I’m noticing something right now, a slow retreat that has become a familiar pattern in my adult life. It’s a quiet, creeping withdrawal from the world that I now understand is a form of autistic shutdown. My engagement with everyone, from close friends to casual acquaintances, becomes… less. It’s not a conscious choice, but a profound, involuntary pulling back into a smaller, safer space.
When Your World Quietly Shrinks
And the thing is, it’s definitely not something I’ve ever liked doing. In fact, a wave of guilt often washes over me when I realise I haven’t responded to messages or made the effort to interact… so much so that it can feel incredibly awkward to even think about reconnecting later. But looking back, I can see I’ve done this time and time again.
I’m doing it now, and for the first time, I can see it for what it is. I’d never really thought of a shutdown in the way I was experiencing it. In my mind, it was a sudden clamming up; an immediate, in-the-moment reaction to overwhelm where you simply can’t act or speak. I don’t do that. I have meltdown moments– those times when my emotions explode out of me with an uncontrolled, fiery intensity. But I never thought I shut down.
Perhaps for some people, shutdowns are that immediate reaction. But I’ve discovered that they can also be a much slower, more gradual retreating from the world. A quiet, creeping withdrawal that happens over days or even weeks.
A Clever Brain in Protective Mode
From what I’ve read, this slow fade can happen when a neurodivergent person is experiencing prolonged stress, sensory overwhelm, or social exhaustion. It’s all about energy expenditure – a concept many of us are all too familiar with. If you’ve heard of Spoon Theory, you’ll know what I mean. The idea is that we have a finite number of ‘spoons’ (or energy units) each day, and once they’re gone, they are incredibly difficult, sometimes impossible, to replenish. Every social interaction, every demanding task, every bright light or loud noise costs a spoon.
And for me, a shutdown isn’t a reaction to a single draining day. It happens after I’ve been running with just a few spoons for a long time—a whole series of days, a prolonged period of running on empty. When I look at it that way, I can see that my brain isn’t failing me when it finally pulls the plug. It’s protecting me. It’s pulling me back, reining me in, and reducing the sensory and social inputs because it knows I simply cannot cope anymore. It’s actually really clever.
The Juggling Act: Shutdowns and Parenthood
I suppose one of the reasons this has become more of an issue for me as an adult is the sheer weight of new responsibilities. Adulthood just brings… more. More work, more complex relationships, and for me, the beautiful, chaotic, and demanding reality of parenting.
The last five years or so have seen massive changes in my life. My husband and I adopted our two wonderful children, and the demands on me are so much higher than they have ever been. My levels of stress and overwhelm fluctuate, but more often than not, they’re simmering at an incredibly high level. As a parent, especially to young children with their own very specific needs, it’s a constant juggling act. You’re trying to meet their needs for play, connection, and comfort, while your own system is screaming for less noise, less touch, less… everything.
The First Step: From Guilt to Understanding
So, what do we do when we realise our world is shrinking? The first, most powerful step for me has been simply understanding what is happening. That self-realisation is huge. It reframes the whole experience from “I’m a bad friend” to “My brain is trying to keep me safe.”
From that understanding flows the most important tool of all: self-compassion. This isn’t about letting ourselves off the hook; it’s about refusing to punish ourselves for the way we are wired. This retreat isn’t intentional. It’s a neurological response.
Practical Kindness: How to Replenish Your Spoons
Once we can offer ourselves that kindness, we can start to look at the practicalities. If you know your triggers – maybe it’s crowded supermarkets, long meetings, or back-to-back social events – you can start to take whatever reasonable action is possible to reduce them. This isn’t about avoiding life, but about managing your energy so you can participate in the parts of it that matter most.
And then there’s self-care. I’m not just talking about running a bath and meditating, though those things can be wonderful. I’m talking about taking care of your real, fundamental needs. For me, that might be a long, solitary walk in nature. It might be carving out an hour to be completely alone in a quiet house. It might be finally booking that holiday we’ve been putting off. It’s about consciously and unapologetically doing the things that replenish your spoons and bring you joy.
A Gentle Conclusion
It’s a journey, isn’t it? Moving from a place of confusion and guilt to one of understanding and, eventually, acceptance. Recognising the slow retreat of a shutdown for what it is – a sign to rest, to recharge, and to be gentle with yourself – is the first step towards finding your way back. And if you’re reading this and nodding along, please know you’re not alone in this at all.
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