My Resting ASD Face

Facial expressions have always been challenging for me—both in how I use them and how I interpret them in others. It’s not that I don’t understand what they’re supposed to convey. I know that smiles usually mean happiness, frowns show displeasure, and a raised eyebrow can indicate skepticism. But knowing these things in theory and actually using or recognizing them in real-time are entirely different.

Growing up, I noticed my face didn’t always match what I was feeling. There were times when I felt at ease, even content, yet someone would ask, “What’s wrong?” They’d say I looked angry or upset, which was the opposite of how I felt. My neutral face—what felt natural to me—was often misread as something more intense.

This disconnect between what I felt and what others saw led to a lot of misunderstandings. I could be fully engaged in a conversation, genuinely interested, but someone might still accuse me of being bored or disinterested. It wasn’t that I didn’t care; it was that my facial expressions didn’t align with what others expected. This wasn’t just about being misunderstood—it was also about my struggle to read the faces around me.

The small details in facial expressions, like a furrowed brow or a smirk, were hard for me to interpret. I’d see others react to these cues naturally, responding in ways that seemed to strengthen their connection. Meanwhile, I’d be there, trying to figure out what was actually being communicated.

It wasn’t due to a lack of effort. I’d replay conversations in my head, wondering if I’d missed something important. Did I respond the right way? Did I come off as cold or distant? Why couldn’t I pick up on these cues in the moment?

The frustration wasn’t just about social awkwardness. It was about feeling isolated because I was often misinterpreted. I knew I wasn’t showing my emotions in a way others could easily understand, and I knew I wasn’t picking up on the expressions of others in the way they expected. This created a constant sense of being out of sync in conversations.

Because of this, I’ve had to rely heavily on words—clear, direct communication to make up for what my facial expressions didn’t convey. I needed people to be straightforward, to say exactly what they meant, because subtle hints weren’t something I could easily catch. In return, I’ve tried to be clear and precise in my own communication, knowing that my face wouldn’t always express what I was feeling.

This reliance on words became essential. I learned to be specific in my language, to ask questions when I didn’t understand, and to clarify when I felt misunderstood. But this also made social interactions more exhausting. Every conversation required careful attention to make sure I wasn’t missing anything important.

Looking back, I realize that my difficulties with facial expressions aren’t just about social skills—they’re about how I process the world. I experience emotions deeply, but they don’t always show up on my face in ways that others recognize. And that’s okay. It doesn’t make my feelings any less real, but it does make communication more complex.

I’ve had to accept that my face might not always reflect my emotions, and this is something I’ll continue to navigate. But I’ve also learned that understanding and connection aren’t just about facial expressions. They depend on clear communication, effort, and finding people who are willing to understand my way of interacting.

Facial expressions are just one piece of communication. While they’re not my strongest area, I’ve found other ways to connect and be understood. It’s a process that takes patience and understanding, but it’s also taught me more about myself than I ever expected.