How Alexithymia Feels (Or, How It Feels To Not Have Feelings)— Understanding Autism/ADHD

Something feels… off.

I don’t know how else to describe it.

Something feels weird. Unsettled. Troubled.

Just… off.

There’s no reason for it to feel off either. I’ve had a lovely day. I spent the day sleeping in, playing my favourite games, seeing excellent people and eating my favourite things.

And yet, here we are.

My day, my life, is it too dramatic to say my world, is just fundamentally fucking off.*

I feel like this a lot.

Three weeks ago, I was just about to embark on my first 6 day trekking expedition in the Icelandic highlands of the summer season. I’m a hiking guide, so I spend my summers guiding folks throughout the most beautiful place on Earth. We hike through rainbow hills, across obsidian skerries, in the shadows of glaciers, through crystal clear rivers and in active volcanoes. I get to share my favourite stories about Icelandic geology and folklore; I get to cook Icelandic classics for hungry folks and I get to meet exciting people from all over the world.

It’s my dream job. And I fucking love it.

Growing up in suburban Newcastle upon Tyne**, I never imagined I’d get to do something so cool and I try to remind myself each day how lucky I am to be able do what I love most for work.

So believe me when I say that I was genuinely excited for my first trip of the summer.

Then, all of a sudden I feel it. Two days before I depart, I feel that familiar feeling.

My world feels… off.

Now I can hear what you’re thinking.

“Matt, what do you mean off?”

I wish I could tell you. Honestly I wish I could. I wish I could explain to you how I was feeling now or three weeks ago. And I can’t.

Well I can, but not specifically. Or at least not specifically right away.

It’s kind of like a puzzle.

And for me to explain that puzzle effectively, I need to explain one of the most confusing parts of my neurodivergent experience.

Let’s talk about alexithymia.

What Alexithymia Is

Now when we’ve talked about other aspects of neurodivergence in previous articles, we’ve usually talked about things that are pretty familiar to most folks.

We’ve talked about things like fidget toys, social anxiety and other basic coping mechanisms to help me manage executive dysfunction, eat the occasional vegetable and to navigate the weirdness of the gym.

But now we’ve going to talk about something that I don’t know everyone can relate to. I have often tried to describe how alexithymia feels**** to people and been met with entirely blank stares. Or, even worse, the ‘oh yeah, uh-huh, sure’ of someone trying to be polite whilst swiftly and unmistakably disengaging from what you’re trying to say.

So, to make this accessible for everyone, we’re going to start with some definitions.

And, I’m going to warn y’all, this might get a little dry. But I think to explain how alexithymia feels, we first need to understand what alexithymia actually is.

I’ll try and keep it fun, I promise.

So first, a little history lesson. The term ‘alexithymia’ is actually a relatively recent addition to the lexicon concerning mental health. It was first coined by a Greek psychiatrist, Peter Sifneos, in 1973 to describe his patients who struggled to describe their own emotions. The term, in the original Greek, means ‘without words for emotions’.

That sums it up nicely and succinctly, but weirdly, the best definition I’ve found for ‘alexithymia’ is actually on Wikipedia… It says:

Alexithymia, also called emotional blindness, is a neuropsychological phenomenon characterized by significant challenges in recognizing, expressing, and describing one’s own emotions. It is associated with difficulties in attachment theory and interpersonal relations. While there is no scientific consensus on its classification as a personality trait, medical symptom, or mental disorder, alexithymia is highly prevalent among individuals with autism spectrum disorder (ASD), ranging from 50% to 85% of prevalence.

This is easy enough to understand, right?

Alexithymia basically means you can’t identify your own emotions. And by emotions I really mean feelings. And by feelings, I mean all the things going on inside me. Feelings, emotions, states of being. All of that stuff.

But, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Because it’s a bit more complicated than that. So, a bit more science, if you’ll indulge me.

Neurodivergent Insights has very clearly laid out the 4 core features of alexithymia.

They are:

• Difficulties identifying and describing feelings

How Matt feels this sometimes: ‘Wait, have I been mad this whole time?’

• Difficulty differentiating between typical bodily processes and emotions

How Matt feels this sometimes: ‘Wait, maybe I’m not hungry. Maybe I’m sad?’

• An externally oriented cognitive style

How Matt feels this sometimes: ‘Oh I have no idea how I feel, but we’re not following the plan!’

