Sleeping With the Killer – The Hidden Cost of Erasure in NeuroDivergent Relationships

Today’s message is one I’ve waited a long time to post. It’s raw. It’s personal. It’s painful. And it may just be life-saving—for those who have ears to hear.

Because sometimes what’s killing you isn’t stress. It’s who you’re sleeping beside.

Inch by Inch, Stress Kills

I was a little girl wearing my favorite Kathy-Kathy-Kathy T-shirt. Bright stripes. Bold letters. It was my armor. My declaration. I am here. I matter.

But even then, I was fighting for identity.

I pretended I couldn’t read in second grade so my mother would read to me—because it was the only time I felt connection. But she was autistic, and connection was not her language. When she was dying, I was 25. I asked my therapist to help me reach her, to find some way to connect before it was too late. But it was already too late. No one understood back then what NeuroDivergence does to children, especially the NeuroTypical ones.

Even on the night Howard and I decided to get married, my unconscious tried to warn me. I had a dream that jolted me awake—Howard was smothering me with a pillow. I brushed it off. Laughed nervously. But my soul already knew.

As a nine year old I developed a heart murmur after scarlet fever. Strep throat haunted my young adulthood. I had severe strep on my wedding day. And during my marriage to Howard, I experienced the slow burn of chronic candida, autoimmune flares, unexplained skin inflammation. My body was screaming, but I didn’t yet know how to listen.

Even after I found the courage to leave him, my body kept breaking. I fell down stairs, broke bones, again and again. Meanwhile, my daughter Bianca was melting down daily, her own autism undiagnosed, her sensory system shot. Her father refused to help. One night I called him in desperation during one of her meltdowns. He told me, “You wanted this divorce. Take care of it yourself.” It?

The Healers Who Didn’t Help

I went to chiropractors, naturopaths, energy workers—searching for someone who would see me. One chiropractor actually told me, “I’ll help your daughters, but not you. You’re an adult. You can take care of yourself.” He believed that I was the cause of all of the stress in our lives.

But I couldn’t take care of myself. Not anymore. I was collapsing.

One therapist—Frank—was brave enough to tell me the truth:

“You need to learn to protect yourself.”
But how do you protect yourself when you’re the one everyone depends on? When you’re holding the center, when you are the designated listener, fixer, healer? The command to protect myself felt like betrayal. Of my children. Of my clients. Of my partner. Of all the wounded souls I’d taken under my wing.

But I’ve since learned that protection isn’t betrayal. It’s oxygen. And I had been holding my breath for decades.

My skin burned. My gut rebelled. My sleep disappeared. And the worst part? I was invisible in my own suffering. It wasn’t just the autistic partner who didn’t see me. It was the culture of silence surrounding NeuroDivergent relationships.

One woman in my support group sat silently for most of our session, saying nothing. I finally called on her, gently. At first she hesitated—but then she looked up and whispered, “What can I do? I have no choice.”

That moment cut to the bone. It wasn’t helplessness I saw in her eyes—it was a lifetime of gaslighting, of resignation, of grief. This is what happens when there’s no language for what you’re experiencing. When even the professionals don’t believe you. When your suffering is met with silence or skepticism.

When the Autistic Partner Takes All the Oxygen

I reconnected recently with Mel, a man from my past. Autistic, emotionally volatile, and entirely self-absorbed. I knew him and his wife, Shari, when we were all young. She was gentle, bright, a trained social worker who never got to use her voice professionally. She raised their one child, tended their homes—yes, plural—and traveled alongside him as he built an empire.

I asked him, gently, how Shari managed her cancer diagnosis, and the 18 months before she died. He said, “She was angry. Angry she never got to do all the things she wanted in life.”

And I knew instantly what that meant. Because I had watched the vibrancy fade from her even back then. When he showed me her photo taken shortly before she died, I had to assume it was her. She looked dark, weighted down, almost unrecognizable. The sparkle I remembered—the woman who used to laugh with me poolside—was long gone.

She gave her life to him. And he drained her dry. Then she died.

What strikes me most is this: even in grief, Mel made it about himself. His volatility, his pain, his fear of being alone. Never once did he ask about my illness. Never once acknowledged the years I’d spent carrying my own pain. Instead, he criticized me for being too preoccupied with my suffering. As if I hadn’t earned the right to fall apart.

