I’ve been on my own most of my life. Not everything I experienced alone, but I did travel by myself, went out to restaurants solo, visited extended family as a single member, attended concerts on my lonesome, I live in my own space, follow my own routines and pursue my own goals.

The things we go through together, great or small, good or bad, are elevated through their shared nature.
But what about the unshared moments?
Are those lesser parts of our lives?
Are there different types of solitude we can experience?

Certainly there are different ones and they do matter in their own way.

There is physical loneliness, which might be what first comes to mind. Being far from any other human body restricts and relieves our responsibility, but also our interactivity with our human network. It is a safe way to escape sensory phenomena and the human-like spontaneousness. Here’s where we recharge and reconnect with ourselves mostly. It is the kind that almost every person knows and can relate to. And most importantly, many are able to choose this kind of loneliness.

Less of a choice are conditions that single us out. Be it something we are born with, something that came or went within our life or just something we are experiencing differently. If we are (visibly or invisibly) outstanding in a given societal structure, our connections to the things people do or talk about are limited. The many efforts of accessibility and inclusion aim to fight this kind of loneliness with many weapons.
As a member of the autism community, I have felt this my whole life, but after the diagnosis, I also see more of it clearly and I am happy to have so many fruitful environments to connect and relate to.

There is also a kind of loneliness that is independent of human proximity. When you are amongst people, even if you interact with them and you are also part of their society, you can still be all alone, mentally.
When all the above doesn’t contribute to a sense of belonging and the struggles, thoughts and sensory input register so differently from the seemingly shared experience, one can be more alone than ever.
These moments are dark, but can serve as a turning point, so we seek more true connections to places, people and circles.
In those moments, if we are not connected to anything inside of us or if nobody is connected to our struggles, we can get lost easily. That makes educating and sharing our individual experiences so fundamental and a great place to start making things easier.

What we are connected to inside, independent of the ever-changing surrounding elements, still matters most and is a trustworthy fallback. Identity, self-worth, even the odd memory of a good experience can do the job.

And the best thing on the lonely road: It is okay to be lonely.

As soon as we understand why we are lonely at times and what it means to us personally (that it might not be a devastating situation to avoid) from loneliness will come solitude and from dread will come inner peace.

Without checking back on society, I would probably rarely have a sense of whether my own interests are normal or of a special nature.

And as the brain is in conscious learning mode from the start, it’s hardly worth focusing on what’s normal. After all, that’s but the average, and hardly anyone has truly lived up to their potential by being as normal, mediocre, and average as possible.
“That can’t be the goal,” has thus become etched into my subconscious, and my brain has done the rest.

I’ve always felt, in terms of what’s normal for me (though by checking back…less so), more drawn to extremes and fringe phenomena.
Be it music from niche genres, my home decor, the quirks of various dear friends, taste in movies, hobbies, thought patterns, life decisions, food choices at restaurants, or the choice of words in special moments.
How much better can one understand something if one knows not only its general centre but also all the bizarre outgrowths at its edges?

If I were to focus solely on that centre, I would miss out on the special kind of unity that arises when you meet like-minded people in such a niche. That is a very effective way to ease the loneliness that manifests as a way of life, and I don’t even mean that in a judgmental way!

A view from my perspective: The distance between societal norms and the median of my preferences is longer than the distance from one eccentricity to the next.
This means that neurodivergent people are more open to deviations from the norm than the public, because to them, these deviations are often even less odd than societal norm culture itself.

And with so much familiarity with whimsical and surprising things, it’s easy for me to see through seemingly extraordinary circumstances and reach their core directly.

As much as I, as an autistic person, value frameworks and norms, they are merely the boundaries for freely chosen content. And these take different forms from person to person and are filled with a wide variety of shapes and colours.

And where do I fit in?
I would rather be the reason someone comes into contact with something extraordinary than with something that is to be found everywhere.

What I don’t know won’t hurt me.
But the opposite is even worse. And, for a touch of absurdity: when I know that I don’t know something, it hurts me even more. That’s why curiosity has often been a touchy subject in my life, and when someone says, “Let’s have a chat later,” that’s the end of peace and routine.

But that’s not what this is about. It’s about the special relationship between my feelings and my knowledge.

I like to translate the word “Autistic” as “Hyper-Feeler.” Feeling so much that it hurts is what causes all the behaviours commonly referred to as “autistic.” That is, the systematic dissociation from sensory and emotional impulses, social deviations and nonconformism, and susceptibility to the psychological side effects. These are all technical measures and solutions against the overwhelming power of feelings. I am very grateful to have found more socially compatible solutions than crude ones in my life so far.