• Challenges generating mental images and fantasies

How Matt feels this sometimes: ‘Absolutely, I totally understand your directions’ as I can’t visualise it at all and fully intend to Google it at the politest moment.*****

Again, there’s nothing too complicated here. It’s basically explaining the different ways it might be hard to understand your own feelings.

And please don’t sweat the detail here. We don’t need to get hung up on the specific details of these principles. I just wanted to give y’all a flavour that it’s not as easy as simply not knowing how you feel and highlight that there’s actually been quite a bit of specific research done in this area.

Now, as always when we’re talking about neurodivergence, we’re working with spectrums. As mentioned 10% of the population suffer from alexithymia to a certain degrees. Not everyone who experiences alexithymia experiences all 4 of the core features. For those who experience the 4 core features, they may not experience them all to the same extent. Experiences may vary; check the instruction manual with your neurodivergent person; terms and conditions may apply.

The goal here isn’t to try and explain how alexithymia manifests in every single person, neurodivergent or not. The goal, for me, is to give neurodivergents (and those who love and support them) some words to be able to talk about what they go through.

Which, especially in the case of alexithymia, can be particularly difficult.

So, OK. Some folks don’t know what they’re feeling. What does that look like in practice?

Dear Future Matt,

Can you give me 3 well chosen, representative examples to humanise alexithymia? With a bunch of jokes? Maybe a bit of pathos? Some meta moments? Ideally you’d communicate the discomfort of alexithymia but keep it light and digestible? Please and thank you!

Love,
Past Matt

This fucking guy… Sure, I guess we’ll do that.

3 Alexithymia Alexamples

I think sometimes neurodivergent problems don’t sound so bad when you explain them.

Like if you say ‘oh I can’t read faces very well’, it doesn’t really get across how much of an issue that is until you give examples or expand on how it feels. Because ‘I can’t read faces very well’ elicits the response, ‘yeah! Me too sometimes’. But saying ‘I don’t ever know if my partners, family and friends are comfortable or happy and it causes constant anxiety’ tends to elicit a more sympathetic response.

I’m pretty it’s going to be the same with alexithymia.

When you say ‘I struggle to know how I’m feeling’, people tend to respond with ‘oh yeah, I get that sometimes’. And I think they equate it to not knowing what you want to order on a menu. Like when I’m incapable of knowing my own emotions it is the equivalent of not knowing if you want chicken or fish, or whether to see Barbie or Oppenheimer.

So, to avoid confusion, I am being forced by my former self, I mean, *cough* I would like to share 3 common alexithymic situations to get more of a sense of what living with it is like for me.

Because I want to be clear. Of all the things I experience as part of being autistic, alexithymia is definitely one of the more challenging. And most of them are no picnic.

Anyhow, Go Go Gadget Vulnerable Example 1!

The Bad Mood Everyone Else Can See and Feel. Except You.

Some days autistic people upset everyone they meet.

I don’t know how else to say it.

I’m not trying to be controversial at all. I’m not trying to make a big point. It’s just my experience. And I think most autistic folks know what I’m getting at…

Some days you come home or go to work and everyone you speak to is more upset afterwards. There have been many days where I’ve unwittingly upset everyone. Former partners, friends, family, stepkids, shopkeepers, board game partners online. Everyone. And I have no idea how I’m doing it.

Buuuuut… as you spread chaos and discontent thoughout the immidiate vicinity you get the distinct sense it’s your fault. It’s following you everywhere and you have no idea why. But you’re the common link for sure.

So, because you’re autistic, you try to work it out. You look for patterns. You look for clues. You look for answers.******

You say to yourself: you don’t feel different (you think). You’re not doing anything different (you think). You’re not trying to upset anyone (you think).

And yet… *boom*. Explosive conversations all over the place. What’s going on? Is my mask failing? Am I broken? Should I just go to bed and try again tomorrow?

I can’t remember the exact circumstances, but I remember my ex saying something to me once that totally changed the game for me. I think it is likely she said it multiple times. Anyhow, she said:

‘Matt, is it possible you’re in a bad mood? Like, are you angry?’

‘No’, I responded as politely as I could.

I wasn’t angry. I mean, I don’t feel angry. I don’t feel angry.

Shit. You see where this is going right?

