The Cost of Trying: A Hidden Truth About Autistic Reciprocity

Based on a huge number of recent social media comments by frustrated neurodivergent adults, this article explores a quiet yet widespread experience among autistic (ASD Level 1 / Asperger’s) individuals: the relentless effort to adapt to neurotypical norms - and the painful realization that little or nothing ever comes back in return. What makes this even more difficult is that this experience seems to be largely unknown to neurotypicals - and when shared, it is often outright denied or invalidated as exaggerated, imagined, or self-inflicted though being totally real.

• The Illusion of Inclusion
• Masking Doesn’t Buy You Belonging
• The Reciprocity Gap: Always Giving, Never Receiving
• No One Helps the One Who Always Helps
• The Social Cost of Being Honest and Fair
• What Comes Back? Burnout, Depression, Disillusionment
• Conclusion: This Is Not Just One Person’s Story

The Illusion of Inclusion

There is no such thing as inclusion. A typical sentiment from many autistic adults goes something like this:

“No matter how hard I try to fit in - behaving correctly, masking my natural reactions, avoiding being too direct or open, avoiding infodumping - nothing ever comes back except for more demands.”

This isn’t exaggeration. It’s a lived pattern, backed not only by countless anecdotes but also by growing scientific understanding of autistic masking, social reciprocity breakdowns, and the emotional costs of adaptation. While neurotypical society often presents itself as inclusive, the unwritten rules of engagement typically work against autistic forms of communication, emotional expression, and social logic. What’s worse, the more an autistic person appears to “fit in,” the more neurotypical observers assume they are “less autistic” - and therefore need less support. In reality, fitting in often means expending enormous energy to mask difficulties, which only deepens burnout and isolation. This creates a cycle of exploitation and invalidation, where the better one conforms, the less one is helped - although in reality, no one is helping in any case anyway (and the illusion that help would be more likely if one masks better is just another layer of false hope and pressure placed on autistic people).  Many behavioral therapies also aim at increased conformity, often under the assumption that this creates less burden - but the burden is not reduced for the autistic individual, only for society, institutions, or caregivers. This reinforces the exploitative dynamic: instead of solving problems, these interventions often lead to exhaustion, emotional collapse, and in many cases suicidal ideation. What’s needed is not better adaptation to the norm, but structural change on societies and communities side - starting with society taking autistic needs seriously, believing self-reports of struggle, and helping even when those struggles seem unfamiliar or unnatural to neurotypicals.

Masking Doesn’t Buy You Belonging

Many autistic individuals go to great lengths to conform: suppressing vocal stims, hiding movements, carefully managing tone and word choice, trying to make socially acceptable jokes, even forcing themselves to attend overwhelming social events.

“I sugarcoat things to avoid being seen as rude. I suppress movements so I don’t irritate people. I go to social gatherings even though it’s sensory torture. I don’t use pacifiers even though I would need them to not be seen as weird.”

Yet the result is rarely appreciation or understanding. Instead, it leads to a sense of invisibility: your effort is not recognized - and worse, it’s expected as baseline behavior. This becomes a hidden tax: you must constantly shape yourself into something less autistic just to be tolerated. And even then, despite masking so well, neurotypicals still often penalize the remaining visible differences - slow facial expressions, slower processing or delayed responses, flat or odd intonation. These small remnants of difference are still met with rejection: you’re still called strange, unmotivated, incompetent, or dumb. You’re still excluded.

In the end, neurotypicals still act as if you’re the one who needs to stay away - often justifying this under the umbrella of “self-care” or “mental health,” which is massively ironic. In the name of protecting their own comfort, they enact behaviors that deeply damage others - contributing to alienation, despair, and in many cases, suicidal ideation in those who are simply different. This contradiction - of claiming moral high ground while inflicting psychological harm - underscores how far society still is from understanding or taking seriously the mental health of autistic people.

The Reciprocity Gap: Always Giving, Never Receiving

“You gain nothing by helping others, solving problems, or resolving conflicts. When you need something? No one is there.”

