Count to 10, Begin Again

What 15 years in a neurodiverse relationship with my husband on the autism spectrum taught me about starting over, learning, and not giving up on yourself

Sometimes I just need a second alone.

Why? Well, since we are being honest here....

Sometimes I feel less alone by myself than I do with my husband.

Not because I don't love him.

Not because I want to leave.

But because seeing him struggle to comfort me, know what to say, or understand what I need can hurt.

It hurts for him.

It hurts for our relationship.

And sometimes, honestly, it hurts for me.

There are moments when I feel like I'm left to handle my emotions and solve them by myself—even when I don't have the answers.

But I've started learning something:

I can do it.

And you don't need to feel confident to make progress in your life, your mindset, or your relationships.

Sometimes you just have to be willing to keep learning.

One thing I believe in is giving yourself permission to feel your feelings, whatever they are.

Maybe don't shout them directly at someone or cuss them out.

I've done that a few times.

Oops.

Mostly in my head, silently.

But feelings aren't bad just because they're uncomfortable.

Sometimes they're information.

Sometimes they're simply feelings that need somewhere to go.

That Has Actually Become a Theme in Our Relationship

For a long time, I had zero confidence that our relationship could work.

Everything I tried seemed to fail.

That led to arguments, hurt feelings, loneliness, and isolation.

And eventually I started wondering:

What if we're just not meant to work?

But how do you know how a story will end if you close the book during the toughest chapters?

You don't.

So I kept reading.

I kept trying.

I tried asking my husband what would improve things for him, for me, and for our relationship as a whole.

He wasn't always sure.

Neither was I.

And honestly, when I considered ending things, I could imagine how it might be easier for both of us.

He wouldn't have the stress of adjusting to a neurodiverse partner.

I wouldn't feel so completely out of my element trying to help him understand me.

I started imagining what life might look like with someone else.

I Imagined My “Perfect” Partner

I imagined conversations being simple.

He would laugh at my jokes without needing me to explain them.

He'd think my loud laugh was adorable rather than jarring—or capable of giving him a headache.

I imagined us going to concerts, even the really loud ones.

Maybe we'd go see one of my favorite country singers, Kacey Musgraves.

He'd love coffee.

He wouldn't think it was too bitter.

He wouldn't care when plans, dates, and times changed.

When I sat beside him, I could give him a look and he'd just get it.

This imaginary man would let me be tired, sad, overwhelmed, or anything in between without taking my mood personally, mirroring it, or needing me to explain in detail exactly why I was crying over something he thought was silly.

And my husband, in this imaginary scenario, would have his perfect woman too.

She'd laugh softly—perhaps like a gentle spring breeze caressing tulip petals.

She'd be cheerful all the time.

She'd never under-season or over-season his food.

She'd be patient.

Joyful.

Energetic.

She'd be all the things I realistically am not sometimes.

Or ever.

And here's the strange thing.

Our fantasy partners were simpler.

But they weren't us.

Simple Isn't Always Better

Our imaginary partners would have eliminated our differences by simply being more like us.

But they also would have eliminated the people we actually loved.

That was the thing that made me stay.

I didn't want a simpler relationship with imaginary people.

I wanted our relationship.

And I eventually realized something else:

You should never back down from a safe challenge simply because you don't believe you're capable of handling it yet.

If you don't know how to do something, that doesn't necessarily mean you're incapable of doing it.

Sometimes “I don't know how” simply means “I haven't learned how yet.”

That's a skill.

And skills can be learned.

The Wisdom of Saying “I Don't Know”

If you can honestly acknowledge what you don't know, you have already taken an important step toward learning.

Sometimes the most useful sentence in a relationship is:

“I have no idea what to say or do right now.”

That isn't failure.

It's honesty.

And honesty gives you somewhere to start.

The beginning of wisdom isn't knowing everything.

Sometimes it's recognizing what you don't know yet.

In my case, what I didn't know was basically anything at all about how to make my relationship work.

And that was okay.

Because now I had something to learn.

You're Already Learning

Here's something I want you to consider.

You are already learning something right now.

Yes.

Right this second.

You're reading my story.

You're thinking.

You're feeling.

Maybe you're remembering something about your own relationship.

Maybe you're questioning something.

Maybe you're seeing something from a slightly different perspective.

It's a little like stirring a slowly simmering soup.

At first, you just have a bunch of separate ingredients.

• Insights.

• Feelings.

• Experiences.

• Questions.

• Conversations.

  
  

But eventually, those ingredients start becoming something delicious.

Something that can eventually bring you comfort and nourishment.

And there I go again.

The foodie is coming out (blushes).

You Don't Have to Stay for 15 Years Today

When people hear that my husband and I have been together for 15 years, they hear all those years at once.

Fifteen years sounds enormous.

It sounds like some huge accomplishment that happened in one continuous block of time.

But that's not how we experienced it.

We experienced it one day at a time.

One conversation at a time.

One mistake at a time.

One repair at a time.

One good day at a time.

And sometimes, one really difficult day at a time.

You don't have to figure out the next 15 years today.

You only have to decide what you want to do with today.

Can you make it through one more day?

If one day feels impossible, can you make it through half a day?

Thirty minutes?

Ten seconds?

Maybe it's ten seconds spent taking a breath.

Giving your partner a hug.

Looking up at the sky.

Drinking some coffee.

Or simply reminding yourself:

I don't have to solve my entire life right now.

Sometimes that's enough.

Those Days Became a Book

Each day I chose to keep trying, seconds turned into minutes.

Minutes turned into hours.

Hours turned into days.

Days turned into years.

And eventually, those years became a 513-page book.

Love Across Spectrums.

A book containing more than 200 practical strategies that grew out of the things I learned while trying to understand my husband, myself, and our relationship.

I didn't wake up one morning knowing how to make a neurodiverse relationship work.

I learned.

And I'm still learning.

There Is More Than One Way to Find Freedom

the pain, confusion, isolation, exhaustion, sense of responsibility, stress, anxiety, and other challenges...that can happen in a neurodiverse relationship can sometimes feel like they're holding you down.

And what happens when people—or even animals—feel held down by something overpowering them?

They struggle.

They want to break free.

But breaking free doesn't always mean breaking up.

Sometimes you can break free through your mindset.

• Your boundaries.

• Your time.

• Your expectations.

• Your communication.

• Your willingness to ask for help.

• Your willingness to say no.

• Your willingness to say, “I need something different.”

  
  

And sometimes, yes, breaking free means leaving the relationship.

If that's the choice you make, I support and salute you.

Your life is yours.

Your relationship is yours.

Your decision is yours.

There isn't one correct ending for every story.

So What If You Don't Know Yet?

Maybe you're reading this because you're completely confident that you want to leave.

Maybe you're completely confident that you want to stay.

Or maybe you're somewhere in the middle.

Maybe you don't know.

That's okay too.

You don't have to know the ending while you're standing in the middle of the story.

If you're safe, you can give yourself permission to learn before demanding that you have all the answers.

• You can ask questions.

• You can seek support.

• You can learn about your partner.

• You can learn about yourself.

• You can set boundaries.

• You can try something different.

• You can change your mind.

  
  

And you can take the next page when you're ready.

Because sometimes we close a book during its hardest chapter and assume the story is over.

But sometimes...we just haven't turned the page yet.

Thank you for spending this time with me.

From me to you 💖,

-Amy Zo

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