Author: Kathy Marshack

“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.

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.

“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.

“Aren’t we all on the Spectrum?” It’s a phrase you’ve probably heard. Meant to be inclusive, empathetic. But instead, it flattens real difference. Worse, it dismisses two vital experiences: the lifelong identity of Autistic people, and the lived trauma of NeuroTypicals who developed PTSD from living inside a NeuroDivergence system.

Let’s get clear. This article is about reclaiming language, and in doing so, reclaiming ourselves. First, however, let’s quickly review and clarify the terms we’ll be discussing.

Clarifying the Terms

• NeuroTypical (NT): The dominant neurotype. Socially intuitive, emotionally reciprocal, neurologically attuned to cultural norms. NTs are not on the Autism Spectrum.
• NeuroDiverse: Not a catch-all for all humanity. In this framework, NeuroDiverse refers specifically to individuals born with cognitive styles that fundamentally diverge from NT norms — Autistic individuals and others with similar neurologically based divergences.
• NeuroDivergence: A term I traditionally use to describe the system. But in this episode, I began thinking differently. I’m using “NeuroDivergence” to name the field itself — the space between diverging minds. The chronic misattunement, the friction, the trauma that emerges when operating systems collide.
• Autism / ASD: A genetic, neurodevelopmental condition. Present from birth. If you weren’t born Autistic, you are not on the Spectrum. Period.
• PTSD: A survival adaptation. An injury. Not an identity.

The Core Misunderstanding

People often say, “I’m a little Autistic too,” or, “We all have quirks.” But Autism is not a cluster of quirks or traits. It’s a complete operating system. To reduce it to anxiety, introversion, or poor eye contact is to misunderstand it entirely.

PTSD complicates this further. Because PTSD mimics certain Autistic traits: sensory overload, emotional shutdown, difficulty with boundaries. But these are trauma responses. Not neurodevelopmental wiring. PTSD doesn’t make you Autistic. It makes you hurt.

Trauma in a NeuroDivergence System

Now let’s talk about the system. Many NTs develop PTSD not from war zones or disasters — but from growing up or living in homes shaped by unsupported Autism.

An NT child in a NeuroDivergence system might feel chronically unseen, invalidated, emotionally dismissed. They grow up second-guessing their intuition, suppressing their needs, and blaming themselves for the disconnection. Over time, their nervous system shatters. This is how PTSD forms.

Not because they were born different. But because they were born into a system that couldn’t attune to who they were.

The Empath’s Burden

Many NTs are highly empathic. That empathy becomes a liability in a misattuned system. You twist yourself into knots trying to decode behaviors, anticipate reactions, keep the peace.

Eventually, something breaks. You think: What’s wrong with me? But the better question is: What happened to me? That question leads to revelation.

And if you’re here, you might be waking up inside that realization.

The Perverse Logic of Mislabeling

Here’s where the logic gets dangerous. If PTSD makes you NeuroDiverse, and your PTSD came from an Autistic parent or partner, then the implication is: They made you like them.
That’s not just inaccurate. It’s perverse.

It turns trauma into mimicry. It pathologizes Autism as infectious. And it invalidates the real neurological injuries sustained by NTs.

Your PTSD is not their Autism. It’s what happened when no one named the gap.

Naming the Difference to Heal

Saying “we’re all on the Spectrum” is not inclusion. It’s erasure.

When we name the difference between PTSD and Autism, we don’t divide — we orient. We start drawing a map. One that helps everyone find their way back to center.

You don’t need to adopt a label that doesn’t belong to you. You don’t need to wonder if you’ve been Autistic all along. You just need to honor the truth: “I am not Autistic. I am NeuroTypical. I have PTSD. And it came from being stuck in a system that never mirrored me.”

NeuroDiverse Listeners, This is For You Too

To my NeuroDiverse listeners: You, too, have a right to reclaim your life.

Maybe you were raised in a world that told you empathy wasn’t available to you. Maybe your wiring was pathologized. Maybe you were taught to suppress your needs to appear “normal.”

But empathy is possible. Emotional reciprocity is possible. As Richard — another Autistic husband — has shown us, you can become Empathy Triad Engaged. This is one of the core teachings within the game — yes, there is a game — designed to help us practice what healing can look like in action, in relationship. His insight helped shape one of the core learning mechanics in the game, using a character named Number One to teach this practice.

This isn’t about copying NT behavior. It’s about growing toward mutuality. Healing is for you, too.