I can only experience a feeling without dread if I can classify and name it. At some point in life, you reach a point where you have enough knowledge to interpret the feelings that arise in most everyday situations. This has always been a great support pillar in my life: being able to express why I do what I do and, as a basis for this, what I feel.

And this basis is fed by knowledge. If I don’t know from the facts at hand that I am afraid or should be afraid, then I am not afraid. If I don’t know how to interpret my cocktail of feelings as hunger, then I won’t come to that conclusion so quickly. So, raw emotion and raw sensory stimuli always need cognitive translation. And beyond the basics of human life, there are many areas where more knowledge makes it possible to access specific feelings:

I learn how a car works and as a result feel exactly what I need to do with the clutch pedal. I learn how the internet works and as a result feel what is happening in the background every time I visit a website. I learn about the sensory world of horses and as a result feel completely different things than ever before when I see any steed. I learn about my organs and as a result feel very clearly how my circuits are functioning. I learn a new rule of language and as a result cannot act against it without terror. I learn about values at work and as a result feel them as if they were my own.

It gets particularly crazy when the knowledge relates to less obvious “facts,” namely other humans.
There are as many complex processes involved as there are within my very self, and on top of that, they are hardly ever tangible or predictable. When I gain a piece of knowledge about humans, I can better feel how other people feel and behave accordingly. It’s especially dim when a piece of knowledge originates from a third person, or might even be of negative content, and I as a result have to find my feelings from all these updated puzzle pieces.

I don’t want to be cautious and learn less out of fear of feeling too much.
I want to have so much useful knowledge that I can learn more and more about feelings, regulate them, and be happy so that I can make others happy too!

If a human is reading this: Please make it easy for me and tell me positive things about other people or give me clues on how to correctly interpret negative information. That could just make the next encounter with that person more pleasant.

When I wrote this article, I didn’t know what direction my life would take in 2025.

The new year would be far less predictable than the years before had seemed at their beginning, that much was clear after my 2024 experience. Because in that year, I had learned to take myself more seriously, and it had taken me far. Far away from what I had known before. But closer to what is good for me.

And this new year I shall follow up on these good things. By doing more of them.

In addition to the time I spend with friends and family, I am active in autism support groups and can share all the things that I have kept to myself in my life so far. In the therapies I am able to attend, I can take away as much for myself, as I can contribute to something lasting.

My time goes towards creative projects, one of which focuses particularly on the topics that constantly arise in therapy and self-help. I am separating myself from elements that have defined my identity so far and investing in my new future with beautiful things.

And the way things are developing, I will be able to put my strengths into works that have more to do with my goals, and the things and the people that do move me, than ever before.

The cure for autism is the environment. And I am fortunate that my environment (people, places, opportunities) is changing for the better, and I would like to carry this newfound energy out into the world, this year and onwards!

A question that should quickly clarify a wrongdoing.
However, as an autistic person, the answer to this question involves more connections than is usually expected when asking this simple question.
If a complete answer is possible at all.

Because both right and wrong weigh extremely heavily in my life. That’s why I strive for rules and clear guidelines and the certainty that I’m doing something right. This is far easier done in the digital realm, which ultimately comes down to 0 and 1, than in the human-social-personal realm, where feelings and individuality tend to predominate.

Over the course of my life, I have continued to develop and build “my right world” and draw the boundaries to the best of my knowledge and to the sets of my beliefs. Whether in the linguistic sphere, where in the know of the correct pronunciation a wrong one causes me physical pain, or in the moral sphere, where an observed deviation from common good manners presents me with monstrous inner problems.

The scary thing is that the sensor for right and wrong is tied to my emotions and constantly gives off a rousing signal. However, a central autistic characteristic is the ability to oppose these unruly feelings with walls and barriers of logic and inner convictions. In this way, I can turn an overwhelming wrong signal into a weakened wrong signal or even an energy-saving right signal through some certain processing steps.

It is precisely this blatant process of feeling that makes the contrast between right and wrong so so exciting (and not always in a positive sense).

Because if something is wrong, it’s not just wrong, it’s also not right, which makes it even more wrong and even further away from the right side, making it more wrong and more wrong, so that it’s near unbearable. This also explains my fortunately few but obvious emotional outbursts, in which my inner processing steps no longer worked. And all the skills I have learned that could help me to classify and mitigate wrong signals are then to far to access.

