3 Ways Holding Space for Special Interests Helps us as Neurodivergent People

Whether I’m working with a group or individual clients, we always begin our time together by holding space for special interests and info dumping. Here, I’d like to share why we do this and how it connects to building skills, practicing self awareness and compassion, cultivating community, and upending the pathology paradigm.

Special interests are one of those areas of neurodivergence that have been heavily pathologized, often resulting in a deep sense of shame and isolation that does indescribable harm to neurodivergent people. Sometimes that pathologizing looks like referring to these interests as “narrow” or mocking them, especially when other people don’t understand them or perhaps don’t consider those interests socially acceptable. A common example of this are neurodivergent adults who love things like fantasy role playing games, video games, or anime, despite the fact that if this had instead been approached with curiosity, there are many opportunities to develop a deeper understanding of neurodivergent people and our experiences through these kinds of hobbies and interests. Often, our special interests are deeply connected to who we are as people, taking a greater role in our lives than mere pastimes.

So, the first reason we hold this space is simply to create the space for an opportunity to share that joy. We not only get to learn something new or different - we also get to learn about our friend, the person we are sharing this space with, and how they see the world through their particularly unique eyes.

That brings me to the second reason. One complaint about neurodivergent people is that we seem to not care about anything but those special interests, and it can sometimes be difficult to form social connections when we aren’t interested in what the other person is doing or saying when it isn’t related to our special interest. Since neurotypicals form the “norm” of our social culture, against which we are measured for “normalness,” or “correctness,” neurodivergent people bear the brunt of judgment and ridicule, including being called “rude” or uncaring. On the flip side, if our special interest does come up, we can quickly go from 0 to 60. One who previously appeared disengaged or uninterested might suddenly become animated and focused, but the social challenges continue because now we might flip to another extreme. It might even appear that we forget that other people even exist, sometimes creating a one-sided conversation that does no more to facilitate connection than disengagement does. 

I struggle with this mightily when it comes to my special interests, especially spirituality and its intersections with things like oppression and hierarchies. I don’t often find spaces where I can freely share my interest because the dominant culture seems to have attached a belief that such discussions only take place for the purpose of dogmatic debate or conversion, while to me it is simply my way of learning about people and the world. However, I especially struggle when I perceive the other person as being incorrect because even though I am open to disagreement and enjoy exploring things that are complicated, I am extremely value-oriented and I focus heavily on how our beliefs and thoughts shape our current reality (and can change it). For example, I care deeply about the historical, philosophical, and ethical roots of yoga, and so when I am in a situation that prioritizes a “type of yoga” that I understand to do injustice to that heritage (like drunk yoga, or one that erases the heritage entirely) it effects me so profoundly that to not address that concern becomes deeply dysregulating and will make a significant impact on my ability to perform daily tasks. Further, because this focus is so integral to my being, I naturally prioritize it over building social relationships, so I am less inclined to worry about social norms and expectations in this context. This is very different from just having a passion project or beloved hobby and serves to illustrate how vital and interconnected neurodivergent special interests are with how we see and exist in the world. This is true even if the special interest in question is trains, bugs, history, machines, or cool rocks or whether those interests change over time.*

In respect to the second reason for creating this space, it allows us to share these interests without the struggle to make those interests fit into a neurotypical social paradigm. This judgmental free space liberates us from worries like wondering whether or not people are upset with me for bringing up religion, or if they see my desire to engage or correct them as “flexing,” or if they think I’m trying to tell them their own religion or spiritual tradition are wrong. (And trust me, after a lifetime of this, I’ve seen it all.) Without this judgment, I (and others) can just talk about what I love because I  love it, and as humans we tend to want to share what we love. Why can’t it just be shared without having to mean a million other things that only seem to exist in subtext and innuendo - a language I do not speak?

And that brings me to the third reason - in this space we can practice social skills without centering neurotypical expectations. Sharing and communicating are important for building social connections, and one of the hallmarks (clearly illustrated above) of the pathology paradigm is that when we center neurotypical perspectives as “normal,” the only way to resolve the above friction is by trying to perform neurotypically. Now, a neurotypical person might be thinking that I’m talking about “learning how to have proper conversations,” but I’m not. 