This, too, is part of the cost. Not just erasure—but inversion. You become the selfish one for speaking your truth. You become the problem when your body collapses from the weight of carrying everyone else’s needs.

The New Generation – A Warning

Now I see younger people in my support groups—30s, 40s—already battling autoimmune disease, IBS, fibromyalgia, thyroid issues. Some are still trying to hold the marriage together. Others are on the brink. I want to tell them what I wish someone had told me:

It can kill you.
Not in one blow, but slowly. Inch by inch. Cell by cell. Until your system collapses.

And to autistic partners, I say this with love and urgency: resisting a diagnosis is dangerous. Not just to your NT loved ones, but to you. Your suffering counts too. But refusing to own your neurological reality only perpetuates the cycle.

Asserting that you are who you are and expecting others to adapt may feel like empowerment, but it’s not healing. Healing requires awareness, accountability, and action.

Yes, for the NeuroDiverse, accepting a diagnosis is not enough. I often hear: “I don’t like labels.” Or, “It’s a Spectrum and I might have some traits, but not them all.” Or, “What does a diagnosis have to do with our marital problems? She’s just too sensitive.” Blaming others and refusing to see the destruction you’ve caused doesn’t make love work better. It may feel depressing or fill you with grief, but this awareness is your opportunity to make a difference—if only for one person. The person beside you. The person inside you.

A Wake-Up Call

This blog is not a eulogy. It’s a wake-up call.

If you’ve lost yourself in a relationship that always makes you the one who bends, who forgives, who explains—this episode is for you. If your body is screaming, listen. It may be the only part of you still able to speak the truth.

Your compass never lies.

Until next time, I’m Dr. Kathy Marshack. Stay strong. Speak up. And take back your health—and your story.

The Envelope Was Addressed to God

The Envelope Was Addressed to God

A Heroine’s Journey Through Dreams, Illness, and Divine Partnership

I woke up with the kind of clarity that only arrives after years of dreams, decades of pain, and one long, slow awakening. This isn’t a clinical story. It’s not even a tidy one. This is a personal journey — one stitched together through illness, dreams, resilience, and a rediscovery of joy.

Years ago, I had a dream. I lived in a San Francisco rowhouse — the same city where my husband and I honeymooned. In the basement was a rocketship. I’d found it long before, broken and dusty, and spent years quietly repairing it. As I completed the repairs and said my goodbyes to those I love, I knew it was time to board. I climbed in, looked out the window at the city below and thought of Howard and the girls, and I grieved. I loved them. I still do. But I knew that if I stayed, I would not survive. So I pushed the throttle forward. And I soared into the Universe.

It’s not fear that holds us back. It’s erosion. The kind that wears you down grain by grain in a NeuroDivergent family where the NeuroTypical is expected to carry the emotional weight. Add narcissism to the mix, and it becomes suffocation. Like the sand on the beach I now live beside — beautiful, warm, and hiding sneaker waves, glass shards, and deadly bacteria. That’s what I lived with. For years. For decades. And it nearly killed me.

Ironically, I became physically sick from parasites — Giardia and blastocystis. Very fitting. Parasites aren’t just biological. They’re relational, emotional, energetic. And when you finally fight back, your whole system revolts. My neighbors’ contaminated runoff flooded my property, infected my dog, and forced me into battle. I built French drains, cleaned everything, upgraded our water — and eventually hired an attorney. I fought. And then, I collapsed.

Colitis took over. I spent weeks in and out of the ER, unable to eat, barely awake. Yet even in the fog, something came through. A dream. A directive. “Make a video game,” it said. And so I began building Radiant Empathy — a game about heartbreak and healing in NeuroDivergent relationships. I’d never made a game in my life, but I wrote day and night. I even went to the 2025 Games for Change Festival in New York, despite the illness. And yes — I ended up in urgent care again. But I made contacts. I learned about the industry. And I left with an idea for a kid version of the game, University of NeuroDiversity – Radiant Empathy Campus.

