The Unfiltered Truth - by Andrea Grant
Why My Autistic Teenager is the Ultimate Gatekeeper **By a Parent Who Has had to learn to Stop Apologising** There’s a universal moment of parental dread. It’s the split second after the doorbell rings, your new-ish friend or a chatty neighbour is on the step, and you realise you are about to introduce them to your child.
For most, it’s a gamble on moodiness or a monosyllabic grunt. For me, it’s a high-stakes game of social roulette with my 14-year-old daughter, Olivia, as the charmingly blunt croupier. Olivia is autistic, with a profile that includes pervasive demand avoidance (PDA). This means her nervous system is wired to perceive demands—from a simple “say hello” to an implied social expectation—as extreme threats.
I have never made her 'say hello' but growing up I was taught to do so. I remember being pushed towards some Oom or Tannie I didn't know by my father while he said, 'Groet die Tannie' etc and being mortified at having to hug or kiss a stranger. I will not make my children do this. It is 2025. But also, Olivia would either run for the hills or head butt the neighbour. Depending on the day. Her response isn’t born of rudeness, but of a deep, autonomic need for safety and autonomy. The result? A human truth serum with a side of teenage angst who has never heard of, let alone subscribed to, social niceties. I’ve watched well-meaning friends lean in with a sugary, “And how are you today, Olivia?” only to be met with a flat, “Why are you using that voice?” I’ve seen dates wilt under the direct beam of her interrogation: “What is that on your chin? A beard? It’s not very even.” The embarrassment is a hot, familiar flush. *I’m so sorry*, I used to whisper, *she doesn’t mean it*. But I stopped apologising. Because most of the time, she does mean it. She just means it literally, without the filter we neurotypical folks spend a lifetime perfecting. And sometimes, her brutal honesty is nothing short of spectacular.
Take the aforementioned neighbours. They’d popped in for “a quick greeting” that stretched into a two-hour monologue about their kitchen. I was a hostage in my own living room, nodding politely while screaming internally. Olivia, who had been quietly observing from the staircase, finally walked in, and stated: “It’s 7 PM. You need to go now so my mom can watch her show. I also don't like hearing you talking." The air left the room. They left shortly after. I wanted to fist-bump her. She had said what I, a prisoner of politeness, could not. It was awesome.
This is the dichotomy of life with Olivia. What looks like defiance is often self-advocacy. What sounds like insolence is stark clarity. Neurodivergent teens, particularly autistic ones, are frequently mislabeled as rude or oppositional. Their flat affect can be misread as sullenness, their need for literal precision as pedantry, their auditory processing delays as ignoring you. Their brains are wired differently, processing social cues and sensory information in a way that can make the neurotypical world a overwhelming and demanding place.
For Olivia, with her PDA, the world is a minefield of demands. A guest in our house isn’t just company; they are an unpredictable variable in her safe space. They might touch her things, change the noise level, disrupt the routine, or—the ultimate sin—try to talk to her. This is why our family rule is simple: if people cannot understand Olivia, they do not visit. This is her house. Her sanctuary. Her right to exist without masking her true self to make others comfortable is non-negotiable. The flip side, which we navigate daily, is that she knows her limits. She understands that she cannot always come with me to crowded, loud, or unpredictable places where neither of us can control the environment. This reciprocal understanding is a hard-won work in progress, a series of negotiations and trust-building exercises that change with the day.
The learning curve isn’t just for outsiders; it’s for me, too. My sister drops her son at school every morning and always offers a cheerful, “Morning, Olivia!” Every morning, she is met with what she describes as a “sullen stare.” After hearing about this apparent slight one too many times, I asked Olivia about it. Her response was a masterclass in reframing: “It’s not rude. I’m at school. It’s a different environment. I don’t feel comfortable being ‘family mode’ me there. I can’t just switch to cheery. It takes all my energy not to stab someone.” That’s me taught. She wasn’t being rude; she was managing her resources and being her authentic self in a context that already asked too much of her. And of course, she has never actually stabbed anyone.
So, how do we help our PDA teens navigate a world full of unplanned social landmines? We can’t bubble-wrap the world, but we can offer them tools and, more importantly, understanding.
**Useful Tips for Supporting a Teenager with PDA in Unplanned Social Situations:**
1. **Forewarn and Armour:** If a surprise guest is at the door, give a quick, quiet heads-up. “Auntie Carol is here unexpectedly. No need to come down, just letting you know.” This reduces the shock and gives them agency. Also, do not show people their room. No one needs to see it. It is theirs. My other kids know this too.
2. **The Escape Plan:** Establish a non-verbal signal they can use to say, “I need to leave now, no questions asked.” This empowers them to exit a situation before becoming overwhelmed.
3. **Debrief, Don’t Criticise:** Afterwards, talk about what happened without judgement. “I noticed you found it hard when John started talking loudly. What was that like for you?” This builds emotional awareness without shame.
4. *Respect Their ‘No’:** If they say they cannot say hello, don’t force it. Forcing a demand only deepens the anxiety and ensures resistance next time. Validate their choice. “Okay, thanks for telling me. I’ll let them know you’re resting.” Living with Olivia has meant unlearning a lifetime of social conventions. It’s messy, hilarious, and brutally honest. She has taught me that the price of perpetual politeness is often our own peace. While the world might see a blunt, sometimes challenging teenager, I see a girl with a profound sense of justice, an unwavering commitment to truth, and a fierce protection of her own peace—a skill most of us could stand to learn.