Understanding Isn’t Always Automatic

By Ryan | AWRYTE I used to think I was a mind-reader.

Not the magical, card-trick kind. Just… hyper-aware. Tuned in.  Constantly scanning for signs of what people needed, what they were feeling, what they weren’t saying.

It was a survival skill. Not empathy, exactly—but overcompensation. 

I couldn’t always read facial expressions or pick up on sarcasm, so I became a detective. 

Noticing everything. 

Guessing wildly. 

Apologizing constantly.

And still, I missed things.

So when people tell me I’m hard to talk to, or that I don’t understand what they need, it cuts deep. 

Because I want to understand. 

I try to understand. 

I’ve built my whole life around trying to make people feel seen and safe—often at the cost of myself.

But here’s the part nobody tells you: autistic people aren’t born with a rulebook for how neurotypical communication works. 

We don’t get the unspoken cues. 

We miss the coded language. 

We’re not wired for implication.

So when someone hints, I miss it.When they soften their words, I take them at face value.When they say, “It’s fine,” I believe them.

Then later, I get blindsided with, “I shouldn’t have to explain everything.”

But actually? You do. You do have to explain. 

Not because I’m trying to be difficult. But because I’m not guessing. 

Because guessing is a dangerous game for me. 

Because I’ve spent my whole life being punished for guessing wrong.

I remember a time in my early twenties, in a relationship where the entire emotional ecosystem revolved around reading between the lines.  If he came home and sighed, I’d freeze.  If he gave a short answer, I’d spiral. 

Everything felt like a test I hadn’t studied for.

Eventually, I asked him, flat-out: “What do you need from me right now?”

He looked at me like I was being dense. “I need you to just know.”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. And that made me feel defective.

I carried that shame for years. I assumed everyone else was walking around with some magical decoder ring, and I’d been left out of the club.

But the truth is, most people are just better at faking it.

Autistic people tend to be more literal.

More direct. 

More transparent. 

We say what we mean.

We expect others to do the same. 

But in a world where people are trained to “be nice” instead of “be clear,” that puts us at a huge disadvantage.So when someone tells me their needs clearly, it’s not insulting—it’s a relief.

If you love someone who’s autistic, or work with someone who is, or even just want to build a stronger connection, here’s the simplest way to start: 

Say the thing. 

All of it. 

Out loud.

Not in hints.

Not with side-eyes and loaded pauses.

Not through silence and hope.

Just say it.

I know that goes against a lot of social conditioning.

I know people are taught to soften their language to avoid confrontation, or to expect others to “just get it.” 

But for us, clarity is kindness.

When someone gives me a clear sentence—

“I feel overwhelmed when plans change last minute,” or 

“I need a response within 24 hours to feel secure,” or 

“Please don’t interrupt me when I’m focused”

I can work with that. I can actually meet that need. I want to.

What’s hard is when I’m expected to reverse-engineer someone’s tone of voice, or decode a vague post, or read a subtext that was never actually spoken. Because when I miss it, I get blamed. And when I ask for clarity, I get told I’m being difficult.

So here’s my plea to the world:

If you want to be understood, be willing to speak clearly.

If you care about an autistic person, give them the chance to meet your needs by stating them, not implying them.

And if you're the autistic person who’s been made to feel like you're impossible to connect with—know this: you're not broken. You just speak a different language. And you deserve relationships where both people learn each other’s dialect.

AWRYTE isn’t about fixing communication. It’s about making space for real communication—the kind that doesn’t require guesswork or punishment. The kind that gives us all a shot at being known.

We don’t need more mind readers. We need more people willing to speak plainly. And more people willing to listen without judgment.

I can understand you. I want to. But you’ve got to help me get there. With words. With trust. With time.

AWRYTE on.