I continue. ‘I mean now you mention it. I did have really awful clients at work. And my bosses were rude when they didn’t have to be. Actually, now you mention it, the bus driver was a right cock on the way home. Aaaand, come to think of it, my chronic pain is flaring. Oh, and a bunch of people I know are getting fucked over at work…’

‘You know what, I’m in an awful mood.’

Here’s the thing. I have learned through much therapy that it’s not bad to be in a bad mood occasionally. It is normal and acceptable and valid to respond negatively to negative stimuli.

The problem with autism though, is that your ability to express emotions can be calibrated in a way that isn’t pleasant for others (and you might not know). You can hurt others easily. You can be unkind. You can be cruel and unthinking. And you can do all of this easily and completely unwittingly.

Now, those who know me well will know that I attempt first and foremost to be kind (though whether I achieve that in any meaningful sense is definitely up for debate).

The best way I’ve found to make sure I’m still being kind to folks is to continually monitor my feelings, my responses and my reactions. If I feel like I’m about to be outraged over something stupid (classics include loading the dishwasher ‘wrong’, making a gross noise or putting things in the ‘wrong place’), I can see that coming and choose a kinder way to act.

BUT.

This system relies on receiving good information.

We know that this is already a challenge for autistic folks. I’m not brilliant at knowing how other folks are feeling, how I’m coming across or what might be a kind way to interact with the person across from me. And usually, I can counteract that by being self-aware. I know what I’ve said before that has been responded to well. I know what has upset people. I know how my mask works.

However, in a moment of alexithymia, the system fails. I don’t know how I feel. I sure as shit don’t know how others feel. And at that point I can feel what I call ‘untethered’.

Being ‘untethered’

Just a quick note here.

This will definitely get its own article but I want to emphasise here that being untethered is amongst the scariest things I experience as an autistic person.

Imagine it this way. I’ve spoken before about the fact that I see autism (and neurodivergence more broadly) as an another language. I think it’s a different way to process things. We have different words for things and experience the world in a slightly different way.

Accordingly, when we speak to neurotypicals, we tend to have two choices.

1. We can speak in our own language.

One of the things neurodiverse people hear a lot is ‘You don’t have to mask with me’. Or, to use my metaphor, you can speak your own language with me.

Oh sweetie…

This always ends two ways. Either, the neurotypical person is in for a biiiig shock, regrets their choice and you can feel them regretting their decision before withdrawing from your life completely. Or, the ‘neurotypical’ person realises something fundamental about themselves.

Again, I don’t mean to be controversial. All I’m saying is you need to speak a common language to communicate with someone. We can agree on that, right?

And I don’t know any neurotypicals who speak fluent neurodiverse.******* So, instead what usually happens is:

2. The neurodiverse can speak ‘neurotypical’

This is essentially what masking is.

It’s an attempt for us neurodivergents to speak to neurotypicals without causing any of the issues that come with trying to communicate in another language.

You know, things like mistranslation, accidental offence, being misunderstood. You get the idea…

We’ll speak another time about how (and if) this works. For now, we only need to know that it’s what most neurodivergents are going most of the time when speaking with neurotypicals to a greater of lesser level of success.

But there is a third option. Being ‘untethered’.

3. Being ‘Untethered’

So I’m not talking about communicating poorly. I’m not talking about being rude accidentally or too loud or too blunt or whatever.

Being ‘untethered’, to use our language metaphor, is when you lose the thread completely.

You don’t understand what people are saying. At all.

You don’t understand what you’re communicating. At all.

You’re just lost.

If people are on a vibe. You’re not. You’re totally untethered from other people.

And it’s fucking scary.

Back to the article.

When I’m angry but don’t realise, I can easily become untethered. It’s hard to describe exactly what’s happening, but I think the dissonance between how I’ve been acting and how I think I’ve been acting means that I lose the thread completely. You suddenly realise that you’re acting in a way you don’t intend based on emotions you’re experiencing but you don’t feel. So, how do you act? What’s real? What’s a safe and kind way to be?

It’s really confusing. It’s really disorienting. And, honestly, it’s really fucking scary.

So, to summarise, in our unwittingly angry situation, we have one problem becoming another:

Firstly, I’m expressing myself in a way I don’t feel but do feel. Like I’m definitely angry, BUT I don’t feel angry. So I’m acting like an angry person and I have no idea that I’m doing it or why. That’s a big problem. I’m speaking the neurotypical language really fucking poorly.

