant step towards self-acceptance and healing. You have every right to feel what you feel without judgment, and every day is an opportunity to learn more about yourself and what you need.
You are not just surviving; you are adapting and finding ways to cope. It’s okay to reach out for support, to seek understanding, and to know that there are others who share similar experiences. Take pride in the small victories, even if they feel trivial in the grand scheme of things. Each step forward is progress, and it contributes to your growth.
Allow this moment to be a reminder that you are enough, just as you are. Embrace your journey, trust in your resilience, and hold onto the knowledge that there is a community out there waiting to support you every step of the way. You are not just a voice in the crowd; you are unique, valuable, and worthy of all the kindness you give to others.
Much love and many blessings,
Mrs. B 🖤✨
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