Overwhelm
Sometimes it was the mental math I had to do just to get through a conversation.
Sometimes it was the unspoken responsibility of translating everything I said into something that wouldn’t trigger shame or shutdown.
Sometimes it wasn’t a fight that broke me. It was the fifth unanswered question. The lingering silence.
The moment I knew if I said the wrong thing — even gently — I’d lose him to shame, or shutdown, or both.
There’s an invisible labor in neurodiverse relationships — the ongoing calculation:
How do I say this so it won’t land wrong?
Can I bring this up right now?
What version of me will be safest for us both?
It’s the unspoken responsibility of translation. Of softening every truth. Of bracing for the pause that means he’s gone inward. Of wondering if this moment will be the one where the door closes again.
And still… trying anyway.
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What Overwhelm Looks Like
In neurodiverse love, overwhelm doesn’t always look like chaos. Sometimes, it’s quiet withdrawal. Sometimes, it’s irritability. Sometimes, it’s detachment masked as control.
But underneath it all, it’s often grief.
Grief for the ease you hoped for.
Grief for how hard it feels to simply connect.
Grief for how much translation is required just to be heard.
Grief for the times you chose silence over conflict — and then felt invisible anyway.
This is the weight we don’t talk about enough.
Not because we don’t love each other — But because love alone doesn’t protect us from overwhelm.
And sometimes, the ones who seem the strongest are the ones carrying the most emotional weight just to stay.
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What Helps:
Co-regulation before conversation. Don’t talk when nervous systems are flared — pause, ground, and come back.
A shared signal for “I’m at capacity.” Create a nonverbal cue to ask for space without rejection.
Naming grief gently. “I’m feeling heavy — not because of you, but because of how hard this has been.”
Making room for both people’s overwhelm. One partner may be overstimulated; the other may be under-held. Name the difference.
Permission to step away without disconnecting. A pause isn’t abandonment when it’s communicated with care.
Reflection Prompts:
Where have I been carrying more than I realized — just to keep the peace?
What does my version of overwhelm look like? How does it show up in my body, my voice, my behavior?
What support might I need — even if I don’t know how to ask for it yet?
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Updated May 6, 2025
(Originally published [April, 2025])