And then, another dream. I was clinging to the outside of a roller coaster car, screaming. Inside, God sat calmly, laughing. “You’ll be OK,” He said. “You won’t die.” When the ride ended, and still in the dream, I found myself in an arena. Lights rose. Applause. Bewildered, I climbed to the nosebleed seats in shame. But my friends were there — waiting to celebrate me. God handed me a linen-textured envelope. Inside: a letter. ‘I am your partner.’ The envelope was addressed to GOD. Because I am God’s partner. And God is mine.

A small keychain fell out of the envelope — empty, waiting. In real life, I now have that keychain. And over time, I’ve filled it:

  • A key from a dresser drawer as I packed to leave Portland.
  • A tag from a general store in Neskowin that says ‘Keys to MY Dream House.’
  • A beaded ring Phoebe made when she was little, spelling out my name, flanked by soccer balls — her passion, my pride.
  • A pewter heart that reminds me of Bianca (the artist) and our trip to Paul Revere’s house in Boston.
  • A medallion from Ireland honoring St. Brigid — a goddess who once gave her father’s sword to the poor.
  • A playful leprechaun, because my joy — my mischievousness — is coming back.
  • A brass compass engraved with the words of Captain KIM from Radiant Empathy: ‘Your compass never lies.’

That compass reminds me to follow my resonance — not a direction, not a map, but an inner truth. And it hangs on my keychain now, beside all the rest.

I’m not just flying anymore. I’m still rebuilding and remodeling the rocketship I launched from. That rocketship is me. And the arena, and the beach, and the dream house — they’re all me, too. My daughters are adopted. My mother was autistic. Howard is autistic. Bianca, too. In trying to help her, I found my career. But in helping others, I nearly forgot myself. Not anymore.

This isn’t just a story about dreams or illness or neighbors who wouldn’t fix a drain pipe. It’s for anyone who feels lost, sick, eroded, or invisible. I want you to know: you will find your envelope. You will find your keys. You are already God’s partner.

Einstein said, ‘God doesn’t play dice with the Universe.’ I believe God wrote your name on that envelope. And inside was a message you were always meant to receive: You are the key.

If this story resonates, visit drkathylearningcenter.thinkific.com to learn more about the upcoming video game Radiant Empathy: A Journey of Heartbreak and Healing for NeuroDivergent Relationships. You’ll also find access to live discussions and support communities there.

Patterns

What if the key to understanding NeuroDivergent relationships wasn’t in fixing, blaming, or even explaining… but in observing?

Patterns, From a Child’s Eyes

When my daughter Bianca was just seven years old, I asked her—as any mom would—“What did you do in school today?”

She replied, “We learned patterns.”

I was puzzled. “Patterns?” I asked.

She explained, “In math.”

Still unclear, I pressed further. That’s when she said something extraordinary:
“You’re a psychologist, right Mommy? You study patterns in human behavior.”

And just like that, the lightbulb went on.

Bianca, even as a little autistic girl, saw the world in systems. She instinctively understood what I had gone to graduate school to learn. The pattern was the thing—not the parts.

The Heartbreak of Missing the Pattern

So often in NeuroDivergent relationships, we miss the pattern. Instead, we focus on difference.

We ask:

  • “Why doesn’t he listen?”
  • “Why is she so literal?”
  • “Why don’t they love me the way I need?”

We search for answers in blame.
We cry, or we retreat, or we get sick—literally.
(I just came through a three-month colitis flare, a painful reminder of how our bodies absorb emotional mismatches.)

But what if we step away from the emotional noise and try something different?

A Mindfulness Technique – Just Notice

Try this:

Let go of your need to be understood.
Let go of your need to fix them.
Let go of your need to label yourself the “empath” or the “strong one” or the “victim.”

Instead—just notice.

Notice the pattern.

  • Do they withdraw after your emotional sharing?
  • Do you feel unheard even when they speak kindly?
  • Do arguments follow a similar script every time?

When you begin to see the pattern—not the person—you step into healing. It’s not personal. It’s systemic.

Patterns in Reading, Love, and Life

Bianca taught me another lesson when she was around eleven.

She said, “You and I are a lot alike. We both love to read.”

I smiled. “Yes, we do.”

Then she added something remarkable:

“But we’re different too. I love to read anything. But when you read, you have a purpose in mind.”

She was right. I read to learn, to fix, to grow. She read to be. Whether it was a novel or a No Parking sign, she was absorbing the pattern.

