It was a Summer Sunday morning in Brighton, our home city at the time. Soon I would need to get my head into gear for another long week, but before I did, I was looking forward to a peaceful day. We both had long commutes and needed some headspace. Maybe we’d go to a favourite garden for a wander. Or we could walk down to the seafront, mingle with the tourists and laugh at the gulls hovering overhead, waiting to steal a chip or a sandwich from the unwary. Before we had chance to decide, the phone rang.

In those days, we all had landlines. It was Trevor, a friend who lived a couple of hundred miles away. “Have you had your breakfast?” he asked. “Um, ye-es…” I replied cautiously. “Right, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He cut the call before I had chance to respond. I didn’t even know he was in the area, let alone intending to drop in out of the blue on a Sunday morning. Dear Trevor was an ebullient soul with a penchant for pushing my buttons. I had no energy for that. I panicked. Without stopping to think I grabbed my car keys and bolted. I didn’t go home for two or three hours.

Don’t get me wrong. I was fond of Trevor, annoying though he could be. He was a good man. A planned lunch while he was in the area, a walk somewhere, a relaxed afternoon, all would have been lovely if we’d agreed a date and put it in the diary. Like many of my autistic kin, I don’t adapt well to sudden surprises, especially when I’m given no room to negotiate. I still have no idea what happened on that visit. I recognise that, under neurotypical norms, my behaviour was beyond the pale. Only my neurodivergent friends would understand my reaction. I didn’t know then about autism and the difference it makes to our fluctuating social capacity.

Autistic folk are used to being expected to mask our autism, to behave as closely as possible to neurotypical norms and expectations. Women and girls in particular can become people pleasers in a desperate attempt to fit in. It’s exhausting. Take the common conversation that starts, “what are you doing on Saturday?” or “are you busy on…?”. It’s no problem if the question is quickly followed with something like, “I’m doing such-and-such and I thought you might like to join me” or “we need some help with this event”. That gives me a choice. However, in the classic ambush version, the question is followed with a silence I’m expected to fill with a factual response, as it was that Sunday morning. Caught off guard, I’m likely to hesitate, and before I know what’s happening, I find myself conscripted to something for which I may have little or no energy or appetite.

As I learn more about the nuances of my neurotype, I’m slowly learning to take space. I’m training myself to ask why the person is asking. That puts the onus with them to be upfront about what they have in mind. Whether I then agree depends very much on my energy levels, and how much I want to be involved. My gut response is important here. I’m also better at factoring in my need for downtime and solitude. I grind to a halt if I ignore it.

I’d like to say “yes” if I can and want to, but not to be put under pressure. I’m working hard on being more graceful with my refusals.

Photo, gull, waiting for an unwary tourist with a bag of chips, perhaps?