19. That ‘Interrupting’ Thing We Do
You're mid-conversation, tracking what they're saying while also monitoring yourself. Did you just interrupt? Should you have waited longer? Was that tangent too much?
You're having two conversations at once: the actual one, and the one in your head counting every misstep.
And by the end, you're disconnected and exhausted—not from what you talked about, but from how you had to talk about it.
Conversation is one of the biggest places AuDHD women mask. Because if you were socialized as a girl, you didn't just learn "interrupting is rude." You learned that taking up space in conversation makes you aggressive. That you should wait your turn, read every social cue, never dominate.
And if you're AuDHD? Those neurotypical turn-taking rules don't match how your brain actually works.
In This Episode:
AuDHD brains naturally weave conversations collaboratively instead of doing neurotypical back-and-forth turn-taking
"Interrupting" carries double shame for women: ableism (your brain works wrong) plus gendered conditioning (good girls don't interrupt)
We're paradox-holders: ADHD needs to talk to think, Autistic needs processing pauses and directness
Finding people who actually welcome (not just tolerate) your communication style changes everything
Your unmasked way of speaking is where your medicine lives—not the performed version
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THE TURN-TAKING PRISON
The conversation style we were taught is "polite" is actually just neurotypical turn-taking. I talk, you wait. You talk, I wait. Back and forth like a tennis match.
AuDHD brains don't work that way. Our natural tendency is cooperative overlap—weaving conversation together collaboratively, building on what's being said in real time.
The Double Bind for Women
AuDHD women face a double layer of conditioning. We're fighting our ADHD impulse to jump in AND our Autistic need for directness AND decades of gendered messaging: good girls don't interrupt, women should be good listeners, taking up conversational space makes you pushy.
Most of us carry real wounding around interrupting. We've been told our whole lives it's rude. We've gotten in trouble for it. We've seen people get annoyed.
So we start self-policing. We hold back, waiting for the "right" moment—which either never comes, or by the time it does, the conversation moved three topics away. Or we finally speak and we've forgotten what we wanted to say, which makes us want to jump in earlier next time. It's a cycle.
Why It's Exhausting
Being AuDHD means we're masking our ADHD impulse to respond immediately AND navigating the Autistic challenge of reading conversational timing AND trying to meet gendered expectations about how women communicate.
We're not just Autistic (struggling with when to jump in but direct once we do) or just ADHD (naturally interrupting but flexible about directness). We're both. Which means we're managing multiple competing needs while trying to appear normal.
No wonder conversation drains us.
HOW AUDHD BRAINS ACTUALLY TALK
When AuDHDers unmask their communication, it looks different from neurotypical conversation. Someone's talking, and you jump in—not to cut them off, but because what they said sparked something and your brain wants to build with them. That's cooperative overlap.
We're Weavers, Not Concluders
Many of us don't know our point until we say it out loud. We find what we're trying to say by talking through it. We loop back. We go on tangents that all connect eventually (or maybe they don't).
Our ADHD brain is literally figuring out what we think by saying it. To the neurotypical ear, it sounds scattered. To our innermost fears, it sounds like we're taking up too much space. But we're actually weaving our way to our point—that's our natural process.
It's not selfish. It's how we think.
The Autistic Directness
Then there's our Autistic side, which shows up completely differently.
When it comes to logistics, information exchange, concrete details? We can be extremely direct. No warmup, no fluff. Just the facts.
And we feel shame around it. Like when we bring a meandering conversation back to "What are we trying to accomplish here?" It can feel harsh to others. But it's literally painful for us to not be direct and action-oriented in those moments.
This is the paradox: ADHD needs to talk to figure it out. Autistic needs to process internally first, then deliver clearly. Both live in us.
Object-Based vs Social-Based
The type of conversation completely changes how we show up.
Object-based conversations (discussing something specific, especially a special interest) let our bodies exhale. Our brains get engaged, excited. The questions are clear, the topic is defined, less guessing what people mean.
Social-based conversations (broad, vague, based on social rules and subtext) drain us fast. Our Autistic brains work overtime interpreting while our ADHD sides try to connect and co-regulate.
This is why socializing around a topic—a club with a focus, a class, a shared project—can work better for building friendships than open-ended social gatherings.
The Pause Problem
Our Autistic sides need processing time. Pauses to catch up, to think.
But many of us fill silences automatically. That ingrained belief that any silence is awkward (the judgment is even in the term). The hypervigilant part that learned to tend the conversation won't let the pause exist.
Even when someone gives us space, the pressure of being perceived while we're processing makes it harder, not easier. Sitting in a pause while someone's looking at you, waiting—that shuts down our ability to think on the spot.
Leaning into pauses is deep unmasking work. It helps to find people who are also doing that work, where everyone's agreed pauses are welcome.
WHAT WE'RE STILL CARRYING
Even when we understand all this intellectually, shame around how we communicate runs deep.
The message wasn't just "interrupting is rude." It was "the way you naturally talk is wrong." And for women: "You're being too much. You're dominating. You're not being a good listener."
That's internalized ableism wrapped in gendered expectations. And it keeps us performing normal without even realizing it. Editing in real time. Apologizing for tangents. Forcing ourselves to be concise when our ADHD brains don't work that way. Trying to be more social when our Autistic brains are already exhausted.
Finding Your People
If you catch yourself smoothing your edges—apologizing for tangents, policing your filler words, forcing conciseness—you need spaces where your communication style is welcomed. Not tolerated. Not accommodated. Actually welcomed.
Those spaces exist. Other AuDHDers who get it and are doing their own unmasking work.
When I'm in those spaces, conversation sounds like:
"I'm talking my way to my point here, stay with me"
Someone giving me processing space without staring expectantly
Jumping in mid-sentence when something clicks, and nobody getting upset
"Wait, going back to what you said five minutes ago..." and it's not weird
"I need to think about that" and actually getting time
Your work isn't to fix how you talk. It's to find people who speak your language AND do the unmasking work to allow yourself these things, even when uncomfortable.
This is ongoing. Finding people willing to do this work. Explicitly talking about what each person needs. Practicing being uncomfortable (like sitting in pauses). Catching yourself when you fall back into old patterns.
THE KEY INSIGHT: THIS IS YOUR LINEAGE
Our communication style is part of our lineage.
Our way-back AuDHD grandmothers—they were the ones asking the questions nobody else was asking. The ones who needed time to process what the community brought to them before they could offer their wisdom.
Their medicine required them to speak differently. To weave. To pause. To be direct when others wanted pleasantries.
The truth is that the world needs to hear what we have to say. But it needs us to say it in our voices. Not the performed, edited, neurotypical-and-gender-approved version.
Our unmasked communication—the weaving, the directness, the processing time—that's where our actual medicine lives. That's how our wisdom moves.
The moment we stop trying to sound normal is the moment we start sounding like ourselves.