She once gave me a book I knew neither of us would read, but it didn’t matter. The gesture was in the pattern, not the outcome.

The Limits of Pattern-Only Thinking

And yet, there are limits to living solely in the realm of patterns.

Bianca often didn’t finish her written homework assignments.
She composed beautiful songs but didn’t share the lyrics.
She felt everything but expressed it in ways others missed.

That’s the tragedy of misalignment.
Of living in different languages—one patterned, one purpose-driven.

Peaceful Integration

Let me share another story. One of my clients is an interior designer. She has an unusual but beautiful habit. As she develops a design, she compares endless swatches of color, texture, and pattern. She does this not just for aesthetics, but to align her design with the client’s story, their needs, their budget.

While she’s working, she loses herself in the world of pure pattern and perception. It’s immersive. It’s NeuroDiverse in its beauty. But then something fascinating happens.

When the pattern resolves—when every piece has found its place—the image becomes black and white in her mind. That’s when she knows it’s ready. The system is whole. It’s time to move into implementation.

This is a powerful metaphor for integrating both worlds: living in perception, and living in purpose. We can flow between them. She didn’t rush the process. She honored the pattern until it revealed the plan.

Radiant Empathy Game Begins Here

If you’re in a NeuroDivergent relationship, the first step is not to understand the other person.

It’s to observe the pattern without judgment.

Let go of the shame.
Let go of the narrative that they’re wrong—or that you are.
Let yourself grieve if you need to. But also… allow yourself to watch the dance of your relationship without needing to control it.

This is Radiant Empathy.
Not fixing. Not pleasing.
Just witnessing with love.

Sometimes They Get It – And That 5% Matters

“Sometimes they get it.”

This phrase—one I often use in webinars for my Premium Forum members—was recently echoed by a member I’ll call Sari. Her reflection on life with her High Functioning autistic husband brings profound insight into what it *really* means to love someone on the Spectrum.

In Sari’s words:
“Sometimes he can get it.”

Those fleeting moments—when her partner is calm, relational, and engaged—happen about 5% of the time. The rest of the time, she describes him as grumpy, irritable, or shut down. Not because he’s choosing to be. But because that’s how his neurology functions.

Victims of Their Own Neurology

Sari isn’t blaming her husband. She’s looking at the data. Like any good researcher, she has sorted patterns, tested hypotheses, and reached a clear conclusion: his mood and behavior are wildly variable due to his autistic neurology.

“His mood states are so erratic that nothing else explains it except neurological factors… I live with someone whose behavior and mood I can’t predict. And I never will.”

This unpredictability is devastating for many NeuroTypical (NT) partners. We use our neurology more efficiently. We track emotion. We build connection. When our partners can only “get it” 5% of the time, it leads to chronic stress, heartbreak, and often, autoimmune illness or depression.

Intermittent Reinforcement = Deep Emotional Damage

What Sari describes aligns with one of psychology’s most powerful concepts: intermittent reinforcement.

When rewards are delivered unpredictably—like those rare moments of connection—you’re more likely to keep trying, hoping for that “jackpot” again. It’s exhausting and addictive. You never know when your partner might “get it,” but you hope… and hope… and keep giving.

For the NeuroDiverse partner, this intermittent functioning stems from neurological overstimulation and lack of emotional insight. But for the NT, this creates a trauma loop.

Building Around Reality, Not Fantasy

Sari has made a bold choice: she’s building her life around reality.

She takes solo trips. She doesn’t try to engage when he’s irritable. She’s not chasing the fantasy of 100% connection. Instead, she protects her wellness.

“Trips without him work better,” she says.
“I’ve done enough where he’s only really in a good state for 30 minutes. That’s hardly a good return on my investment of time and energy.”

This is not bitterness. This is Radiant Empathy in action. It’s knowing you can love someone and honor your own limits. It’s the heart of Step 2 of the 7-Step Interface Protocol: Accept the diagnosis—fully. From that point, healing becomes possible.

It Takes Two

Can Sari increase the 5% all by herself? Of course not.

Sustainable relational repair requires both partners. Radiant Empathy means both parties commit to learning, understanding, and growth. If only one person is doing the work, change can’t happen. And yes, sometimes the most loving choice is stepping away from a relationship that’s making you sick.

