Gaming with autism
A little while ago, I wrote about my autism. I’m high-functioning with low support needs, but I’m starting to see a lot of little ways in which my brain works differently from many others. Role-playing brings out a lot of those differences, actually. I used to think that I was just a bad player or a ridiculous control freak, but now I’m beginning to understand the places where my neurodivergence separates me from my gaming group.
I can’t give advice for folks with high support needs, but I can share how my new awareness has changed how I set out to interact with RPG groups.
Storytelling
On the Storytelling end, I let my group know that I need to get a game going during this quarantine — I miss gaming too much to just not do it. But because I’m learning what triggers my anxiety and what breaks my brain, I was able to share my needs and avoid running into some of the issues that have caused me angst and suffering before.
First thing I did was send out an email with my expectations for the game: how often we’ll play, what game we’re playing, reminding them the game world is a fictional version of Earth, so expect differences from real life places and things, and so on.
One of my long-time players is a great role-player, but isn’t so good about checking her email. I thrive on routine and deal poorly with the unknown, so I reached out to her privately to share my needs. That when I schedule a game session, I need an RSVP so I know if she’ll be there or not. Waiting on game night, not knowing if I have my whole group totally preoccupies me and makes it hard to think about anything else. If email wasn’t a good medium for communication, I asked what would be. But she responded wonderfully, said email was fine, and has been communicating frequently while I plan my game.
Another guy I’ve gamed with for years was interested in playing this campaign. It’d be nice to game with him, but… But my friend is severely ADHD, even on medication. I try to have patience with distracted players and don’t ask that anyone be one hundred percent engaged one hundred percent of the time, but let’s just say that my neurodivergence and his haven’t mixed well in the past.
Again, I reached out privately to talk with him. My expectations are upset when my friend doesn’t communicate, and running a game for someone who’s not paying attention — even playing online games with other people during my sessions — is frustrating for a Storyteller, no matter what your brain’s like.
And my friend had his own needs. When he missed what was going on because his ADHD had distracted him, it was confusing and frustrating for him. He snapped at the ST and other players, and couldn’t have fun.
In the end, he decided against playing in this virtual campaign. If we could game in person, he said that he might be able to go pen and paper — reducing distractions by reducing technology. But during the quarantine, he would have to game on his computer, with his screens and all those other tempting browser tabs right there. It would be unfair to put himself in that situation and expect to focus on the relatively slower speed of an RPG.
So in one case, a player was able to accommodate my needs. In another, a player decided not to play, in deference to both of our needs. Importantly, I communicated my needs and asked if they had any needs that I could respond to.
Being a player
On the player end, I’m not the only one hankering for RP to liven up this quarantine. A friend we used to play MMOs with reached out, asking us to play in her tabletop game. We did role-playing events in the MMO back in the day, and our guild had a lot of fun. So we were all excited to give gaming together a go, though we never really role-played together in a table-top RPG before.
I started thinking about her game and coming up with character ideas. We all had lots of questions about the game. Okay, we’re serving on a spaceship together, are we new to the crew or should we all know each other? We need to have a relationship with the captain… Well, could I be his illegitimate son?
The answer to almost all of my questions was “whatever you like” or “whatever sounds fun.”
Which is a great answer, of course, but not really how my brain works. I need a framework and structure. I need to set expectations, and work best with some constraints. Would playing the captain’s secret son be neat or disruptive? Does the game need a ship’s gunner more than a communication officer?
The complete openness threw me for a loop. This wasn’t how I make characters. But when I first recognized my autistic tendencies and started holding up my behaviors to examine closely, I found that my expectations also get me into a lot of trouble. It’s one thing to ask that my gaming group answer an email, but it’s another to have concrete expectations and demands of a role-playing game that someone else is running.
The dice bring chaos and a Storyteller I’ve never really gamed with is an unknown. Four players will each have their own ideas, and introduce storylines and role-playing scenes that I won’t foresee. Gaming is a big unknown and my expectations can be a trap. I’ve gotten caught in that trap before and caused myself a lot of unhappiness — and probably my fellow players and Storyteller, too.
I knew that the next game I played, I would have to make a more open-ended character. Someone with role-playing hooks, but not a character arc that I’ve planned out like a novel. After about five minutes of frustration that the Storyteller couldn’t give me more direction for my character, it hit me that this was a perfect chance for me to make a character that would be more resilient in the face of random dice rolls and the unknowns of role-playing. This was my chance to apply what I had learned, and turn theory into practice.
So I gave my character a simple background and simple ambitions. The Storyteller let me know what skills I would need to do my duty onboard the ship, and that’s enough. I can’t plan my character any more than that because I don’t know what the campaign will hold. But I can begin game confident that my character won’t be a fragile mess of expectations that will shatter on the first skill check.
My needs are met, and I can feel better knowing that I’m not going to give anyone else grief because my needs are different and more stringent than most players. I’m used to a much more defined vision for my character, what they will do or who they will face. And I’m not going to lie — I’m nervous. But I’m excited, too. I don’t feel like I’m going to be a problem, and I look forward to a game that will have fewer of the stumbling blocks that have hurt me before.
