Does this ever happen to you?
You’re outside, enjoying your day, puttering in your garden, or taking a walk, and then someone comes along and decides to tell you, in exquisite detail, all about his or her entire marital history, job history, or experience as a small-town government official. The topic doesn’t matter. It’s the sheer amount of time it goes on. And on. And on.
And the person doesn’t tell you the story once. Oh, no. That would be too simple. The person tells you the same thing, over and over and over. More than you need to know. Way more. Way, way more.
I never know what to do at times like these. I just stand there, hoping the person will be quiet soon. I am so afraid of being rude that I don’t dare move.
In these moments, I know that I’m looking at one of the following: a fellow diagnosed Aspie (in which case, the person may not mind being told when to stop); an undiagnosed Aspie (in which case, the person may be anxious about going on for so long, but doesn’t know when to stop); or a self-absorbed NT (in which case I start to feel a little pissed off).
A version of this scenario happened to me yesterday. I really like the person, but I was completely overloaded by the time I managed to extricate myself. I kept trying to give little hints, but they didn’t work. And of course, the more overloaded I got, the fewer hints I could toss out.
I’ve been in this place before. Many, many times. Perhaps I’m not putting out the right signals to let the person know to wrap it up. Or perhaps the person sees that I’m somewhat defenseless against these monologues and decides to take advantage. Yesterday, I don’t think that the person was taking advantage. He’s a good guy. He just didn’t know when to stop. Maybe he was waiting for me to tell him?
Of course, the hardest part is that I’ve also been the person doing the endless talking, telling the same story multiple times, and not knowing when to give it a rest. (Yes, I’ve been that person. So many times, you shouldn’t know.) Perhaps that’s why I don’t interrupt and say that I need to go to the bathroom, or chop wood, or catch my plane to Iceland. I figure that either I’m getting an object lesson in keeping it short, or I’m burning karma for all the times I didn’t.
In any case, I have to learn some self-defense and retreat strategies when these types of things happen. Today has been a failure-to-launch day from beginning to end. I’ve barely been out of the house. It’s partly that I’m exhausted by yesterday’s monologue, and partly that I’m dismayed to find myself filling the role of endless listener yet again.
Does anyone have any words of wisdom about how to disengage from this sort of thing? Like I said, I’m so afraid to be rude that I just get paralyzed.
© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
I’m a disaster with undiagnosed unaware Aspies. I just can’t tell them to stop because I’ve been there. And then I end up with an exploding head.
An exploding head–that’s just what it feels like. I’ve been through it so many times, too.
An exploded head is very messy.
yikes, no advice here, i just don’t think being direct is rude. but then, i don’t necessarily mind of they think i’m being rude. i do TRY to be nice….
I have this problem especially with one particular neighbor. She’s the sweetest girl, but she is of the slightly self-absorbed variety. My husband and I finally developed a plan and are successfully putting it into action quite regularly: she knows I live with Asperger’s, and so finally my husband had a talk with her and explained that these long conversations leave me absolutely exhausted and incapable of accomplishing anything the rest of the day. He told her which hours to avoid and which ones are better. When she comes to visit now she always asks my husband and not me (I am too “nice”) if it’s a good time for her to stop by. Or, when the conversations just happen (always lengthy) because I ran into her outside, my husband watches and pays attention to the clock. When 5-20 minutes have passed (depending on my energy level that day), my husband comes outside and rescues me from the usually one-sided-conversation by reminding me that it’s time for dinner, or lunch, or that he needs help with something, leaving me with a polite means of escape. This method probably won’t work for everyone, but it does work with this one individual for me.
Ben, what do you say when you’re being direct? I need specifics, and I need them now!
Intern, I like your solution very much. I sometimes forget that having an advocate is often a necessity and that it’s okay to ask for help. I’ll have to talk with my husband about how he can help when these situations happen and he’s there.
When he’s not there, I’m going to have to come up with a different strategy for extricating myself. Perhaps I’m resistant to being direct because I’m so glad that someone is talking to me that it hurts to cut it short, even though it hurts more to end up disoriented and exhausted later on. I suppose I should remember that they’re not talking “to” me or “with” me, but “at” me.
I think one of the problems when people talk “at” us is that they don’t leave room for our personalities. So you end up feeling like a non-person.
Oh yeah. I have never understood why people need to keep repeating the story, over and over. Did they assume I didn’t catch it the first time? I did. And it bored me until my ears almost bled then, so I really don’t want to hear it again. And again. I have things to do. I don’t mind talking, but you know, have a point and get there and be done. LOL I sound like a jerk, don’t I?
