Friendship… Interrupted
The truth about having friends in an autistic world.
Making friends is supposed to be easy, right? Natural. Normal. It just kinda happens.
At least that’s the story we’re told through books, movies, and TV. It was when I was growing up, and what I saw surrounding me as I got older.
You meet someone, you “click,” and from there it’s late-night phone calls, inside jokes, matching your energy, and sitting with you during the hard times. By adulthood, you’re expected to have that “best friend” — the Thelma to your Louise, your ride-or-die buddy, your ‘person,’ the one who shows up with ice cream when life falls apart and stays with you for as long as you need.
At 45, I don’t have that. I never really have. And it hurts sometimes.
Always On the Outside
I’ve struggled to make friends my whole life.
When I was younger, I just didn’t know how to make a friend. I was incredibly introverted and stoic, the perpetual wallflower of awkwardness. I kept to myself mostly out of the fear of struggling to connect, but secretly longed to make a friend.
Part of it is being autistic. The social “rules” that other people seemed to know instinctively always felt like a secret code to me — I didn’t get the memo. Small talk? Exhausting. Group conversations? Like trying to catch five radio stations at once, but I’m never quite tuned into the right frequency.
For those who don’t know, autism affects people mainly in one of two ways — either through communication or social skills. Where I excelled in communicating, I struggled socially. There were so many nuances that I just didn’t get and failed to pick up on.
I learned how to perform at being a friend — a superficial one at that — be friendly, show up, ask questions, and take an interest. But underneath, I always felt slightly out of sync. Like I was orbiting near people but never quite landing.
I would meet classmates, neighbors, etc., and they seemed to like me in general. We would talk occasionally. Hang out periodically, and text randomly. Always distant, we never clicked.
The Ones That (Almost) Stuck
In elementary and middle school, I managed to make a couple of friends (and I admit, more from their effort than mine — I was so uncomfortable putting myself out there then).
One classmate who befriended me would hang out with me at school and we’d do sleepovers. I thought we had connected, then she randomly ditched me to be friends with another girl. No explanation, just moved on.
Another friend tried to hand me poison ivy one time. Years later, she tried to steal a friend she thought was my boyfriend. When I told her we weren’t together, she dumped him. Yeah, not a healthy relationship there.
High school led me to a small circle of friends. But, once again, we were pretty superficial and moved on after graduation.
These were sadly my experiences with making friends as a kid.
There was this one girl in middle school who instantly seemed to click with me and was the first person to really pull me out of my shell. We were the best of friends and inseparable. It was the first time I felt like I could be me without criticism. She was going to be the one who stuck with me through thick and thin. That was until her family changed schools and we ended up on two separate paths that just kept getting further apart. And we didn’t exactly have cell phones or social media back then. To this day, I still miss her.
(Little side note: I ran into her years later, but she was a completely different person by then. We never reconnected.)
Trying Too Hard
The older I got, the harder it became. And the harder I tried. I started to notice at this point how many people had those close friends and I was still alone.
It started when I went to college. I was miles away from home and didn’t have anyone I still talked from school or our neighborhood. I made another small circle of friends, ones I thought would be my forever friends. That was until things flipped upside-down over a guy. When I started getting frustrated that no one else saw how close to abusive he was to our one friend, I suddenly became the bad guy. That’s when everyone chose a side — it wasn’t mine.
Next up was the academy. That was far from easy, and you’re put through the wringer together. Bonds are usually formed in such a stressful environment. I once again had a small circle and they were amazing, too. We were ready to take on the world together. Until I was forced out of the department thanks to internal politics I wasn’t actually involved in. Not only did I have to leave my career, I also lost everyone I thought were friends. That hit hard.
Friendships appeared and faded so fast I couldn’t keep up. People moved on. Life got busy. And somehow, I was always left standing alone. This was when I wanted to start shutting people out. Instead, I tried being more outgoing — a new mask I put on.
The Conundrum
I always connected more with men than women. Despite being considered an intelligent person, I was always a little simpler in my thought processes around people. I didn’t overthink things with guys and liked not having to play guessing games. I dealt with that alot with girls — it was more like a chess match than a friendship (who could you actually trust and what would they stab you in the back with next).
Everyone getting married changed that, though. Many women don’t like it when their husbands have female best friends.
