Why My Autistic Brain Loves Contradictions

I love being alone, but hate feeling lonely. I need structure, but I also get bored easily. I like a plan, but can’t stick to my own plan. I hate noise, but my own music I can’t get loud enough. I want to be included, but I don’t always want to participate. If that sounds confusing, welcome to my autistic world.

As I’ve started to recognise my autistic traits, I’ve realised how my mind is full of contradictions that I struggle to explain to others. Right now, I’m sitting in a noisy environment—people chatting, cutlery clinking, the constant rustling of movement around me. It’s overwhelming. But with my noise-canceling headphones blasting my favorite music at full volume, I can focus. I hate noise! It makes me anxious, tearful, and agitated. Yet, somehow, my own loud noise calms me.

Every autistic person experiences the world differently, and my experiences are unique to me. But I know I’m not alone in these contradictions.

Sensory Contradictions: Too Much & Not Enough

Noise. Noise seems to rule my life. It dictates where I go, how anxious I am, and even how my entire day unfolds. It’s been like this my whole life—I just didn’t understand why until recently, after my autism diagnosis.

Why can’t I just enjoy loud social environments like everyone else? Why do they make me want to run away in tears? It’s not just chaotic noise either. Even small, repetitive sounds—someone chewing, crisp packets rustling, even blinking—can make my skin crawl and completely take over my focus.

Now I know noise is my biggest sensory sensitivity, I’ve found ways to navigate it. Noise-canceling headphones, Loop earplugs, leaving environments before I hit sensory overload, and asking for reasonable adjustments in social situations that require me to be in noisy spaces.

But here’s the contradiction—despite my extreme noise sensitivity, I love my own loud noise. My music, blasting in my ears, is one of the only things that soothes me. It drowns out the unpredictable chaos of background noise and replaces it with something familiar and controlled. It’s loud, but it’s my loud.

On the bike, I’ll dial the volume up to full blast during an interval session, the music pushing me through the effort. But more than that—if I go into an autistic meltdown, my loud music, the bass pumping through my body so I can physically feel it, calms me like nothing else. It grounds me when nothing else can. Unfortunately, this isn’t great for my ears, and I try to avoid getting into that situation. But the paradox hasn’t gone unnoticed.

I can’t handle chaotic, uncontrolled noise—but when I control the volume, the rhythm, and the intensity? It becomes my safe space.

Social Contradictions: Craving Connection but Avoiding It

I want to be included, but I don’t always want to participate. I love deep conversations, but I struggle with small talk. I crave connection, but socialising drains me.

For most of my life I’ve struggled to make, and keep friends. I want to meet up, I want to have the social connections, I want to message back, but when it comes to it I never seem to be able to follow through. I do have a few friends who I’ve made over my life that I can go for years without speaking to and I know if I needed anything they would be there. And for that I am truly grateful. But a regular friendship group has evaded me. Until I found cycling, and have found people who seem to accept my scatty nature, and the ability to socailise on a ride provides an easier method for me.

This contradiction confuses me sometimes. One minute, I feel lonely and wish I had more social interaction. The next, I get invited to a social event, and suddenly the idea of going feels exhausting. I long to be part of things, yet I often find myself withdrawing.

I’ve realised it’s not that I don’t want connection—it’s that I need it in my own way. I prefer deep one-on-one conversations over group settings. Having multiple conversations going on around me seems to cause my brain to shut down and I can’t focus on any of them. I want to feel included without the pressure of constantly engaging.

Routine vs. Spontaneity: The Battle Between Structure & Freedom

I need structure. Routine keeps me grounded, helps me feel safe, and prevents me from feeling overwhelmed. I like to know what I am doing, have a plan, but I am so bad at decision making, liking to know all the facts before I commit to anything I can often end up doing things competly last minute.

My plan brings me comfort, but it can also fall apart so easily. I can create a detailed schedule for my day, write it all down, and promise myself, "This time, I’ll stick to it." But when it comes time to follow through? I procrastinate, get distracted, or completely ignore my own plan. I love structure, yet I struggle to stick to my own structure.

Then there’s the hyperfocus. If I get locked onto one activity, switching tasks feels impossible. Transitioning from one thing to the next can be overwhelming, even when I want to be productive.

This is why having a cycling coach and a structured training plan works so well for me. It removes the hours of indecision, giving me a clear focus and the structure I crave. Following the plan helps me feel in control without the pressure of making constant choices.

But then, there are days when I crave freedom—the open road, a spontaneous ride, the kind where I just go wherever feels right. My favorite type of ride? A long Zone 2 session, where I can settle into a steady rhythm and just keep going. It’s structure, but with just enough freedom to feel effortless.

So, do I need routine, or do I need spontaneity? The contradiction remains. And honestly, I think I need both..

Emotional Contradictions: Feeling Everything Yet Understanding Nothing

I feel things deeply—so deeply that emotions can overwhelm me. But at the same time, I often struggle to name or even understand what I’m feeling. It’s a contradiction that makes it hard for others to understand my needs.

I can cry over a touching movie, tear up when I see someone else crying, and feel secondhand emotions as if they’re my own. Yet, when someone asks me, “How are you feeling?” I freeze. I genuinely don’t know.

I’ve had moments where I become visibly upset, tears streaming down my face, only to be asked, “What’s wrong?” My automatic response is often, “I don’t know.” Understandably, this can be met with frustration or suspicion—“Oh, you just don’t want to tell me.” But the truth is, I genuinely don’t have the words. I just feel—but I don’t always understand whator why.

This is due to alexithymia, a common trait in autistic people that makes recognising and expressing emotions difficult. I might be visibly distressed, but if you ask me why, I won’t have an answer. I might feel stressed but only realise it when my body starts reacting—exhaustion, headaches, sensory overload. It’s as if my emotions are all-consuming but also completely out of reach.

This contradiction confuses others, and honestly, it confuses me too. How can I be too emotional yet struggle to identify what those emotions even are?

Over time, I’ve learned ways to navigate it. I recognise my alexithymia and openly explain it to those around me, so they know not to worry and that I’ll come to them in my own time if I need to talk. I also look for patterns in myself—if I suddenly feel overwhelmed or withdrawn, I take a step back, give myself quiet time, and process my emotions at my own pace.

I might never fully understand my emotions the way others do, but I’ve learned that doesn’t make them any less real. My feelings don’t always have words, and that’s okay.

Embracing the Contradictions

Sometimes, I feel the need to justify these contradictions—to explain them to others so they understand. But trying to make sense of my brain for someone else can be exhausting. And the truth is, it doesn’t need to make sense to anyone but me. My brain is unique, quirky, and complex—but that’s okay.

Autism is full of contradictions, and that’s okay too. These paradoxes don’t mean I’m broken or inconsistent. They simply mean my brain works in a way that isn’t always linear. And for all its contradictions, my brain has helped me achieve so much.

Its hyperfocus has pushed me to achieve in things I love. Its determination has carried me through challenges. So if my brain needs to throw in a few contradictions along the way, I think I can let it.