How to Prevent “That’s Just Who I Am” From Wrecking Intimate Relationships

Finding the middle ground for an autistic partner and their spouse.

Oct 07, 2025

What Questions Are Answered in This Article

Is it fair to excuse hurtful comments by saying, “That’s just who I am”?
How much should a partner let things go when their autistic spouse says something hurtful?
Can neurodivergence explain hurtful behavior without excusing it?
What’s the difference between compassion and self-abandonment in relationships?
How can both partners grow together despite communication differences?
What does accountability look like in neurodiverse relationships?
What does real connection require?
Is love enough without self-awareness?
Where’s the line between acceptance and enabling?

There’s a difference between understanding why someone does something and accepting it as unchangeable.

I often hear this in relationships where one partner is autistic:
“He doesn’t mean to hurt me—it’s just how his brain works.”
Or, “She’s blunt, but that’s just part of who she is.”

And there’s truth in that. Autism absolutely affects communication—tone, word choice, facial expression, even the rhythm and timing of conversation. For years, I didn’t realize how often I interrupted people or finished their sentences, thinking I was helping them along. My intention was harmless, even caring. But the impact? That’s another story.

When we love someone who communicates differently, it’s natural to want to be understanding and supportive. To not take it personally. To remind ourselves that what feels like criticism might just be a brain wired for bluntness.

But here’s where understanding can turn into neglecting yourself.
When “that’s just who they are” becomes a kind of escape hatch—an emotional exit that lets them dodge accountability—we stop asking for what we need.

We start swallowing or minimizing hurt because we don’t want to seem unsupportive. We may even feel guilty for perfectly human feelings. You may even think you’re the problem — you are not.

Let me be clear: neurodivergence explains behavior, but it doesn’t excuse hurt.
It’s not about blame either. It’s about finding a balance between both partners’ needs.

Understanding the why helps both partners find their footing.
But love still needs growth. You don’t say “I do” and then shut the motor off and let it rust.

The autistic partner can learn tools for gentler communication: pausing before speaking, asking for clarification, and repairing when something lands wrong. Learning these skills has brought my wife and me closer, and our relationship keeps getting stronger. It took me a long time to admit that my good intentions didn’t always feel good to her.

The non-autistic partner can learn to separate intent from impact, or the method from the message, to see the difference between “you meant to hurt me” and “that hurt me.” It’s the difference between blame and accountability.

That’s the real middle ground: both people growing in awareness, both caring about how their words and actions affect their partner.

Of course, the autistic partner can ignore all this and blow up the bridge between them. I’ve done my share of demolition work before realizing that many bridges could be repaired.

No one should have to “develop a thicker skin” to stay loved. In fact, that isn’t love; it’s settling for disrespect.

And just because something can be explained by a diagnosis doesn’t mean we’re unteachable. Yes, many things can be improved slightly, and others not at all. But we do ourselves and those around us a disservice by throwing our hands up in helplessness right out of the gate.

Understanding is love, but so is accountability.
Both can coexist, and when they do, that’s where real connection begins.

How to Put This Into Practice

If you’re wondering what this looks like in real life, here are a few steps to start putting these ideas into motion:

1. Pause before reacting.
When something hurts, resist the impulse to blame right away. Take a moment to notice what you feel—anger, sadness, confusion—and name it. This step alone can keep a misunderstanding from turning into resentment.

2. Separate intent from impact.
Instead of asking, “Why would you say that?” try “That hurt—can you clarify what you meant?” This keeps the door open for explanation and repair.

3. State your needs clearly and kindly.
Don’t water down what you need to feel safe or respected. Use simple, direct language:

“When that happens, I feel dismissed. What I need is for you to check in with me before making that kind of comment.”

I’m a fan of asking someone if they’re prepared to hear direct feedback, in case that’s what slips out. That way, they’re reminded my brain can slip into default mode unintentionally and I don’t always realize it until the words are already out there.

4. Repair, don’t retreat.
For the autistic partner: when something lands wrong, circle back. A simple “I didn’t mean for that to sound harsh” can rebuild trust faster than silence.

For the non-autistic partner: notice and appreciate that repair—it often takes more effort than it looks. The fact they had enough self-awareness to spot it is a win.

I often tell people, “If anything I say or do feels hurtful, please tell me so I can clarify.” Knowing me means knowing I don’t attack people to make a point. If it hurt, chances are it was a misunderstanding, not meanness.

5. Replace guilt with curiosity.
If you catch yourself thinking, “I shouldn’t feel hurt,” ask instead, “What feeling am I having and what is it in response to?” Guilt shuts growth down. Curiosity keeps it going.

6. Create a shared language for tension.
Develop a phrase or gesture that means “Let’s pause” or “Can we reset?” It becomes a neutral bridge instead of a defensive response.

7. Celebrate effort, not perfection.
Learning to communicate across neurotypes takes patience and humility. Notice when either of you makes an effort, even if it’s clumsy. Gratitude keeps you on the same team.

Real love doesn’t ask for perfection. It asks for participation. The courage to keep showing up, learning, and repairing. Growth doesn’t always look graceful, but it does look like care. When both partners decide that understanding and accountability belong in the same room, love doesn’t just survive difference—it grows because of it.

Thanks for being you,
Brian

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About the Author

I’m Brian R. King, MSW, a storyteller, coach, and neurodivergent dad who has spent decades helping parents, teachers, and professionals understand and support children with autism and ADHD. Living with autism, ADHD, MS, hEDS, and chronic pain myself, I write from lived experience — not theory. My work is about translating the unspoken, showing how struggle and self-acceptance can coexist, and using humor to make hard truths easier to hold.

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