Being socially different

I used to love writing a blog, noticing something and feeling that it was better out than in, share it and be damned, and then being told that my sharing was touching someone and making a difference.

Blogging, vlogging and social media seemed to be such a great idea, lovely ways to share and connect with like minds and be helpful, informative, earning a badge of honour as an early adopter of a business tool of the future.

When connection became complicated

There was a kind of freedom many of us hadn’t experienced before, but it came with a downside and risks some of us never understood until we felt them. Self-comparison, endless rumination over what we’d written and the consequences, over sharing, trusting enough or too little?

For neurodivergent brains already taking in tone, meaning, patterns, possible rejection and social cues, the amount of information for processing is overwhelming. A comment, a silence, what is inferred, sarcasm, a lack of response, a like, a view, an unfollow, this isn’t just being sensitive, or needing social media confidence, training or hacks. This is genuine overload and a health-related reason to reconsider social media.

So, wrestling with guilt, FOMO, and feeling different, again, we quietly left.

With that leaving there may have been a social hole, but we could now meet face to face because that is what people do, and we had more time. But often that time was lost as we filled the hole with other things that were equally unhelpful.

So, we judged ourselves harshly as we still struggled with managing time and never felt quite like we fitted in, but it was ok, no one seemed to notice.

The effort behind socialising

Then years later, there was a realisation that face-to-face gatherings weren’t easy. They were actually complicated and energy-consuming performances based upon years of interactions with other women, a rag-tag collection of mannerisms, traits, interest borrowing, mimicking and comparisons.

Being socially different

The thing is, we are social creatures, but we often socialise differently, and not because we are weird or difficult, but because this is how we feel comfortable and how we manage to maintain contact and meaningful connection.

It’s not meant to slight anyone, be difficult, or simply to have our own way. So, your way is yours, theirs is theirs, and mine is my own, there is room for them all.

I wonder, can we pause to remind ourselves our way isn’t the right way, but one of many possible ways? Can we be ok with different?

Wouldn’t that be kind?

This journal started out as a thought this morning that many of us are not anti-social, we are just socially different, and I think, like buses used to be, another journal about socialising will be coming along very soon.