Questions for You

– What percentage of the time does your ND partner “get it”? How does that affect you?
– Have you truly accepted their diagnosis?
– Are you building around reality—or still chasing the fantasy?

Join the Conversation

If this resonates with you, come to our After Party Discussion—a live, confidential Zoom session where we unpack these insights together. Register at:

🔗 drkathylearningcenter.thinkific.com

Want to join our private forums for ongoing support?

🔗 ASD-NTrelationships.com

Remember, “sometimes they get it.” That 5% matters. But so do you.

Please Stop the Madness: How I Took Back My Life—with a Little Help from Mother Mary

For much of my life, I begged for the madness to stop.

I begged my autistic mother to stop screaming at me.
I begged my autistic husband to stop fighting our divorce and just let me go.
I begged the legal system to stop believing his lies.
I begged my daughter, mid-meltdown, to stop the threats and accusations.
I even begged God.

I just wanted peace.

And yet—there I was, sitting in a jail cell.

Cold. Alone. In pain. And utterly abandoned.

It was my first false arrest. I was 54 years old.

My ex-husband, an attorney, had told the police I was a narcissist and unfit to be a mother. He asked the judge to hold me until the evening on a Friday, which meant I couldn’t be released until Monday. Our daughters—then just 14 and 11—were left home alone. Howard didn’t check on them. He didn’t take them in.

The Clark County jail was as cruel and chaotic as you’d imagine. Every surface was metal or stone. The common room TV blared 24/7. People screamed from their bunks—detoxing, hallucinating, reliving nightmares. I had a splitting migraine. The guards kept moving us from one cell to another, and because I was the “newbie,” I ended up on the top bunk. No books. No comfort. No quiet.

Just a comb, a cup, and a pencil. That’s all I had.

And then I saw it—a scrap of paper sticking out from a shelf.

It was a Catholic Charities pamphlet titled “Mary’s Stations of the Cross.

I’m not Catholic. But like so many women around the world, I have long admired Mother Mary—her strength, her sorrow, her unwavering grace. In that jail cell, I read every word of that pamphlet with my stubby pencil in hand. I underlined. I scribbled in the margins. I clung to her courage.

Because if she could endure the heartbreak of watching her son be brutalized…
If she could hold space for sorrow and love at the same time…
Then maybe I could too.

That moment didn’t end the madness, but it changed something in me.
It was the day I stopped begging for a way out and started reclaiming my life.

The start of my first book

I began working on my first book soon after:
Going Over the Edge? Life with a Partner or Spouse with Asperger Syndrome (ASD).

Since then, I’ve written more books, hosted podcasts, created online courses, and launched international support groups. I’ve developed the concept of Radiant Empathy and dedicated my life to supporting those of us living in NeuroDivergent Relationships—especially the NeuroTypicals who are so often misunderstood, misrepresented, or simply left out of the conversation.

Because I know what it’s like to feel alone in the madness.

And I also know that we don’t have to stay there.

Ruth’s Message

One of the most touching messages I received came from Ruth, a woman with autism who read one of my blogs on empathy:

I’m going to cry. I’m waiting to be diagnosed. But in the meantime, reading this and how generous and sensitive you are toward understanding the women in your life who have autism… I am so touched and moved. I believe in the ability of humanity to bridge the gap that seems impossible in my life.

To Ruth, I wrote back:
I am dedicated to bridging that gap. I feel fortunate to have had women in my life with autism. In spite of my resistance, my love for them forced me to take another look—to reach into my own heart, to find the courage to abandon my fears, and love who they really are. By the way… they are marvelous.

Another woman, a NeuroTypical wife, responded to my After Party discussion on emotional disconnection in ASD marriages. She said:

Ever since my husband realized he was autistic—and especially since he’s been in ASD therapy—he’s even more dug into his autistic behaviors. Now he wants an agenda for every phone call. I’m not your secretary. I’m your wife!

I told her:

The better we understand ‘Aspie Planet,’ the more we can take back our own lives. Being authentic works best for both NTs and NDs—because then the anxiety drops, and we can begin to bridge the gap.

These are not just responses. They’re principles I live by.

Because reclaiming your life isn’t about fighting harder or running farther.

It’s about showing up as your full, authentic self—even when that self is exhausted, terrified, or grieving.

