Even When I’m Loved, I Feel Lonely: The Quiet Grief of Being AuDHD”

By Tim Aiello, MA, LPC, NCC, ADHD-CCSP, ASDCS

There’s a kind of loneliness that doesn’t come from being physically alone—it comes from not being fully known. From existing in spaces where you constantly feel the need to filter, perform, or edit yourself. That’s the kind of loneliness I live with as someone with both Autism and ADHD—what’s often referred to as AuDHD.

I have people in my life. I have friends. I have family. I even have clients who trust me with their most vulnerable truths. And I have Darren—my husband, my best friend, my person. He is the one place I can land without explanation. With him, I can cry without needing to say why. I can stim, ramble, go silent, or fall apart, and he stays steady. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t shame me. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m too much.

But even with that incredible love—and I know how lucky I am—there are moments I still feel profoundly lonely.

Because loneliness for people like me isn’t just about the absence of relationships. It’s about the absence of ease. It’s about not having to wonder:

“Am I being too intense?”

“Did I talk too much?”

“Are they annoyed with me?”

It’s the constant questioning: “Do they love me… or just the version of me I showed them?”

Masking Makes Me Doubt Everything

One of the cruelest side effects of masking is that it warps your ability to trust when people love you. If you’ve spent your whole life shape-shifting to be accepted—hiding the stims, copying other people’s expressions, suppressing your real opinions—then what happens when someone says, “I care about you”?

You wonder: “But which me do they care about?”

The one who made them laugh? The one who held back tears? The one who stayed silent to keep the peace?

Masking might keep us socially safe, but it comes at a devastating emotional cost. It’s why so many AuDHD adults struggle to feel secure in relationships, even when those relationships are built on genuine affection. Because if love is offered to a version of you that’s been heavily edited… does it count?

I Want to Be Someone’s Safe Space Too

I think about this often—how much I crave the kind of friendship where I can just be. Where I can vent about my day without worrying I’m being negative. Where I can be silly, weird, unfiltered, and not feel like I need to apologize after. Where I can cancel plans and still be loved.

I want the kind of connection where you don’t have to earn your place by being entertaining or agreeable. The kind where presence alone is enough.

I have that with Darren—and I never take it for granted—but I also want it beyond my marriage. I want it in community. In friendship. In family. I want it in the relationships where I still feel like I’m walking on eggshells, unsure if my full self is welcome.

My Brain Makes Socializing Hard, Even When I Want It

I want connection. I long for it. But my brain doesn’t always cooperate. Small talk short-circuits me. My mind blanks in the middle of conversations. I interrupt without meaning to. I forget to respond. I zone out. I over-explain. I shut down.

It’s not that I’m disinterested—I’m overwhelmed. And the more I try to push through that overwhelm, the more anxious I get. Research shows that up to 50% of Autistic adults experience social anxiety (Spain et al., 2018), often born from a lifetime of subtle rejections and misunderstandings. Layer in ADHD’s impulsivity, executive dysfunction, and rejection sensitivity, and suddenly even the easiest interactions feel high-stakes.

And when it goes poorly, I spiral. I replay conversations. I convince myself I said something weird. I assume people are annoyed, bored, or pulling away. I brace for disconnection before it even happens.

Even With My Person, I Still Feel Alone Sometimes

Darren is my home base. My grounding cord. I know—on a soul level—that I’m not too much for him. But that doesn’t erase the rest of the world. It doesn’t stop the part of me that wants more connection—not to be greedy or ungrateful—but to be human.

I want to belong. I want to show up without shrinking. I want to feel seen in spaces where I don’t have to prove I’m worthy of being there.

Polyvagal Theory reminds us that safety isn’t just emotional—it’s physiological (Porges, 2011). When our nervous systems have been stuck in a chronic state of survival, even kindness can feel suspicious. Love can feel like a test. Joy can feel like a setup for disappointment. It takes time to unlearn that. It takes gentleness, patience, and people who let us show up as we are—messy, wired differently, and still worthy.

What I Want You to Know

I’m not cold. I’m not aloof. I’m not antisocial.

I’m lonely. And I’m trying.

I’m trying to believe people when they say they care. I’m trying to stop apologizing for the way I exist. I’m trying to let myself be loved—even when my brain tells me I’ve ruined everything.

If you’re like me, I want you to know: your loneliness doesn’t make you broken. It makes you human. You deserve friendships where you don’t have to mask. You deserve relationships where you’re allowed to be silly, sad, quiet, bold, or tender—without feeling like a burden.

And if you haven’t found that yet, please don’t give up. The right people won’t make you question your worth. The right people will love you. The real you.

And maybe, just maybe, they’re looking for you too.

References

• Mazurek, M. O. (2014). Loneliness, friendship, and well-being in adults with autism spectrum disorders. Autism, 18(3), 223–232. https://doi.org/10.1177/1362361312474121

• Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-regulation. Norton.

• Spain, D., Sin, J., Chalder, T., Murphy, D., & Happé, F. (2018). Social anxiety in autism spectrum disorder: A systematic review. Research in Autism Spectrum Disorders, 52, 51–68. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.rasd.2018.04.007