But, secondly, once I realise what’s going on, I can become untethered. I’m not on the frequency of other people at all any more. It’s scary. I withdraw. I hide. I don’t know what to say or what to do.

I’ve pissed everybody off.

I’m pissed off.

I don’t know how to act, how to feel, what to do.

2/10. Would not recommend.

Wait, am I hungry?

I looooove food. It’s one of life’s true joys.

I enjoy eating at new restaurants. I love to learn to cook new foods. I love to eat new foods. I love to eat familiar foods. I love to eat weird foods.

Food is just good, you know?

But I forget to eat. All. The. Time.

Now, I’m lucky. I don’t mean to brag but, I have both autism and ADHD.

So, we’re going to put aside all the times I don’t eat because of executive dysfunction, time blindness or hyperfocus. They exist. They’re valid. They’re important. But this article is already ballooning (because stupid Past Matt insisted I give everyday examples because he’s an entirely well meaning but undeniable bell-end) and we’re going to focus on the times I don’t eat due to alexithymia.

There are many days where I walk around feeling uneasy.

I’ve known for a year or so that I’ve got alexithymia, so I have started to interrogate my feelings. When I feel alexithymic, I go into emotional detective mode, I start asking sensible questions for someone with alexithymia:

• Are you anxious? Is there work stuff coming up?
• Do you miss the little one? It’s been a few days since you’ve seen her, that’d be totally normal.
• You mad, bruh? Capitalism is still a thing… That would upset me too?
• Are you sad? You had a break-up recently? Grandad isn’t doing so well?
• Homesick? You do live a xenophobic island… That might be affecting you?

You get the idea.

I have spent entire days trying to interrogate my feelings wondering why I feel… off. And, as I’m sure you’d guess, doing that doesn’t make you feel better, does it? The more you put your intrusive thoughts under a microscope, the more intrustive thoughts you find.

Sad things. Scary things. Angry things.

Big things. Little things. Medium things. Real things. Imaginary things. Things in between.

Anxieties grow. Anxieties combine. Anxieties overwhelm.

And it’s scary. As you try and track down the origins of these off feelings, you can often get lost in a sea of other off feelings. Untethered, you might say. Floating in a dark, cold sea of your own negative emotions.

Maybe you cancel plans. After all, it’s not fair to inflict this kind of mood on other people. You don’t schedule things for tomorrow. Maybe you leave work early. You can’t concentrate. Which is fair enough. You just feel off. And it’s getting worse.

Hours pass. You suddenly realise that you haven’t eaten all day.

You’re too stressed and anxious to cook. You order takeout or, if we’re being honest, you commit to crisps for dinner.

As you eat, you feel the feelings change.

Shit, maybe I was just hungry.

I mean, I do feel a bit better…

It’s unclear. Hmmm.

Maybe I’ll just do a few more hours of nervous introspection. You know, just in case.

The Complete Lack of Imagination (Or, Matt Politely Nods A Lot)

OK, this one is actually quite fun, I think.

In the 2000 paper, Alexithymia and Mental Imagery, Campos, Chiva and Moreau write that

“Alexithymic subjects showed lower imaging capacity than non-alexithymic subjects.”

Having compared alexithymic and non-alexithymic folks, the researchers found that those with alexithymia struggle to create mental images in a variety of situations. Namely:

• Alexithymic folks struggle to imagine things described to them.
• Alexithymic folks enjoy imagining things less than others.
• Alexithymic folks dream less and when they do dream it is much more realistic.

The study was quick to point out that it’s not necessarily saying that alexithymic folks can’t imagine or visualise things. But they generally seem not to. In a statistically significant way.

And let me tell you, as someone who has no natural ability to visualise things, it’s wiiiiiiiild.

I only actually realised like a year ago that other people could visualise stuff. I thought we were all politely ignoring the inefficient way to communicate (you know, like small talk). I didn’t realise my brain didn’t work normally.

Now I think I understand. As far as I can tell, when someone describes something, the other people get like a picture in their head of what the other person is saying. Right? So, the words create a picture in most people’s heads I think.

I imagine it like the holophonor in Futurama, but with words and in people’s heads.

Anyway, the key point is that I don’t get those images. Or when I do, it’s very rare. Instead, I get to politely nod along at people who assume I do. And it happens every day. So, just for fun, here’s an incomplete, off-the-top-of-my-head list of things people assume I can visualise that I absolutely fucking can’t.

