When I met my partner and found out they were diagnosed with ADHD and autism spectrum disorder, I didn’t feel it changed anything between us. I thought understanding, patience, and openness would solve everything. After all, when you love someone, you adapt to them, right?
Now, after a few years together, I can say love really can endure a lot—but the road to acceptance isn’t always smooth or simple.
In the beginning, everything was new, and our differences felt intriguing.
Then, as we spent more time together, I slowly realized some things I’d taken for granted just didn’t work the same way with them. For example, they can’t stand being touched on the face right after waking up.
For me, that’s always been one of the sweetest forms of tenderness—a touch, a smile, a “good morning.” But for them, it’s an overwhelming stimulus at that moment. They flinch, pull away, almost like they’re startled. It used to hurt me, but now I understand: it’s not about me.
Similarly, they have a strict bedtime routine they follow step by step. They won’t skip journaling, even after a romantic evening when all I want is for them to crawl into bed beside me. At first, it was hard to understand why their notes felt more important than being with me right then. Now I know: it’s not about priority.
This is just how their brain works. That routine gives them safety, predictability, and stability. If they skip it, they might be physically present but mentally elsewhere—and that’s painful for them. And I don’t want that, because I love them.
Over the years, I’ve learned that “understanding” doesn’t always mean fully grasping everything logically. Some things I’ll never fully feel because my brain is wired differently. As a neurotypical person, I can analyze reasons or explain needs, but beyond a point, acceptance—not understanding—is the key.
I’ve learned I don’t have to find answers for every feeling or rationalize every habit. Some things just need to be accepted like the weather: unpredictable at times, but still part of the world I love.
Of course, this didn’t happen overnight. There were times I felt like I carried the weight of our relationship—adapting, learning, paying attention. I often expected them to "improve" or come closer to my world. Then I realized our life together isn’t about one of us giving up who we are, but about finding a middle ground where we both can exist. They’re learning to respond more flexibly, and I’m learning love isn’t always where I first looked.
Today, I don’t try to understand every move they make. And I definitely don’t want to “fix” or “normalize” them. I accept that they experience the world differently, and I’m grateful there’s a place for me in that difference. They also accept and respect my needs and do everything they can to meet my expectations. After all, isn’t that what love is? Accepting the other as they are—and celebrating that they dare to be themselves beside us.