Introducing the Characters

Let me introduce you to two more of the characters you’ll meet in the game.

Phoebe Irene is a warrior empath. She grew up navigating the quiet dissonance of a household shaped by NeuroDivergence. She learned early how to read the room, soothe the storm, disappear when needed. Now, as an adult, Phoebe carries the invisible scars of PTSD — not from violence, but from never being seen clearly. She knows something is wrong. And she’s ready to find her way back to herself.

Bianca Marin is Autistic — lyrical, sensory, and nonlinear. She rarely finishes her stories, not because she lacks discipline, but because the joy is in the words themselves. Bianca feels music in conversation, color in silence, and meaning even when others say there is none. She is misunderstood often, but never disheartened. Because she has a rhythm — even if others can’t hear it yet.

You won’t just play these characters. You’ll feel with them. You’ll learn what they need. And you’ll discover the language of Radiant Empathy through their lives.

How the Game Was Born

This game wasn’t born in a vacuum. It started years ago, with a man named Tracy — an Autistic husband who came to me after yet another communication breakdown with his wife. He laughed when he said it: “We need an app… you know, like Conversational Aspergian — like Conversational Spanish, but for me and her.”

At the time, I smiled — but I also felt the weight of that request. Tracy wasn’t asking for a translation tool. He was asking for a bridge. A way to stay in connection across the gap of NeuroDivergence. He didn’t want to escape his wiring — and he didn’t want his wife to feel like the translator for both of their lives.

I sat with that idea for a long time. And eventually, I realized it needed more than an app. It needed an experience — something immersive. Something emotional. Something that could teach us to listen, not just decode.

That’s how this game was born. Not as “Conversational Aspergian,” but as something deeper. Something I now call Radiant Empathy — the capacity to feel someone across the system, across the divergence, and respond in a way that brings clarity, not collapse.

Closing Reflection

You are not on the Spectrum. And that’s not a loss. That’s your freedom.

Trauma is not an identity. It’s an invitation.

You get to come home to who you were before the system bent you out of shape.

And if you are NeuroDiverse — born into a world that could not fully meet you — know this: your wiring is not broken. You, too, are invited to grow into mutuality, to expand your capacity, and to live from a place of Radiant Empathy.

Thanks for being here. Let’s keep building the map — the Map of Empathy Territory (found in the game too!).

We’ve all heard about autistic meltdowns or shutdowns. But what if those words don’t capture the full picture? What if, instead of a temporary overwhelm, there’s something more terrifying and long-lasting—something I call “brain on fire”?

This is not a metaphor. It’s real. And for some NeuroDiverse individuals, it can feel like their minds are literally burning from the inside out—overloaded, overstimulated, and pushed to the brink of collapse.

I know this intimately. Because I watched it happen to my mother.

A Memory from 1964

I was 14 when my autistic mother had what they called a “nervous breakdown.” After reading the Book of Revelations, she became overwhelmed by terror, convinced the world was ending. The minister came. Then the ambulance. She was taken to the state mental hospital.

My sister and I weren’t allowed to visit her. We sat on cold plastic-covered furniture in the lobby, surrounded by shiny checkered tile floors. I’ll never forget that feeling.

A few days later, at a school assembly, I suddenly felt like I was going to fall out of the bleachers. My eyes seemed to be spinning in their sockets. My friend Sue gently walked me down, and later a kind counselor asked what was going on. I said, “Nothing.” But then I added, “Well… my mom was taken to the mental hospital last night.”

That’s how trauma shows up. Quiet. Confusing. And too often ignored.

What “Brain on Fire” Really Means

Years later, in my work with NeuroDivergent families, I hear similar stories all the time. Stories of autistic adults who suddenly stop functioning—who become silent, catatonic, anxious, disconnected. Their loved ones are terrified and confused. Professionals don’t always understand.

One mom told me her gifted son had a neurological collapse triggered by ADHD medication. Others describe it as burnout or brain collapse. I’ve seen this happen again and again—and still, we don’t have the right words for it.

This isn’t “just stress.” It’s not depression. It’s not psychosis, either. It’s a neurological implosion caused by years of sensory overload, emotional exhaustion, and trying too hard to “pass” in a NeuroTypical world.

And it hurts. NeuroDiverse people have told me their brain feels like it’s on fire. I believe them.

Nature, Nurture, and the Blueprint

This kind of collapse is part of what I call the Blueprint—the unique mix of genetics (nature) and life experience (nurture) that shapes how autistic individuals experience the world.