I don’t think you sound like a jerk, Stat Mama. I’m just afraid that *I’ll* sound like a jerk if I get blunt and say some version of, “Stop. Right now.” But it’s getting ridiculous already. I’m 50 years old. I really have to come up with some exit lines and stick to them, no matter what happens.
It’s one thing to just stand there, wasting my time, and say nothing. That’s bad enough. But I’m also standing there while my senses feel like they’re under assault, and I say nothing. The other person hasn’t a clue as to how his/her behavior is affecting my nervous system, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t step up and protect it. I mean, if someone were jumping up and down on my instep thinking it was a trampoline, I’d tell them to stop, wouldn’t I?
Soph, I think you’re right about what happens when people talk at us. I never feel that there is any room for me there. I just become a container for the other person’s feelings and need to be heard. The problem is that my container is somewhere between the size of a thimble and a cup, while the other person needs a container the size of a large storage crate. I just can’t provide that. It isn’t physically possible.
Your head a splode? So sorry. Here are the ways I deal with an endless monologue: reduce eye contact. Say “hmmmm, yes, uh-huh and oh dear” noncommittally. Check your watch. Cross your legs and look like you have to pee. Walk around a little bit, making your way to the nearest exit slowly but surely. Say things like “Wow, look at the time” or “So sorry, but I SO have to pee!” or “I hate to interrupt but I have an appointment/gotta get the groceries/need to pick up child/must water the flowers in the back yard/check on a cake in the oven/have a killer migraine and need to lay down” or whatever seems appropriate and closest to the truth. Or try interrupting, even if it has to be done forcibly, and say something like “I’d love to talk now but I totally have to go, can I catch up with you later?”. And if the monologue continues even then, interrupt again and pretend you got a sign of assent and say “Great, it was nice to see you! Tell person X I said hello!” or “Sorry I have to leave so soon, thanks for understanding!” or “I hope I don’t seem rude, but I really have to go! Let’s catch up soon!” and then exit. Usually if this is all done with a smile and a friendly tone of voice, it goes well and no offense is taken.
Toilet is always a good excuse. If anything you don’t have to tell the person to go away, you just have to spend long enough in there for them to get bored and think that they have to go somewhere.
On one recent occasion I literally did feel as if my brains had been scooped out and this person’s thoughts were all I had in my head. It actually was like brainwashing.
Erin, great suggestions! I’m starting a list. (A list! Yay!) And Soph, I’ll add staying in the bathroom for too long. Brilliant! If anyone else wants to add more ideas, please, feel entirely free.
I have a next-door neighbor — I call him the Energizer Bunny, he is so hyper — I literally have to just walk away while he’s talking. He doesn’t even pause to take a breath so I can politely say “nice seeing you, gotta go now!” He just talks and talks and talks, about anything and nothing, and I nod and smile and then turn around and walk away. But he must know how he is, he doesn’t seem to take offense. He’s tried to talk me out of putting the house on the market and moving away, so he must still like me OK.
Regina, thanks for your comments. I’d forgotten that it’s okay to vote with my feet.
This happened to me very recently!! I took part in an organised walk, but was walking alone (of course), and enjoying the solitude very much. However, an elderly man had been walking close behind me for some time, and (as I hate having people behind me) I invited him to go ahead. To my horror, he started walking with me. He spoke without pausing for breath, telling me all about his walking boots, how long he’d had them, the brand, how well he got on with them, how much they’d cost, etc. He told the story several times, before starting on about his previous pair of walking boots. Then he retold the first story again. And again. I ceased responding, in any way, but he just kept talking. I slowed my pace, but he slowed too. I tried walking more quickly, but he kept up with me effortlessly, despite being 79 years old. We had six miles to go…
I don’t think he was an aspie, I think he was just a lonely old man, and I felt sorry for him. In in the end I legged it, then hid round a corner until he’d gone ahead. I felt cruel, but I have learned to value myself so much more since my own diagnosis: My Time is sacred!
I know how you feel, Leonie. When I was a Meals on Wheels driver, I found that a lot of elderly people living alone would want to talk a great deal when I came by. It’s entirely natural and understandable, and I liked to listen and to help ease the loneliness, but a steady stream of talk would overload my auditory system rather quickly. It’s just not my strength to listen to highly verbal people, anymore than it would be for someone who couldn’t hear at all.
Fortunately, I ended up being a senior companion to a very quiet man who liked to tell stories of long ago, but not in a steady stream. He liked his quiet. We got along swimmingly.