Performing neurotypically in order to belong (or “masking”) has caused untold damage to neurodivergent people, owing to high rates of suicide, addiction, and depression.** Trying to be neurotypical simply isn’t how it works when we literally have a different neurological makeup, and the idea of “communication” is deeply intertwined with many aspects of what it means to be human. So many that we still don’t understand many of them. We can take a little breath and rest in that humility for a moment, because there is nothing to do but accept this difference as natural and normative. And when we do, we can practice meeting in the middle and mutually growing instead of a one-sided solution that harms one while privileging the other, which ultimately disempowers and disconnects us all.

When we hold space for sharing special interests without judgment or ridicule, we have the chance to practice a different way of being, both as speakers and as listeners. When we aren’t distracted by the performance of neurotypicality or enmeshed in shame, we have the space to practice interpersonal skills as neurodivergent people. As speakers, this space gives one the chance to see what it feels like to share that interest uninhibited by neurotypical demands. Sometimes that can feel like a burst of restrained energy that allows one to feel that the very human need of being seen and heard is met, bringing them a little more out of survival mode and inviting them into an engaged community. They get the chance to see that they are safe, and in turn can practice resting in that place, moving from surviving to growing. This amounts to a practice of self-expression, which can be difficult when you’ve spent most of your life disconnected from or hiding your true self.

We also practice being engaged listeners. When we’re masking or performing for neurotypical conversation, we might perform what we think a listener does, such as carefully planning moments of eye contact or nods. This is an exhausting and often burdensome practice that often actually prevents us from actively listening to what is being said. For me, even my attempts to fake such interest are often unsuccessful. This isn’t surprising if you consider how you might feel if it seems you’ve been talking with someone who is faking their interest in you. Putting it plainly, it hurts.

Instead, to be neuroaffirming is to allow for authenticity. I might not be interested in the topic, but I am interested in showing others that they matter and learning something new, even challenging my own rigidity. With the focus moved from the subject to the person, my expression of listening becomes one of authentic care. All I needed to do was refocus my motivation into something real, not fake. Now I have the opportunity to truly practice listening, not the performance of listening. This difference might appear subtle but its impact is significant because now I am able to practice the real social skill of active listening in a neuroaffirming way, meeting me as a neurodivergent person and not as a person who needs to be trained to behave neurotypically. 

This is our work, but work is needed from neurotypical individuals and communities as well. Upending the pathology paradigm means decentering neurotypical norms and instead allowing for the full range of human diversity. Decentering neurotypical norms in this context might look like learning about and becoming familiar with how neurodivergent people speak and share things, and allowing those differences to exist without judgment. As described above, it isn’t that this amounts to a prioritizing of neurodivergent ways - instead, it creates a shared space of mutual exploration and understanding that constitutes meeting in the middle and cultivating a world of beautiful and intricate complexity that continues to unfold with every human generation. Neurodivergent people are not the scapegoats that allow neurotypical people to avoid their own growth by relying on a rickety shamble of normalcy, and neurotypical people are not the standard of the “proper human being.” 

There is also one more element to this third point. Many neurodivergent people suffer from internalized ableism that we often inflict on ourselves and each other. By sharing our special interests and all that they entail, we are destroying as much as we are building. With each moment we learn to show compassion to ourselves and share in safety, we are undoing the damage of ableism and stigma. This work, the shadow side of our self-discovery, deserves its own post but suffice to say, it gets easier in community. 

* (Not all neurodivergent people experience their special interests this way, or at least all of them. What I share here doesn’t erase that difference - it complicates it, and there is room for all of us in the exploration of what special interests are and how we experience and share them. Let’s keep exploring.)

**(Unmasking is a highly complex concept that displays a wide range of variation, though it is generally understood that masking in order to survive or belong results in a lack of personal development or authenticity, which creates a snowball of other maladies and painful experiences. However, masking can also be intentional, like having a “work persona.” The difference is whether or not the neurodivergent person is aware of, consenting to, or in control of the mask. More on this another time, but follow the link to read more.)