Not Bad at Socializing. Just Done with the Nonsense

Because the idea that autistic people are “bad at socializing” is a trash fire of a generalization.

What people usually mean when they say it is: “Autistic people don’t play our social games.”
And that’s not the same thing as not knowing what’s going on.

Let’s set the record straight: you’re not bad at socializing. You’re bad at pretending you enjoy shallow, performative nonsense - aka what most people call socializing. Stick a few neurospicy folks in a room together and suddenly the conversation goes deep, wide, and sideways, far beyond what most neurotypical partygoers can tolerate. (Seriously, have you ever been to a science fiction convention? Neurospicy social stamina will outlast a starship warp core.)

The Addon Nobody Asked For

One thing that comes standard with the neurospicy operating system is superior pattern matching.
What doesn’t come standard? Directions. Or a mute button. Some of us are still trying to figure out where the heck that annoying alarm is even coming from.

Here’s the thing: your pattern recognition is so sharp because, at some point, your brain had to make it that way.

When the world feels unpredictable - and people are inconsistent or even dangerous - your brain adapts. You become a walking, anxious little lie detector. You pick up on microexpressions, tone shifts, and story inconsistencies, not because you want to, but because you learned you had to.

That isn’t “oversensitivity.” That’s survival mode.

It’s like living in a house full of snakes. Eventually, you get so good at noticing shadows on the floor that you can identify the species before you even look up. And half the time, your brain doesn’t even bother to tell you it’s doing this, it just keeps running the threat-detection program in the background.

Too Many Cues, Too Few Directions

So no, you’re not “missing social cues.”
You’re often catching too many of them. All at once.

Imagine trying to navigate an emotional hurricane with a broken compass. That’s what it feels like.

Sure, you might carry around a list of “rules” to help make sense of things. But rules are a blunt instrument when your data feed is overwhelming. In a raid, it might be interesting to know you got hit for 12 million damage. But that’s not helpful like knowing, “Hey, that was the tank mechanic, and you need to stand behind the boss next time.”

In real life, someone saying, “I have feelings for you” without any more detail? Yeah, that’s a panic-attack waiting to happen. Your brain instantly spins into overdrive: What kind of feelings? Romantic? Platonic? Are they mad? Do they need something? Did I miss a clue three weeks ago? Cue the boss music.

The Hidden Achievement

And here’s the part nobody gives you enough credit for: you’re doing better than most.
You just don’t celebrate it, because (surprise!) you’re also hyper self-aware.

You’ve survived with a toolkit you mostly had to build yourself. You’re running addons you had to download in pieces over a lifetime. You’ve leveled up through zones most people don’t even know exist.

You’re not “bad at socializing.”
You’re just not willing to waste mana on shallow roleplay when you could be out there chasing real connection, rare drops, and legendary conversations.

And honestly? That’s a social skill worth celebrating.