The Ache of Disconnection

Friendship, Mistrust & Neurodivergent Longing

When I left 12-step meetings, I lost a place that once held me in routine and community. And while it was time for me to go, because my healing was asking for something different, it left a hole. My friend group shrank. Then remote work added another layer of isolation. Then came chronic illness. Pain. Fatigue. And suddenly I was in a life that felt much smaller, even when I was doing so much.

I’ve tried to make friends. I’ve tried to reach out. But sometimes my neurodivergent brain misreads things. Being neurodivergent means my social cues can be off. I can miss things, or see too much. It’s like I’m always decoding, wondering if I’m getting it wrong. I often mistake kindness from coworkers as connection, real connection. I get hopeful. I get excited to be known. But more than once, it’s led to heartbreak.

The last person I thought was a friend disappeared as soon as I no longer served a purpose. They confided in me, vented to me, leaned on me. I poured into them. Trusted them. Even when my gut said something doesn’t feel right, I ignored it. Because I wanted to believe I mattered to someone. That I had finally made a real friend. They even told me they sometimes pretended to be friends with people. I should have listened.

Now I look back and wonder: Did they ever really see me? Or were they just mirroring me? Reflecting back the version of themselves I wanted so badly to connect with?

The grief of that lingers. And now mistrust sits heavy in my chest.

Opening up has always been hard for me. I second-guess everything I say. Wonder if I’m too much. Too sensitive. Too weird. Too emotional. Too loud. Too something. Or maybe not enough. My brain can be cruel that way.

And yet, I still want connection. I still crave it.

This ache for friendship, for being known, doesn’t go away just because I’ve been hurt. But healing the mistrust takes time. And maybe part of that healing is learning to trust myself again. My gut, my instincts, my inner knowing about who feels good to be around.

I don’t have the answers yet. But I’m here, feeling it all. And maybe that’s a start. I still ache. But maybe the ache is the part of me that refuses to give up on connection.