Things Matt Politely Nods At:

• The haircut you plan to get — No idea what you mean or how it’ll look. I’m sure it’ll be lovely. It’ll certainly be better than my hair.
• Directions — Unless you draw a map, I’m just saying ‘uh-huh’ to be polite and then I’ll be on Google maps.
• Decoration plans — I’m sure your living room will be lovely but unless you draw it or have samples on the walls, I’m none the wiser.
• Descriptions of people — ‘You remember! Sheila with the blonde bob and the stripy trousers’. Nope. I don’t remember and I can’t visualise her. Tell me a story about her and I might remember but I have no idea what anyone looks like if I’m totally honest unless I see them every day. And even then, it’s iffy.
• Children’s whimsy — I wish more desperately than anything that I could imagine your pig, dog, dragon, centaur hybrid. Can you please draw it for me?
• Book descriptions — People often ask me if the characters or places look like they do in movies as I imagine them in books. Ummm, unless that character is on the cover, I know them as a list of facts or I use fan art I like as my mental image. I have no idea what they look like. I’m usually so grateful for adaptations so I can finally imagine these characters. I also often watch the show before the book to help me imagine it.********
• Video Game Quests — A lot of video game essayists and reviewers like quests without markers. You know, ‘go over the field, past the rocks and then you’ll see a crick and….’. I get that they think that it’s more immersive that way. But, personally, I need the little yellow arrow otherwise I’ll be lost forever.
• Trail Directions and Descriptions. — OK, this one is bad because I’m literally a hiking guide but if you describe a trail to me without a map… you might as well just be going ‘blah blah blah’. I’m so sorry. So often I have people say ‘after the certain landmark, there will be a certain flower and if you do this thing then you’ll find….’ and I love you but I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is why we invented maps.

I could go on but I think you get the idea.

Now, I’ve deliberately chosen the lighter examples I could think of. You know, because Past Matt had thoughts on tone. It is potentially worth pointing out that I could just as easily have chosen negative examples. You know, things like:

• I can’t share in the joy of imagining building a home.
• I struggle to imagine my daughter’s face without a picture prompt.
• I can’t remember what some of my friend’s look like unless I’m looking at a prompt.

You get the idea. It’s not always fun.

Screw you Past Matt. I’ll write what I want to write.

How Alexithymia Feels

So we’ve looked at what alexithymia is. We’ve looked at some ways it manifests in practice. We’ve argued with our former and future selves (like all normal people do I think).

But one thing we haven’t done is answer the question begged by the title of the article.

So Matt, what does alexithymia actually feel like?

I hope you see why that question is difficult to answer now.

Because, when push comes to shove, I don’t usually know how I actually feel. So, how can I describe that to you?

It’s kind of like asking someone to clearly explain what they’re confused about. Or, asking a blind person what something looks like. Or someone with anosmia how something smells. They don’t really know, do they?

But I refuse to accept that. The reason I write this series is to try and explain how AuDHD feels to me in the hope it might help some people feel less alone and so that you might be able to empathise better with the neurodivergent people in your life. I don’t know if it’s possible to explain what the lack of something feels like. But it’s worth trying I think.

So whilst I don’t think I’ll be able to fully explain how alexithymia feels here, I’m going to give it a go.

Having said all that:

Alexithymia feels like something is wrong but you don’t know what or why.

Alexithymia kind of feels like when there’s a noise you can hear but it’s too quiet for you to be able to make it out properly. You desperately need to know what that humming is, but it’s frustratingly imperceptible.

Alexithymia feels like a coded message from the person who runs your body that you don’t have the cypher for.

Alexithymia often feels literally like a stomach ache. Or a headache.

Alexithymia often feels like nothing. A really weird, confusing nothing. Like an eerie internal emotional silence.

Alexithymia feels like your Spider-sense is tingling but you don’t know why.

Alexithymia means your feelings are essentially a mystery box each time. Anything I feel can basically be any phenomenon. There seems to be no patterns to this shit.

Alexithymia feels like the TV in my head gets shitty reception.

Alexithymia feels like you’re missing the driver to run the software everyone else is using.

Alexithymia feels uncomfortable.

Alexithymia feels like you’re missing a fundamental thing that makes a human a human.

Alexithymia sometimes feels like finding out someone you had a crush on had a crush on you but, like, three years ago and you missed your moment.

Alexithymia is really fucking confusing.

