Communication, the bridge between people, can sometimes become a labyrinth of misunderstandings. Between the unspoken, the differences in perception and the invisible barriers that separate us, expressing yourself and being understood can be a challenge. The Netflix series Love on a Spectrum explores this complexity and delves deep into the loneliness of people with autism. The reality show follows several young adults with autism as they explore relationships and dating, some for the first time. They must learn to analyse the nuances and shifts that shape our interactions.
Over a weekend of binging, I identified with these characters. I felt stressed and embarrassed for them as I watched their awkward attempts at bonding. But it was also a moment for me to question my own difficulties.
No, I’m not autistic, I’m not obsessed with routine, I don’t have systematic difficulties with other people. I’m able to understand implicit language… but I tend to multiply the communication grids and sometimes get lost in them. However, I find it hard to believe that a look or a word of attention could be intended for me. I know how to interact, but some relationships intimidate me. I don’t find it difficult to hold a gaze, even if I get so lost in the eyes that I sometimes feel detached and follow a conversation from a distance, interacting mechanically. People think I’m easy to talk to, and I love to bring a new person into a group, but I always put myself on the periphery of the group. I sometimes get worked up over nothing, regretting in hindsight my inaction in the face of an interaction that will forever remain a mystery.
I don’t have a neurological barrier to others, but I certainly have a sociological one. I recently discovered the concept of minority stress.
Minority stress
Minority stress is a psycho-sociological concept that seeks to better understand why people who grow up in minorities may experience particular psychological or social vulnerabilities in their everyday lives. It can affect all minorities, racial minorities, sexual minorities… and can accumulate depending on multiple affiliations.
It’s a stress that can affect you, depending on what you experienced as a child or teenager. Minority stress is both experienced stress and felt stress. Experienced stress: life’s aggressions and microaggressions, discrimination, violence and criticism. But above all, it’s a stress that you feel, that becomes established in your behaviour, in the way you experience things, a latent anxiety. Aware of their difference from an early age, queer people learn to over-adapt, to play straight, to internalise a certain homophobia, to conform to the expectations of others in order to protect themselves or avoid rejection, to develop hyper-attention, to maintain heightened vigilance. They may internalise the values of the dominant society at the expense of asserting their own desires. This double game, in which it is sometimes difficult to position oneself in relation to others, requires a great deal of energy, which sometimes necessitates coming together in a community to let go of all the barriers erected to protect oneself, and sometimes to abuse drugs.
Interview de David, sexologue, intervenant au Cesam, podcast Comment devenir sexuellement épanoui ? 1er décembre 2024 partie 1 – présentation du concept, partie 2 – chercher une solution
Minority stress encourages internalisation, crossing the desert alone in your mind, fear of attachment and judgement. It affects self-worth, self-esteem and self-confidence. Our relationship with others can remain superficial and we find it hard to share our intimacy. Because of minority stress, for many gays and queers, intimacy can only be perceived through the body and seduction. There is a sexualised shell that tries to get into a relationship. It can have a direct impact on the ability to connect with others by creating self-sabotage, by making it difficult to show one’s fragility, to talk about oneself and to exist in a group.
I now understand a little better this fear of new relationships, especially where intimacy is concerned. I can also decipher why I might have been compelled to drink on certain social occasions. I’ve always interpreted this as a necessity of human relationships; abstainers were doomed to lives settled in small comforts. Straight people live in the comfort of their family homes after meeting in the sandpit,’ I used to say. It’s harder to connect when you’re constantly meeting new strangers with whom you have to find something in common. And alcohol can be that common ground. It breaks down cultural and sociological barriers.
But in the end it’s also true that alcohol is a way of relaxing the hypervigilance that is minority stress. And you can learn to get rid of it.
What I’d also take away from Love on a Spectrum it’s sometimes easy to resolve a conflict in all naivety, in all simplicity. And to see that nothing serious happened. Saying things the way we mean them, without hiding your fragility. Don’t follow these online seduction guides that don’t suit me.
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