This sentiment is harsh, but it is not rare. Many autistic people report a fundamental imbalance in social relationships. They may be valued for what they can do - fix a technical issue, offer emotional insight, perform invisible labor, or be present at social gatherings simply to fulfill the social needs that allow neurotypicals to relax, offload emotional pressure, and enjoy the world. In this role, they are often treated not as peers or equals but as emotional service providers - leisure items in the social ecosystem - expected to support others’ well-being without reciprocity or recognition. Ironically, treating autistic individuals as equals often feels threatening to neurotypicals, who rely on these imbalanced dynamics to maintain comfort. For the autistic person, however, this role is deeply exhausting. While neurotypicals often leave social interactions energized and refreshed, autistic individuals frequently require time off from all obligations - as if needing a full holiday - just to recover from the same event. This fundamental difference is rarely acknowledged, and instead of support, autistic people are expected to continue fulfilling social roles that slowly wear them down. Even worse, neurotypicals often misinterpret the visible exhaustion and withdrawal that follow these events as a sign of disinterest, arrogance, or hostility. Rather than recognizing the immense energy cost, they assume the autistic person “didn’t enjoy it,” “doesn’t like them,” or is being rude or aloof - leading to further exclusion and social distancing. What is actually a sign of having given everything becomes a reason to be pushed away. And instead of trying to understand this exhaustion as a legitimate need for recovery, neurotypicals often dismiss it as inconvenient, unreasonable, or self-inflicted - reinforcing the very exclusion and invalidation that cause the harm in the first place. But rarely are they valued for who they really are.

And when the time comes that they themselves need support, the silence is deafening.

No One Helps the One Who Always Helps

There’s a cruel irony in how many autistic people describe their relationships:

“If I see someone struggle, I help. But when I struggle, people vanish.”

This dynamic fosters deep loneliness and often leads to burnout. The autistic person becomes the emotional or practical backbone in group settings - until their own needs emerge. At that point, instead of support, they are often met with avoidance, discomfort, or outright abandonment.

This is particularly painful in friendships and romantic contexts, where fairness and mutual support are expected. But autistic adults often face a “one-way street” of emotional investment, with no reciprocity. This becomes even more disheartening because their social struggles are dismissed as unreal, lazy, or as a refusal to leave their “comfort zone.” Neurotypicals often perceive them as highly capable - due to their deep knowledge in special interests, ability to hyperfocus, or creative output during solitary periods - and then assume that difficulties with relationships or social connection are not valid. This invalidation is worsened by common advice like “just go out and do it” when trying to find or repair relationships - advice that assumes one has unlimited energy and the social bandwidth to repeatedly engage in overwhelming environments. But for many autistic people, such environments are not just difficult - they are unmanageable. Solutions need to acknowledge this reality: they require third-party intervention and active structuring, not vague encouragement. That means someone stepping in to mediate, support, and guide both parties, offering scripts and bridges that do not violate the autistic person’s energy limits or social capacity. Unfortunately, neurotypicals often see such help as manipulation or unnatural - when in fact, it is the only path forward that respects the bounds autistic people clearly express. Without this kind of external, adaptive support, the gap between capability in specialized domains and social exclusion becomes a source of endless pain and hopelessness.

The Social Cost of Being Honest and Fair

“When I advocate for fairness or try to uphold values, no one backs me up. But I’m expected to always support others.”

Autistic people tend to have a strong sense of fairness and truthfulness - often to a fault in neurotypical eyes. But this moral clarity is rarely rewarded. Instead, it’s labeled as inflexible, inappropriate, or confrontational. The autistic person often stands alone, while others avoid conflict or prioritize comfort over principle. They may even defend fairness and uphold values even when social norms, groupthink, or collective fantasies - especially when promoted by an authority figure or societal leader - push in the opposite direction. Rather than following the momentary consensus, they remain anchored in their principles, which often leads to further isolation instead of appreciation. What’s even more disheartening is that, after some time has passed, neurotypicals often forget the groupthink or fantasy they once followed and begin to adopt the exact standpoint the autistic person had held from the beginning - but without acknowledging them. They present these ideas as new, deny having been opposed, or claim that “no one could have known” what the autistic person had clearly explained before. Credit is never given. The neurotypical now resonates with society, while the autistic individual remains excluded - not just from recognition, but from the very social world they helped steer toward clarity.