“Friends” with ulterior motives was another complication. You know, the guys who wanted to be more than friends when you didn’t feel that spark, but still wanted to pursue you. Or the girls who saw you as a crutch or catapult.
One friend would show up drunk and expect me to clean up her mess (read: take care of her kids while she was hungover) — but was never there when I needed a shoulder. She was also good at pulling me into her drama.
Or the other friend who was getting mentally abused by her mom over her weight and felt that finding my shortcomings made her more attractive (who knew my lips were so thin or lashes non-existent?)
I hoped having the kids as my motivator would help. You know, getting to meet other parents and having something in common. It didn’t work out that way, of course. I just didn’t connect yet once again and wasn’t truly included. Meeting classmates’ moms was just that, superficial and occasionally necessary. No one wanted to become my friend and do playdates. We just coexisted.
I even tried joining a couple of Mom Clubs (so not like me, btw — I am NOWHERE near social enough for those atmospheres). The ladies were mostly nice (at least not the catty ones who saw me as some sort of threat in their insecurity). I was able to join in some outings — a wine retreat, a pool party, a social hour. I had a great time every time and chatted it up with everyone. But again, I didn’t connect with anyone. They continued to socialize and I disappeared. No one noticed.
I pushed to keep my struggles from impacting my children, so we would go to the park or other public venues. They were able to interact with other kids while I sat by myself watching them do what I couldn’t.
The Myth of the “Best Friend”
There’s some sort of cultural weight to the idea of a ‘best friend.’ Movies, books, TV shows, and even social media posts reinforce it. The one person you tell everything to. The one who knows you better than you know yourself. And they’re always there for you, no matter what.
My husband was the anomaly. He and I connected so deeply, even before we truly got to know one another. The spark was always there, yes. But there was so much more than that. We were like-minded, had similar interests, and treated each other the way true friends do. I finally had my person!
But it’s different for couples. You still want that friend you can gripe to about what stupid thing your spouse did this time. Or share with them the excitement of getting engaged. When you don’t have that outside of your partner, you start to wonder: Is it just fiction? Or is there something wrong with me?
I’ve asked myself that question more times than I care to think about. I’ve felt the sting of seeing lifelong friendships celebrated while I quietly carried the shame of not having one of my own. It’s a loneliness that isn’t always visible, but it’s there. It hits me the hardest around my birthday, which is why I felt a need to share (I ‘celebrated’ that back on the 4th and that’s a whole other story).
What Hurts the Most
It isn’t just the absence of a best friend. It’s the little reminders — the times I’ve wanted to share good news and didn’t have someone to text. The birthdays where the messages felt more like polite check-ins than real celebrations. The planned gatherings where no one shows up to an open invitation. The moments when life fell apart and I realized I didn’t have someone outside of family to lean on.
Heavy to admit.
Redefining Friendship (Slowly and Imperfectly)
Here’s where I’ve landed, at least for now: friendship isn’t what it’s portrayed as in pop culture. At least not for everyone.
I don’t have a best friend outside of my husband. I don’t even really have close friends. I tend to have small, meaningful connections that don’t always stick. I would love to have someone I really connect with. Someone I can talk to about finding myself after all these years. A work bestie who genuinely checks in on tough days. A community where I can be myself without apology and still be accepted and included. Maybe one day. But, for now, it’s a different perspective and approach. And it may not be the same as the ride-or-die friendship I thought I would have. But maybe it doesn’t have to be.
My Own Therapy
Writing this hurts. It feels like pressing on a deep cut. But it also feels like admitting a truth I’ve kept hidden for so long.
And maybe — just maybe — putting this out there is its own form of connection. Because I can’t be the only one who feels this way. I can’t be the only one who struggles with friendship, who feels the ache of being a satellite and never part of the group.
If that’s you, I want you to know something. You’re not broken or less. And you’re sure as hell not alone. You’re human, and your way of connecting might just look as different as mine.
And if you are one of those blessed people who has that best friend? Maybe send them a text today. Just to tell them how amazing they are for being there and understanding you. Because what you have is rare in my world, and it’s worth celebrating.
Thanks for sitting with me in this shadowy space. If this resonates, check in often to Too Many Tabs with Wendy. This site is where I untangle the messy, human tabs — the ones that are fun AND the ones we don’t talk about enough but carry with us all the same.