My mother didn’t have the tools. No one knew what autism was in 1964. Her stress built and built until her brain couldn’t take it anymore. And as her NeuroTypical daughter, I couldn’t help her—because I didn’t know how.

Years later, I realized I wasn’t just grieving her death. I was grieving the connection we never had.

She couldn’t explain what was going on in her mind. She didn’t have the words.

But I do.

And I’m speaking for her now.

How to Help When the Brain Is on Fire

When someone’s brain is on fire, they need relief—not judgment. Here are a few starting points:

• Space and quiet
• Weighted blankets or sensory tools
• Low-stimulation environments
• Compassionate therapists who understand autism
• Family who protects rather than pushes

And most of all: we need to recognize this isn’t a personal failure. It’s not “bad behavior.” It’s not even a mental illness in the classic sense.

It’s a cry for help from a system that has been stretched too far.

Join the Conversation: After Party Live Discussion

Let’s talk about it—together.

Join me for a live After Party conversation at www.drkathylearningcenter.thinkific.com. We’ll explore this phenomenon in more depth and support each other in finding clarity, compassion, and solutions.

Questions we’ll explore:

• Have you or a loved one experienced a prolonged shutdown or “brain on fire” episode?
• How do we distinguish between autistic overwhelm and psychiatric illness?
• What signs show up before the collapse?
• What does true support look like—for both the NeuroDiverse person and their family?
• How can we build systems of safety, empathy, and understanding?

You don’t have to go through this alone. There’s a community here for you.

With love and empathy,
Dr. Kathy

We’ve talked about how masking isn’t something imposed on Autists by NT culture but a natural byproduct of autism itself. But what happens after an Autist accepts their diagnosis? Does that mean the struggles between NeuroDiverse and NeuroTypical partners, parents, and friends suddenly disappear?

Not even close. In fact, for many NeuroTypical loved ones, understanding takes much longer—and that’s the myth we’re debunking today.

The NT Struggle: Why Does It Take So Long?

For many NTs, the expectation is that once a diagnosis is in place, things should start making sense. They think, “Okay, now that we know, we can work on it, right?” But the reality is, NTs often go through their own process of grief, frustration, and even resistance.

You’ve probably heard—or even said—things like:

• “Don’t use ‘Aspergers’ as an excuse!“
• “Why doesn’t she listen to me?“
• “Can’t they learn to be polite?“
• “Why can’t they mask at home the way they do at work?“

These are not just complaints. They are cries of confusion, exhaustion, and emotional overwhelm. NeuroTypical loved ones are trying to make sense of an entirely different way of thinking and relating—often without a clear roadmap.

The Hidden Emotional Journey of NTs

Diagnosis for an Autist often brings relief—finally, an explanation for years of confusion! But for NTs, it can trigger a delayed emotional response.

Many NTs go through stages of grief similar to those who experience loss:

1. Denial – “This can’t be why we struggle! They’re just not trying hard enough.”
2. Anger – “They can mask at work, so why not with me?”
3. Bargaining – “Maybe if I explain it differently, they’ll finally understand.”
4. Depression – “No matter what I do, we’re never going to connect the way I hoped.”
5. Acceptance – “Okay, this is our reality. Now, how do we work with it?”

The truth is, this process takes time. Just as an Autist spent years unknowingly developing their own coping strategies, NeuroTypicals need time to reframe their understanding of relationships, communication, and love itself.

The Myth of ‘Trying Harder’

Another common NT frustration is the idea that if their Autistic loved one can mask at work, they should be able to do it at home. But this ignores one fundamental truth: masking is exhausting.

At work, Autists follow a structured set of rules that allow them to function. Home, however, is a complex, unpredictable emotional landscape that requires intuitive engagement—something that doesn’t come naturally. Instead of expecting their loved one to “try harder,” NTs must learn a new approach to communication that doesn’t rely on traditional social cues.

Moving Toward Radiant Empathy

So how do we bridge the gap? How do we help NTs move from frustration to understanding?

The answer lies in Radiant Empathy, the True North on the Map of Empathy Territory. It’s not about forcing either side to change who they are. It’s about finding mutual strategies that honor both perspectives. This is where tools like the 7-Step Interface Protocol come in—providing a structured way for NTs and Autists to engage without frustration, resentment, or withdrawal.

Remember, empathy is more than words—it’s a journey, a dynamic state of being. Let’s walk this path together and make the world a more compassionate place.

Until next time, take care, and keep growing.