Walk Your Path

I still live with the consequences of those years. I still get triggered. I still miss my daughters. But I’m living from my Blueprint now. I’m walking the path I was always meant to walk.

And part of that path… is you.

Yes—you reading this right now.

My life’s mission is to bring hope to those who feel trapped in the madness. To those begging for peace, connection, or simply a moment of quiet strength.

You may be there now. But I want you to know this:

You can take back your life. You are not broken. And you are not alone.

Join the Discussion

If this story resonates with you, I invite you to join me for a live After Party discussion, where we gather to reflect and grow in a supportive, confidential space.

👉 Visit drkathylearningcenter.thinkific.com to join.

Together, we’ll explore questions like:

  • Have you ever had a “Mother Mary moment”? A quiet turning point in the middle of the storm?
  • What would it look like to stop begging for peace… and start living from your Blueprint?

I’ll be there. And so will others who know the struggle—and the strength—of walking this road.

We may not be in Paradise.

But on Earth, there is still healing.

There is still grace.

And yes—there is still hope.

When Intimacy Vanishes: The Silent Struggle of NTs in NeuroDivergent Relationships

“What dropped off wasn’t the physical acts—but the interest.” — NT spouse, international support group

Intimacy isn’t just about sex. It’s about presence, safety, and feeling deeply known. Yet for many NeuroTypical partners in NeuroDivergent relationships, intimacy vanishes quietly—leaving behind confusion, grief, and a gnawing loneliness. Over the past few months, I’ve hosted a series of global conversations with NT partners who are ready to name the truth. The stories that emerged were raw, real, and resonant. What follows is a reflection on what we’ve learned together.

From Obsession to Emptiness

One woman shared, “When I first married my husband, I was the object of his obsession. And then—it just dropped away. He turned to porn. He still wants sex, but I can’t do it without the emotional piece.”

Many NTs describe this pattern. The early days may be filled with focus and fascination—but not genuine mutual connection. When the novelty wears off, what remains is often a transactional dynamic. For the NT, who craves shared meaning and emotional resonance, this can feel devastating.

The Trauma Beneath the Surface

Sex becomes something else—a trigger, a performance, a source of guilt. For those with trauma histories, the lack of empathy or emotional attunement can reopen old wounds. “I don’t want to do this if I can’t do it in a way that feels safe,” one participant said through tears. “Sometimes the smallest moment will set me off, and I spiral.”

What We Really Want

Contrary to popular assumptions, NTs in these relationships aren’t prudish or frigid. They are sensual, sensitive, emotionally generous. They long to be met—not just physically, but soul-to-soul. But when connection is absent, sex becomes a source of grief, not pleasure.

Some fantasize about escape—an affair, an open marriage, a secret life. Others shut down entirely. A few cling to hope that therapy or coaching will help. Many simply live in lonely silence.

Naming the Wound, Reclaiming the Self

What we’re discovering, together, is that there is no one-size-fits-all answer. But there is healing in community. In naming what’s happening. In understanding that you are not broken—and you are not alone.

Boundaries are key. So is self-awareness. Emotional safety isn’t a luxury; it’s a human need. When NTs begin to name their needs without shame, a new kind of clarity emerges.

And sometimes, yes, that clarity leads to a difficult crossroads. But it can also lead to radical self-respect—and a rekindled sense of personal agency.

An Invitation to the Conversation

We’ve only just begun. In the upcoming episode of my podcast, NeuroDivergent Relationships with Dr. Kathy Marshack, we’ll explore this topic further. You’ll hear real voices, real heartbreak—and the strength it takes to face what’s been buried.

Until then, I offer this truth:
You are not asking for too much. You are asking for connection. And that is the most human thing in the world.

Let’s Keep the Conversation Going

If this post resonates with you, you’re not alone. I invite you to join me for the next episode of the podcast and to connect more personally through our After Party Discussions and resources available at:

drkathylearningcenter.thinkific.com

asd-ntrelationships.com

This isn’t just about sex. It’s about reclaiming your life, your voice, and your joy.

Come sit with us. Speak your truth. There’s healing here.

If you have a loved one on the Spectrum, please check our private MeetUp group. We have members from around the world meeting online in intimate video conferences guided by Dr. Kathy Marshack.
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