6 Times I Thought We Were Speaking the Same Language—But Weren’t
In neurodiverse relationships, especially when ADHD or dyslexia are present, communication isn’t just about talking—it’s about translating. Here are six moments where I *thought* we understood each other, but ended up in completely different emotional worlds.
— Calla Hart
There were so many moments in our relationship where I thought we were on the same page. I thought we had the same understanding. I thought we were speaking the same language.
And then suddenly… we weren’t.
The words were familiar. The tone was soft. But the meaning? It got lost somewhere between my intention and his interpretation.
In neurodiverse relationships, especially when ADHD or dyslexia are present, communication isn’t just about talking—it’s about translating. Here are six moments where I *thought* we understood each other, but ended up in completely different emotional worlds.
1. When I said “I need help/ I need your support” and he heard “You’re failing me.”
I thought I was asking clearly. But for him, hearing those words felt like criticism—like he’d done something wrong. Instead of getting support, I got defensiveness. We both walked away hurt.
2. When he said “I forgot”—or didn’t respond at all—I heard, “It didn’t matter to me.””
What was a memory lapse for him felt like emotional neglect to me. I internalized the forgetting as a reflection of my worth. But it wasn’t that simple. Memory doesn’t always equal meaning.
3. When he gave space and I experienced abandonment
I thought he was shutting me out—when really, he was trying to protect himself. It wasn’t distance out of disconnection. It was distance for regulation. But without the words for it, all I felt was the absence.
4. When he said “I’m fine” but everything in about his energy said otherwise
The words said one thing. But the tone, the posture, the withdrawal… it all said something different. I didn’t know whether to trust what he was saying—or what I was sensing.
5. When I needed a plan, he brushed it off
He’d say things like, “We’ll figure it out,” or “It’ll work itself out.” But to me, that felt like avoidance—not reassurance. I needed structure to feel safe. He needed flexibility to feel calm. And in the gap between those needs, we both felt unseen.
6. When I asked a question and he heard a trap
Curiosity—especially when emotions were high—was often misread as interrogation. I was trying to connect. He was trying to survive. We both left feeling misunderstood.
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Each of these moments carried emotional weight—not because we didn’t care, but because we didn’t realize we were decoding life differently.
We are still learning each other’s cues. We are developing a language that works for *us.* Not perfect. But honest. And it’ starting to make all the difference.
