Understanding Autism: Why I Struggle with Social Occasions Part 2 – The Unwritten Rules
Social conventions that seem to constantly change and defy logic will always remain a mystery to me.
It is widely acknowledged that humans are social creatures. While individuals can and do have breakthrough ideas, we make progress as a group. Even the most elusive hermit will likely use the discoveries of others to make their life easier, such as fire or the importance of clean water.
But like every part of human life, socialising can take many different forms. Autistic people are, in general, social. We just often prefer to do it our own way, like so many other aspects of life.
In the previous part of this article, I explained why I find many in-person social occasions incredibly difficult because they revolve around chatting and small talk. Like many autistic people, I generally prefer to communicate in writing, so an event based around face-to-face conversation is always going to be a stretch for me. But it is not the only reason that I struggle with many social occasions.
One of the most significant reliefs I had when I received my autism diagnosis was understanding that I am not the only one who feels like they are trying to play a complex game without knowing the rules. It reminds me of my early basketball games at school, where, having moved schools mid-year, I had missed all the lessons where the teacher explained the rules. So, despite trying to copy those around me, I seemed to commit fouls constantly, whether holding the ball or trying to block an opponent in possession.
The neurotypical world has a seemingly infinitely long book of unwritten rules that others are born knowing. It is like the preloaded software when you buy a new laptop. I missed that factory update, and came as a blank canvas. There are few situations where this is more on display than at a social event.
The confusion starts even before the event does. There are so many questions I have before even going, like what should I wear to not stick out like a sore thumb, and what time should I arrive? Timekeeping is a particular bugbear of mine with the neurotypical world. If an event is advertised as starting at 8, I will want to arrive by 7:55 at the latest, but, of course, there are times when 8:00 means 8:30, 9:00 or even later. But there are other times when arriving any later than 8:05 is seen as extremely rude. How do you know the difference, and why can’t people just say what they mean?
Occasionally, the instructions for the event do offer more help. If an invitation says something like pre-event coffee from 9am for a prompt start at 10am, I know exactly where I stand and will aim to arrive at 9:55 to be on time for the actual business but miss the painful small-talk! Of course, the event will likely still not start until about 10:10, but what can you do?
Having determined when to arrive, and probably got it wrong, I then need to think about what to wear. Now, because I tend to wear the same clothes most of the time, my choices are limited, which makes things easier. But how do you know what is a smart event and what is not? What does this instinctive knowledge of what is appropriate that neurotypicals seem to have feel like?
For years, I have erred towards being more formally dressed, particularly in work settings. I was one of the very last people in my workplace to wear a tie to the office every day, mainly because I had done so for so long that it would have felt wrong not to do so. Lockdown finally put paid to that, but I still wear a formal shirt every day I am working at home.
So even before I get to a social occasion, I have expended a great deal of mental energy and probably made myself very anxious. I have probably also made a mistake, which puts me at an immediate disadvantage when I arrive.
But then there are the rules of the occasion itself. In some ways, I hanker for the Victorian rigidity of socialisation, where there were conventions for which of your neighbours at the table you spoke to during which course during dinner. Of course, there are many problems with that approach, and I am generally someone who dislikes unnecessary formality, but I at least would know where I stand!
Usually, what happens is that the combination of my lack of understanding of the unwritten social rules and my inability to make small talk means I am left on my own, desperately trying to look inconspicuous. It helps if there is something to look at, like an exhibit or a painting on the wall. But I have on several occasions made a detailed examination of the fire evacuation instructions rather than stand facing a busy room looking lost!
Having failed to navigate the event, I am left with one final burning question: When is it ok for me to leave? Where there is a formal part of an event followed by the dreaded “networking”, this can be easier – it is usually acceptable to say you have another appointment or a train to catch and slip away. But at less formally programmed events, how long does one stay before looking even more odd and rude than usual? I have no idea, but I suspect that I usually get it wrong!
The thing is, and I will say more about this in part 3 of what was originally going to be a single article (!), after a very short time at a social event, I am exhausted, overwhelmed, and desperate for some quiet. It is now not just taking up the time of the event itself, it is costing me significant recovery time later when I will be unable to do anything else.
I suspect that I will never figure out all these unwritten rules, not least because they also seem to change constantly. Do neurotypicals have a secret telepathic network like the terminators, where they share what is normal today to catch out the autistics? Sometimes I really do wonder!
If you want to learn more about how it feels to be autistic or how to support autistic family members, friends, and colleagues, please subscribe to my substack to see all of my insights. If you would like my expert input to your project or organisation, leave me a comment or message me.