DEAR DR. NERDLOVE: I’ve been an avid reader of your blog for a while now, so thank you for all the great work you’re doing. This is less a question about dating and more about my relationships with people in general, but it has to do with something I’ve struggled with for a long, long time.
First, some context: I am a 20-year-old man who was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome at a young age. I’ve always been pretty introverted and sensitive, and often had a hard time making friends as a kid. I felt that most people either ignored me or formed friendships with me that weren’t genuine, just because I was “different”. Thankfully, I’ve made some incredible friends over the years who have been there for me through thick and thin, but there are still some fields where I don’t entirely feel satisfied or comfortable.
Namely, when it comes to hobbies and interests.
I’ll be honest: I’m pretty nerdy, and have been all my life. I love old movies (particularly dramas), video games, indie music, and reading fantasy novels. I find these things so engaging and meaningful to me, and I’m very passionate about them, where they almost feel like a part of who I am. It’s important for me to share this stuff with people, because it feels like letting them into my world a bit, allowing them to get to know me through the things I connect to.
But every time I try to tell people about this, I never feel understood in the way I want to. Part of that is on me: like a lot of neurodivergent people, I have a tendency to fixate on things and go on monologues about them sometimes, and that can drive people away. It’s something I’m aware of and am trying to work on, so I can present myself in a more palatable way.
But even when I have something that truly moved me, and I want to share that with other people… I recoil. I get overcome with fear of how they will react. I’ve had people tell me throughout my life, even as I got older and my social life got better, that the things I like are weird, or pretentious, or boring, or uncool, and don’t try to engage with what makes this thing so special to me. And every time I think of sharing these things with someone, I freeze and start to panic: what happens if someone I love or a good friend reacts the same way and decides to leave me, even when I try to find something they will like as well? What if I’m left all alone in the world, where even those closest to me can reject me at the drop of a hat because they think my hobbies are silly?
This is true for pretty much everyone I meet – friends, dates, even my immediate family sometimes, and it’s gotten to the point where it’s become unbearable. It’s not even that I need people to like what I like in order to feel validated – all I want is for the people I care about to get a glimpse into my emotions, to feel understood by them, and for me to feel comfortable being open with them.
I’m pretty open and earnest with them about my day-to-day emotions anyway; unlike many men my age, I have no problems sharing my feelings, discussing politics, philosophy, or most other topics that are important to me with my loved ones and friends. But when it comes down to talking about my passions, the anxiety takes hold of me again, and I don’t understand why. What’s wrong with me? Why is it so easy for me to talk about the things I believe, but so hard to talk about the things I love?
That’s why discussing these things online hasn’t helped either: awful state of online discourse aside, I want to connect with people I know about these things than to find a community of like-minded individuals who I can’t meet and connect with IRL.
I dunno, maybe this question sounds a bit trivial or silly. But I just can’t live like this any longer. How do I become more comfortable talking to people about my interests? How do I overcome this paralyzing fear of being rejected, and finally feel like I can show people who I really am?
Yours truly,
Searching For Understanding
DEAR SEARCHING FOR UNDERSTANDING: There’s an Instagram reel that’s been going around some of my social circles in the last few days that has been hitting like an atom bomb: “I don’t overshare because I like talking about myself, I overshare because I feel like I’m more tolerable with context.”
It sounds to me like you’re feeling this, but you’re also afraid that context will actually make things worse.
A lot of this is about insecurity; the fear isn’t so much about your hobbies and interests being silly, so much as the fear that you as a person aren’t don’t have enough inherent value to keep someone interested as a friend or partner. As a result, it feels as though something as minor as “they think my interests are silly” would be enough to make them have second thoughts about being your friend.
While I would say that anyone who’s going to stop being your friend because they think your interests are silly was never really your friend in the first place, I absolutely understand that this isn’t helpful in the moment. I just want you to understand: what you’re feeling is anxiety, not reality. It’s the fear of “what if”, and how it’s tied to how you feel about yourself.
The fact that this is an anxiety may not feel helpful, but it can give you perspective to understand what’s going on. Anxiety is a little like an overactive guard dog; it’s a way that part of your brain is trying to protect you, but it’s so on alert for threats that it overreacts to everything. Once you recognize that this is response to the anticipation of a threat, not the reality, it’s easier to center yourself and calm down. You can take a moment, look around, see that it’s not actually happening and then you free up bandwidth that you can then use on something that does need your attention. Likely, that will be something considerably less scary, but far more helpful.