What Comes Back? Burnout, Depression, Disillusionment

All of this contributes to what many call autistic burnout: a cumulative, chronic state of exhaustion, alienation, and despair that often leads to withdrawal from society entirely.

“The only thing you get in return is exhaustion, depression, and the desire to disappear from a world where you don’t belong.”

This may sound dramatic, but it’s real. Suicide rates among autistic adults - especially those with no intellectual disability - are alarmingly high. The cause is not autism itself, but the relentless mismatch between autistic needs and neurotypical expectations, combined with the lack of support, community, or reciprocity. And this is not a tragic accident - it is the direct outcome of how neurotypical society operates. If society refuses to listen, refuses to help, refuses to acknowledge real needs while constantly demanding more masking and more adaptation, then it becomes directly responsible. Every autistic life lost to this despair is a life pushed there by structural negligence, invalidation, and social cruelty. In that sense, society is not innocent - it plays the role of perpetrator, not by active malice but by sustained indifference. Let us be clear: adequate support does not mean shoving someone into therapy to train them to conform better or be less visible. Adequate support means actually solving the struggles autistic people describe - even when those struggles don’t make intuitive sense to neurotypicals. And that support is not limited to professionals or close family: it means that everyone who knows an autistic person should take part in helping with their struggles - even if they feel they are “just acquaintances,” “former classmates,” or “colleagues.” Because for many autistic individuals, these supposedly distant connections may in fact be among the closest social ties they have. The neurotypical idea of closeness does not match the autistic reality, where the number of emotionally safe and accessible connections may be extremely limited. What someone dismisses as a casual connection might be the autistic person’s only meaningful human contact - and their only chance for understanding, support, or rescue. It means believing what autistic people say they need and committing to helping them on their terms.

Conclusion: This Is Not Just One Person’s Story

The perspectives that shaped this article echo a myriad of social media comments, private messages, and shared experiences from hundreds of thousands of autistic people around the world. These are not isolated feelings - they’re symptoms of a system that rewards superficial conformity while ignoring deep human needs.

If you’re neurotypical and reading this, ask yourself:

• Do I truly see and acknowledge the efforts of my autistic peers? Do I genuinely try to understand the struggles they express, or do I unconsciously reframe their reality through my own neurotypical lens - thereby invalidating it? Am I aware that their pain may look different from mine, yet is just as real - and that interpreting their behavior only through my own filter can do profound harm, even when unintended?
• Do I offer help as much as I accept it from them? And do I understand that “help” might look entirely different for each side? When I receive help with technical, organizational, or knowledge-related issues or ask someone to go out since I’m bored or like company, do I recognize that what the autistic person might need in return is help with social navigation, emotional mediation, romantic or sexual connections or support in everyday tasks that I take for granted, consider unimportant, or assume should come naturally? Help is not symmetrical - and acknowledging that is the first step toward a truly supportive relationship.
• Do I respect their limits and needs, even if they differ from mine? And do I realize that respect also means not defaulting to neurotypical coping strategies that may be completely misaligned with autistic needs? If someone shares sadness, exhaustion, or loneliness, and my first instinct is to invite them out, suggest an activity, or offer distraction - instead of listening and helping with solving the actual problem they described in an working and efficient way instead of trying to force them into acceptance or ignorance - then I am not truly respecting their needs. For many autistic individuals, solving the underlying issue is the only meaningful thing, not social diversion. In fact, diversion may be dismissive or even overwhelming. Real support means meeting someone where they are, not where I feel most comfortable offering help.

If you’re autistic and this resonates: you’re not alone. And your perception is not a flaw - it’s a sharp and painful clarity that deserves recognition, not gaslighting.

The answer isn’t more masking. It’s more mutuality. More structural change. More truth. And change of society on the neurotypical side, on each individuals level.

Because giving everything and receiving nothing is not a sustainable social contract - for anyone.