Alexithymia sometimes makes me feel like I’m a robot.

Alexithymia makes me feel like I’m not creative because I can’t visualise things.

Alexithymia feels like my empathy has been turned off. Because I can’t empathise what I don’t feel.

Alexithymia makes me feel like I’m not paying attention to people because I can’t picture what they’re talking about.

Alexithymia makes me feel like I’m not worth sharing ideas with because I don’t share the mental pictures other people have.

Alexithymia kind of feels like being emotionally constipated.

The more alexithymia I experience, the more autistic I feel.

Alexithymia makes me feel dumb. Like I don’t have the answer to a question that I really should.

Alexithymia makes it really frustrating to be told to ‘follow your gut’.

Alexithymia feels like never really knowing what you want.

Alexithymia means I experience my body is a badly organised library. All the information is there (I think) but there’s no Dewey Decimal System so I have to look for each piece of information manually. Every single time.

Alexithymia doesn’t generally feel good.

A potential consequences of alexithymia (or, a dicey comparison with leprosy)

Having said all that, I don’t think it’s really possible for me to capture what alexithymia feels like. I don’t even think it’s possible for me to express how I experience it.

Because alexithymia isn’t really a feeling or sensation. It’s the absence of feelings. And it’s an absence of feelings that I’ve always felt.

For my entire life, I’ve not been able to visualise what folks are saying to me. I’ve never read a book and conjured an image of the characters or locations. I’ve never really known how I feel about basically anything.

And because I’ve never real felt the presence of these feelings, it’s really hard to describe the lack of them.

I genuinely hope the descriptions above give you a vague sense of how it feels. And if you don’t know how it feels after reading all that, hey, at least you can empathise with us!

Here’s the thing though. I don’t think what alexithyma is or how alexithymia feels is necessarily the thing I want people to take away from this article.

Because the problem of alexithymia, as highlighted in the examples above, is not being aware of the potential harm we’re doing to ourselves and others.

I think a comparison to leprosy, or Hansen’s Disease, is helpful here, actually. No, really.

The Leprosy Tangent

So, for a long time it was believed that leprosy caused people’s limbs and extremities to fall off. That the disease itself was causing folks to los fingers, toes and whatever else.

However, modern research has shown this to be a myth. The CDC says:

The digits do not “fall off” due to leprosy. The bacteria that causes leprosy attacks the nerves of the fingers and toes and causes them to become numb. Burns and cuts on numb parts may go unnoticed, which may lead to infection and permanent damage, and eventually the body may reabsorb the digit. This happens in advanced stages of untreated disease.

So, in other words, the patient with leprosy does not feel when they’re hurting themselves. They wear their shoes too tight. They burn themselves without noticing. They get cuts and don’t treat them. By not responding appropriately to the damage they’re doing to themselves, they cause themselves serious damage.

I think alexithymia is a bit similar to that.

Because I can’t identify my feelings, I often have no idea when I’m doing myself emotional harm.

I have stayed in unhealthy relationships too long because I didn’t realise I was unhappy. I have stayed in unhealthy jobs too long because I didn’t realise that the discomfort I felt. I have maintained unhealthy friendships because I wasn’t aware that what I was feeling was them bringing me down.

Because, if you don’t know how you feel, how do you make sure you are caring for yourself? The answer is: with great difficulty.

And, bonus fun, because I’m bad at recognising when I’m emotionally harming myself, I’m always bad at recognising when I hurt others.

Because, in order to look after your emotional wellbeing and the emotional wellbeing of those you care about, you have to care for yourself. As Mama Ru says, ‘If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love anybody else?’. Empathy is the basis of all caring relationships.

But I struggle to empathise not only because I struggle to identify the emotions of others, but actually more often I struggle to identify those emotions with myself because I literally don’t feel them.

So, if you can’t care for yourself, how are you going to care for somebody else? The answer is: with great difficulty.

Like I said, alexithymia is one of the most challenging aspects of my autistic experience.

It’s taken me about a week to write this article.

I find this particular aspect of my neurodivergence really hard to talk about. If this article has been a bit less focused or incisive than normal, that’s why. In the words of our Lord and Saviour, Contrapoints this is a super fucking vulnerable moment for me. And I don’t like it.

Most of the time, I’m talking about things that the general public accept as normal. Autistic people don’t like noise. ADHD folks appreciat fidget toys. There’s no etiquette in the gym and it’s fucking weird. You get the idea.