It also means that you can look at the friendships you have, see what you’ve been through and realize that even if they don’t share your interests, they still like you. And hey, not sharing interests doesn’t preclude friendship; respecting people’s interests is far more important.
Now, there’re a few things that I would suggest that will help you here. The first is to recognize that while you may have the impulse to give the full rundown on your interests, it’s often more helpful to have levels of information to share. Think of it as a three-tiered system: the elevator pitch, the beginner’s guide and The Full Monty.
These correlate to the level of closeness you have with someone – the way that people can have grades of access to your life. Strangers, for example, get few personal details; you don’t know them, they don’t know you and they haven’t necessarily earned greater access to you. Acquaintances get more access, but not all of it; they’ve earned a higher level of closeness, but they’re still on provisional status until time and behavior shows that they deserve more access. When a stranger asks you how your day’s going, you don’t necessarily tell them about how you’ve got a doctor’s appointment because you have a spot on your neck that needs to be biopsied, you say “I’ve had better days”. On the other hand, you would share that info with a close friend, because they’ve earned that level of disclosure and you have the kind of relationship where you can turn to them for support and reassurance.
The same goes with how much you go into your interests; you don’t give all the information at once; you give them a little bit based on their interest and the level of relationship you have with them and share more, accordingly.
The elevator pitch is just that – how you would pitch this idea to someone if all you had was the length of an elevator ride to explain it and catch their interest. So, if you were going to give the elevator pitch for, say, the October Daye series by Seanan McGuire, you might say “a private detective in San Francisco tries to balance her mundane life with being a part of a Court of the Fae run by a sociopathic queen.” This is just enough to whet their interest and encourage them to ask for more if they’re intrigued.
The beginner’s guide is the next tier, where you give them the very basic rundown – it’s an ongoing series about Toby trying to survive as a half-fae, half-human changeling in a culture that doesn’t see changelings having any rights whatsoever; she lost over a decade of her life to a curse and this destroyed her human relationships and she’s struggling to keep her head afloat while also dealing with courtly intrigue and Machiavellian plotting. It’s closest to a Wikipedia summary, giving the basic gist but without getting into detailed plot development, spoilers and the like.
The Full Monty is where you go in depth about your relationship to the book – how you relate to the characters, why you like it, what about McGuire’s storytelling that resonates with you, how it blends darkness with heartwarming moments, character development and evolution, the way you can go back and trace the clues that were salted as far back as the very first page, etc.
Having these tiers can make it easier to calibrate just how much to share, without feeling like you’re going to overwhelm them. If someone wants to know more, they can say “oh hey, that sounds cool, tell me more about that” They may decide that they just want the gist, but then come back later and ask more. It also means that you don’t overshare with people when it wouldn’t be appropriate.
But this is about managing the anxiety – having these tools helps you feel more confident sharing, because you’re less likely to go into full infodump and freaking people out. To address the source of the anxiety, you have to look inward.
Some of this is about trusting your friends and your connection with them. If they’ve been with you through thick and thin, getting enthusiastic about your favorite old movies isn’t going to drive them off. They’ve demonstrated this through their behavior and the longevity of their friendship with you. But it’s hard to get to that point if you don’t actually have that sense of self-worth and believing in your inherent value as a person.
That part is harder, and a lot of it comes from being kinder to yourself, loving yourself and recognizing that your worth isn’t contingent on what other people think. It’s easier to say “wow, this person isn’t someone who’d be a good friend” when you don’t take that incompatibility as a sign that you are the problem.
This is one of the times when I think dialectical behavioral therapy would be helpful. There’re free resources available to help walk you through a lot of it, but I think you would really benefit from working with a therapist, particularly one who’s used to autistic and neurodivergent people. Helping get the anxiety under control and building that sense of inherent value and internal validation is going to go a long way to easing the fear that sharing these aspects of yourself will turn people off.
So take a little time, think about the ways you can use the tiered system to discuss your interests with others so you don’t have that immediate worry of driving people off. As you feel more empowered to talk about your interests, take that sense of confidence and assurance and recognize how this tells you how capable and awesome you are. As your emotional bandwidth frees itself up, you can direct it towards your sense of worth and your overall emotional health.
It’s scary, I know. It’s not easy, and it takes time, but the rewards are absolutely worth it. And I promise you, SFU: you’ve got the strength and the courage to accomplish it.
You’ve got this.
All will be well.
Please send your questions to Dr. NerdLove at his website (www.doctornerdlove.com/contact); or to his email, doc@doctornerdlove.com