ASD & Toxicity...

It’s taken me years to understand how my own traits, the ones that make me who I am, can sometimes leave me more vulnerable in romantic relationships. This is a truth I’ve grappled with, and it’s one that’s shaped by a mix of personal experience and painful realizations. Relationships, at their best, should be a source of support, love, and growth. But for someone like me, with an autistic brain that’s wired to trust literally and deeply, the path to finding that kind of relationship has been fraught with unexpected twists, turns and trials.

I’ve always believed in taking people at their word. If someone says they care, I assume they mean it. If they promise something, I believe they’ll follow through. It’s a simple, straightforward way of seeing the world, and for a long time, I didn’t realize how that made me an easy target for those with less-than-honest intentions. My trust wasn’t just a leap of faith—it was a given, something I offered freely without hesitation. I never imagined that it could be weaponized against me.

Looking back, I can see how this deep trust led me into situations that were far more precarious than I understood at the time. I didn’t catch the warning signs, the subtle shifts in tone, the fleeting expressions that hinted at something darker. I wasn’t equipped to read the unspoken messages that so often carry the truth behind the words. It was like trying to navigate a maze with a map that didn’t match the terrain. I was lost before I even knew I’d taken a wrong turn.

Feeling like an outsider has always been a part of my life. It’s not just that I don’t fit the conventional mold—it’s that I’ve never really understood the mold to begin with. So, when someone comes along who seems to accept me as I am, who doesn’t make me feel like I need to hide or change, I latch onto that connection. The problem is, this initial rush of acceptance can blur my vision. I want to believe so badly that I’ve found someone who sees me, who gets me, that I overlook the red flags until it’s too late.

Growing up, I learned to tolerate a certain level of discomfort. It became a part of my daily existence, whether it was from misunderstandings, sensory overload, or just the constant feeling of not quite belonging. This tolerance, though, has its downside. It’s made me more likely to endure situations that others might immediately recognize as harmful. I didn’t see the behavior for what it was—abuse—until it became undeniable. By then, I was already deep in the quicksand, and getting out felt nearly impossible.

Financial dependence has also played a significant role in keeping me stuck in toxic relationships. There’s a deep-seated fear that if I walk away, I’ll lose everything—emotional support, financial stability, even a roof over my head. The prospect of navigating the unknown, alone, is paralyzing. When the relationship represents the entirety of my support network, leaving feels like stepping off a cliff with no safety net. The thought of being alone, without the anchor of that relationship, is terrifying, even when I know the relationship itself is dragging me down.

And then there’s the isolation. It’s a silent killer, this realization that there might not be anyone else to turn to. The more isolated I felt, the more I clung to the toxic relationship, as though it were a lifeline rather than a noose. It’s a strange, twisted form of survival—staying in the most dangerous place because leaving seems even worse. The isolation magnified my fears, making them seem insurmountable, and kept me tethered to a situation that was slowly eroding my sense of self.

This isn’t just about recognizing red flags or reaching out for help—though those things are important. It’s about understanding how my own wiring, the way my brain processes trust, acceptance, and discomfort, can put me at risk. It’s about acknowledging the ways in which these traits, while they make me who I am, also make me vulnerable in ways that others might not be. And it’s about learning to navigate those vulnerabilities with my eyes wide open, without losing the parts of myself that I value most.

As I reflect on these experiences, I realize how much work needs to be done—not just in my own life, but in the world around me. There’s a desperate need for more understanding, more support, more tailored approaches to helping people like me avoid these pitfalls. It’s not enough to tell someone to leave an abusive relationship. There needs to be a deeper recognition of the unique challenges faced by those of us on the spectrum, and a commitment to providing the tools and support necessary to help us build safer, healthier lives.

This is heavy stuff, but it’s necessary. If I’m going to heal, if I’m going to move forward, I need to be honest about what’s happened, and I need to make sense of it in a way that honors my truth. There’s no blame here—only a desire to understand, to grow, and to ensure that next time, I’ll see the signs before I’m too far gone to turn back.

Key Takeaways:

1. Literal Trust: Taking people at their word can make it difficult to recognize when someone’s intentions aren’t honest, leading to vulnerability in relationships.

2. Challenges in Reading Social Cues: Difficulty in interpreting subtle social signals can result in staying in harmful situations longer than is safe.

3. Acceptance and Isolation: The longing for acceptance, coupled with a history of feeling like an outsider, can make it hard to recognize when a relationship has become toxic.

4. Tolerance for Discomfort: Growing up accustomed to discomfort can increase the likelihood of enduring abusive behavior, making it harder to recognize and escape toxic relationships.

5. Financial and Emotional Dependence: Fear of losing financial stability and emotional support can trap individuals in harmful relationships, making escape seem impossible.

6. Isolation: The fear of being alone and having no one else to turn to can intensify feelings of entrapment in a toxic relationship.

Glossary:

1. Literal Trust: The tendency to believe what others say without questioning or interpreting underlying motives.

2. Social Cues: The nonverbal signals that people send through tone, facial expressions, and body language, which convey underlying intentions.

3. Love Bombing: A manipulation tactic involving overwhelming displays of affection and attention early in a relationship to gain control.

References:

1. Milton, D. (2012). On the Ontological Status of Autism: The ‘Double Empathy Problem.’ Disability & Society, 27(6), 883-887. https://doi.org/10.1080/09687599.2012.710008

2. Brown-Lavoie, S. M., Viecili, M. A., & Weiss, J. A. (2014). Sexual Knowledge and Victimization in Adults with Autism Spectrum Disorders. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 44(9), 2185-2196. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10803-014-2093-y

3. Holliday-Willey, L. (2012). Safety Skills for Asperger Women: How to Save a Perfectly Good Female Life. Jessica Kingsley Publishers.