But talking about alexithymia feels like confessing to being sub-human. Like, admitting that autistic people are actually unfeeling robots after all. Meep morp, indeed.

So, while normally words spew forth from me like an enthusiastic geyser, these thoughts took a lot of coaxing.

Now, all of that is to say that I’ve had a lot of time to think about the emotional state that prompted writing this article. It’s days later and I have absolutely no idea why I felt off all day Saturday. I have some theories but nothing concrete at all. I never found out what feelings I didn’t get to feel.

And that’s the final thing that I want to say about alexithymia.

Alexithymia deprives you of answers more often than not.

Or, in other words:

Alexithymia often means you never get to feel what you feel. And,
Alexithymia often means you never get to know what you feel.

In the examples above, I deliberately gave examples of feelings that I navigated successfully. I figured it would be easier to explain the process of not understanding your emotions by showing how you can go from not understanding to figuring your feelings out. And that does regularly.

But more often than not, you genuinely never know.

You kinda feel something and you never get to know what it was. You feel like your world is off and it just keeps being off until it isn’t. Often, no amount of Neurodivergent Sherlock Holmes-ing can get you an answer to how you feel.

So maybe I was stressed on Saturday. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I was hungry. Maybe I miss my daughter (OK, I definitely miss my daughter, but you get my point).

I’ll never know. I’ll never feel, know or understand those particular feelings.

As I said, meep morp.

I’m worried that that sounds really downbeat. If it does, to be clear, I don’t really experience it that way most of the time. Normally it’s just feels fine. I mean, I think it feels fine… As we’ve ascertained identifying how something feels isn’t exactly a skill of mine.

I imagine it’s similar to being colourblind. Like, it’s definitely frustrating (and potentially disqualifying) in certain moments but it’s not something that I’m down about all the time by any means.

I think it means I just celebrate when I do get a glimpse into my inner emotions.

So, remember when I said I felt really weird before my first tour weeks ago. Well that was one of the times were I got answers. After a bit of investigation, I did get to understand what I was feeling after all.

Turns out it was a chest infection.

Thanks for reading. Until next time lovelies.

Hey everyone! Thanks so much for reading this! It means the world to have you check out my writing and I really appreciate that you made it to the end.

As always, there’s some things you can do that make a huge difference. You can leave a like on the article (up to 50 per person!). You can share it with your friends. You can add it to your own libraries of excellent articles. That would be swell.

I’d love to know how you folks experience alexithymia or if you do. So feel free to leave a comment sharing your experiences. I love reading them (and responding when imposter syndrome and executive dysfunction allows. I am looking to improve on that).

Also, if you liked this, this was article 30 I’ve written in the past year! Feel free to check out any of the others on my profile or trust me by clicking the mystery link to my favourite so far. I don’t just write about neurodivergence. I also write about parenthood, Iceland and literally anything anyone pays me to.

Thanks again for reading lovelies. It means the world. Be kind to yourself today. You’re great.

* I have thought about it and it absolutely is too dramatic. But, if I am known for anything it is being too dramatic and I choosing to forgive myself for that on this occasion.

** For those unfamiliar with my hometown, it’s a lovely city in Northern England. But it’s not famed for nature, adventure or thriving economically.

*** Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me. But I will say, I’m surprised you’re into that.

**** I hope that my fellow alexithymia sufferers enjoyed the delicious irony hear. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you will, don’t worry. We’ll soon all be laughing together.

***** Hi Mum. I’m just guessing but you might be feeling a little called out here. So just so you know, I still really enjoy hearing the directions. I don’t gain any information from it, but it’s always nice to hear you chat about something you’re passionate about regardless of how much information I glean from it.

****** Yes, we are all literally the Sherlock Holmes of our own neurodivergences. And yes, he’s one of ours. Obviously…

******* That’s actually a bald faced lie. I know two neurotypicals who speak neurodiverse. Their names are Will and Tony. They are sweet men raised in two separate very progressive and accepting families. I don’t know exactly how or why they speak our language, but I can confirm their fluency.

******** Having said that, despite the fact that I am almost incapable of imagining a character from a book, it still struck me as disingenuous when The Transphobe-in-Chief claimed that Hermione was racially ambiguous. Nice try Joanne. If Hermione had been black, you’d have named her something offensively on the nose like you did with Cho Chang and we both know it.