In such a moment of need, it is then necessary to explain one’s own conviction of what is right and to explain the current deviations from this in their respective severity. This, in turn, requires that the relevant elements of what is right can be verbalized in a way that is preferably appropriate for the target group and it will embarrassing highlight one’s own responsibility for judging something as wrong. And because this is a large-scale and in itself nerve-wracking action, I tend to adapt my social algorithm to prevent my feelings from arising in the first place and stay away from situations where this could happen.

Whether this separates me more from the outside world or allows me to live as part of it might be a differentially situated matter…

That special interests are part of the autistic phenomenon is commonly known, with me never feeling strange thanks to my friendly environment, where as a child I diligently searched computer game files for interesting fragments, knew the latest car models and mobile phones inside and out, was probably the only young person with an active interest in classical music, or even today could find any bare skin in those books of knowledge with astonishing precision.
Special interests, which are highly absorbing and obsessively pursued activities, can also change, recur, or even disappear over time.

But this is not what this is about, rather the flip side.
Because as much as we try to see autism through the most positive eyes and special interests are mostly viewed benevolently (and rightly so, because this hyperfocus is essential for a neurodivergent brain), there are also purely restrictive behaviors.
And these are less about rejecting hostile sensory impressions, like the residual aromas of mint oil (yuck) or the nonsensical mixture of milk and pasta (sob) or the avoidance of agitated crowds (demonstrations are the worst).
It’s about things to which similar energies are devoted as to one’s own fields of interest, but with the fundamental difference that these things are rejected with an unshakable and disadvantage-accepting power.

For me, this includes (but is not limited to): local radio, soccer, the dubbing of films into another language.
If I were not capable of self-reflection, this would sound like unnecessary hate; and for a long time, I did not understand where these deep aversions came from. I even liked soccer as a child, at least the 2002 World Cup sticker album with all the data and facts and its collecting appeal. But something about the extent of the emotions and personal observations of how a person’s nature can change while playing did not fit with the game in and of itself. And projecting all this onto today’s big soccer industry, I only have incomprehension and a big blockade against soccer fan culture circles. The good news: I feel good about my point, and so do the others about theirs.
And the thrill of rooting for something uncontrollable can be satisfied in other ways, anyway.

Music is another special matter, related to conscious engagement with musical works and the appreciation of a very individual and sometimes extremely emotional art form. Due to the over the years doubtful selection of local radio stations in Germany and the focus on “easy to listen to and safe” and the fact that it is widely turned on because of the “radio” and not because of the contents it broadcasts, local radio fits so little into my worldview and my sensory funnels that I reject it categorically and with deep conviction.
And “just turning it off” is unfortunately impossible, as my brain perceives sounds almost unfiltered alongside my ears.

Regarding films, I have already encountered indignation and incomprehension with other Germans, as this people apparently care more about understanding every translated word (also acoustically foolproof through the dubby style of talking) than appreciating the acting performance. Because silent film has long been out of style and nowadays an actor conveys his role mainly through his voice.
It is also a question of the overall work: What language did the crew probably speak, and to which language world can the thoughts on set or in the studio be assigned? Is the vision of those responsible for the creation and completion of the film possibly related to a specific language?
Undoubtedly, dubbing creates jobs and accessibility (alongside subtitles, mind you), but can it also create art?
Examples of special dubbing are the films with Bud Spencer and Terence Hill, which acquired cult status in German only through their very artistic and free translations. Or Coldmirror’s Harry Potter parodies, where I am a bit cautious not to eventually disrespect the original work.
If someone values the factual content of a film within the German speaking style more than what actually contributed to its creation, then I am probably sitting on an opposite branch of the film tree and accept it but cannot reconcile it with my personal claim to art and culture.

What I would like to point out with this is the following: The reasons behind special interests and special disinterests often lie in the same nest and can reflect the same core.

Even if a person, whether child or adult, cannot precisely say what now makes them fight tooth and nail against a “completely normal, even great” thing, there are deeper reasons. And those reasons may even be quite positive ones and recognizable based on the special interests often in focus.

Recently, at the self-help group, I found myself philosophizing again, and thus this essay of my thoughts came into being.

The question of Why, How, and What can be viewed differently depending on the situation, and one could readily write novels about all cases of their application. I’d like to address it generally at first and then apply it to family life.

As a child, “Why did you do that?” was the worst question for me. In math class, I was being stirred by the statement “The result counts less than the process” (so the How seemed exceedingly important), and after devouring all the Was-ist-Was? books, I was already doing quite well for myself in the world of the What (a soon to be corrected misconception).

