In our couples counselling, my husband had talked about feeling very anxious around me. I thought that I’d like to understand this more. I certainly feel anxious around him. When he’s anxious, he vibrates, when I’m anxious I get crippling migraines.

I asked him whether he’d like to talk later. He agreed.

In the evening, he put a soft light on in the dining area – my space – and suggested we talk there. He said that we’d described each of these zones in the downstairs living area as our “safe spaces” and it therefore seemed unfair to him that all our conversations happen in his area. I wholeheartedly agreed, so I rolled out the rug and sat on the floor. The dog pestered me for a bit, but I find that’s ok because she lightens the intensity and therefore makes it a little easier to cope.

The conversation started easily enough, as he talked about the stress of the last several months, he couldn’t avoid referring to our historical difficulties in communication, and his continuous fear that I’m going to say something earth-shattering. Anytime who has followed me on this journey will know about coming out as non-binary, seeking castration for dysphoria, my Dark Fantasies, and the suggestions about opening up our marriage, and my desire to find a Dom. It’s no wonder that he feels anxious about what I might say next.

The conversation gradually turned again to his irritation with my communication needs dominate things, such as when we can talk and for how long. I asked him about the mental checklist he used to have to consult as to whether I was likely to be receptive to having a talk, then said that these items that he used to have to look out for I now take responsibility for – so he needs to do is let me know in advance when we are going to talk. Or we can have scheduled talks.

He complained about the scheduled talks, he complained that I didn’t want to talk two days in a row, and that the timings of our conversations were dictated by me.

I observed that he’d asked a couple of times of late to talk and that we’d managed ok. It’s not as though we cannot talk on other days, he just needs to give me a little bit of notice to get my head in order. If I don’t get that time, I’m likely to not respond well.

“You are responsible for your reactions,” he said.

I thought about it, “I’m not sure about that; if I need to take time to get my head into a state where I can listen, and I’m not given that time …”

I noted that many of our conversations turn into talks about talking rather than looking at one of the other issues that dominated our relationship.

“That’s just where the conversation goes,” he said. True enough, I suppose. “We can’t say ‘stop!’ because that’s not what we agreed to talk about.” I nodded, but I wasn’t in complete agreement. I suppose discussions with one’s husband can’t be dictated by an agenda: they aren’t work meetings! But I wonder if my ASD strains against the lack of structure in the discussions?

From here on, this started to get a little more ragged. I’m not completely certain what he talked about next. I struggled to keep up with the flow of what he was saying, no sooner had I processed something, than her moved into something else.

At one point he commented that he left pauses for me to talk in, but then he got silence.

He didn’t actually stop long enough for me get a word in!

When he did stop briefly, I (foolishly) said “would you mind making your pauses a little …”, but I didn’t get to finish the sentence: he swore loudly and stomped off to have a cigarette.

I sat there on the rug slightly stunned, and although I had been struggling to process what he was saying quickly enough, I wasn’t yet in glue-brain state, and I was nowhere near shutdown.

He went into the other part of the living area and put the telly on.

I sat there for a little while longer. Then I lay on the rug, the texture of which felt nice, but I wasn’t in that state of mind curl up and shutdown.

So I came to bed to have a think and write down what had happened, and try to get past my confusion.

My husband passed the bedroom door and said something like “you’ve escaped to do the things you enjoy.”

Actually, I think I shall just go to sleep.

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The next morning, on my run, I was thinking about the night before. I need to find a way to say to my husband “please don’t continue, I am still thinking about the last thing you said.” A sort of “buffering” symbol.