Especially during growing up, particularly in the special life path of neurodivergent children, these three questions come to light painfully all too often, unfortunately, although in different forms:

The What

Certainly, a school diploma and a career path in the primary labour market are desirable, certainly, as a social being, a person is to have their place in a circle of friends and family, certainly, an independent/healthy/prudent daily lifestyle should be a priority.

The How

Here all of a sudden it all becomes very individual, where each person develops their own approach. But that does not mean a How forms all by itself; no, the How often has great similarities to the nature of the most influential people in one’s life (usually the parents).
And the idea of those people can point out small things in daily dealings or rather big life decisions.
In life I was often told that How I express myself is special, but also How a child pursues their interests, or How we eat, are all things that have little to do with the actual What. Likewise, the career path or other personal life decisions are following streamlined ideas more than our pure interests.

The Why

If we find ourselves stuck, where neither any answer to the highly individual “How one is supposed to live life” nor the individual things “What there is to achieve in life” seem to work in real life, we may dare go one step higher.

This level is pleasantly far away from the What and the How and yet it has the greatest influence on them. This level questions, just like a curious child, Why we would do something.
And it only gets really exciting when we actively ask ourselves Why we actually do something. Quite simply: if someone knows exactly Why they are here in this world, then they will have no problems with the questions “What do I do?” and “How do I do it?”
With a satisfactory Why, the How has less to do with anyone’s (including one’s own!!) ideas but only with the thing at hand itself.

If one no longer asks How to best tie shoes but starts from Why one wears shoes at all or Why those must have shoelaces, many alternatives can be found to possibly leave this hurdle in the past entirely.
When it comes to eating habits (Google: Autism Sampler Platter), a healthy direction close to the Why is easier to take than blind vegetable consumption because of “Eat your vegetables PERIOD.”
School is imposed on children of all stripes for good reasons, but nowadays, when system busters are on the rise, it has the positive effect that some schools reconsider their mission and allow much more leeway in the How to achieve the What. But until this becomes the norm everywhere, there is still much to do.
And when one finally understands Why there is such a thing as friends, it hardly matters anymore How that friendship will look.

As a final practical tip, there is the dazzling method of inventing a Why.
Because if you would very much like to have a good Why to do something but you cannot find one quickly, you can simply make one up. Important rule of thumb: If it harms no one, it is all legitimate.

These thoughts are meant to encourage when everyday life with children or oneself is difficult.
If all does not feel quite right, there is always a level where we can come to terms with the constants around us. (there’s a chance they are not that constant after all, but shhh)

Lately, I have been overflowing about a pastime that is not new, but has become a trusty companion in recent months.

It is board games.

Slowly, the wounds of at time even miserably plain experiences with mediocre games have been replaced with exciting thrills and fleshed out stories to tell and to recommend.
We’ve built zoos, sailed mystic waters, fought breathtaking battles, saved civilizations, went to space, wandered degenerated dungeons, hunted cryptids and so much more!

The general fascination with predetermined worlds I laid out in this bit already.
But with board games, the stretch between a story to tell and the abstracted version of it is much more intricate.
Through mechanics and artwork, haptics and rules, premise and expectations, they make for a wonder-filled reason to get together with friends and family.

Getting to know a game, obsessing over a game, mastering a game or sharing all those joys with others, those are the dream of those who think up and make games.
I am sure, everyone has had their contact with board games and there are many preferences out there.

Coming together and sharing them is a sweet game in itself, though as much as an autistic person loves all those game mechanics, shouldn’t they have reservations about the whole “other people” deal?

A great example, which I often like to use, is the 11-to-11 gaming day a friend organised a while back, when I was down on my energy. Still, the plan was flexible enough to test my battery and go home any time.
Did I go home before 11pm? No. Were there many people? Yes. Did I know most of the people? No. Did I play with them regardless? Yes. Did I run out of energy even remotely? No. Was I surprised in the end? A bit.

Turns out, board games, besides their obvious spoils, are a stellar example of accommodations to my brain:

1. There is a rule book that explains everything that is to know about the game on the table.
2. Any contents of the box are listed neatly.
3. Any kind of desirable act or victory related aspect is laid out as a central part.
4. If the premise is not divergent, the game is to be fair.
5. The players have a shared vocabulary for critical elements.
6. Games have end conditions.
7. The chances of finding order, rather than chaos, are high.
8. Within the rules, anything is possible.

Sure, the fun of some game nights is determined by accompanying circumstances, second by set expectations, but only after a huge gap by the very fact that a board game is being played.

Now come into the danger comfort zone and let’s play!