Making Sex Make Sense (For Neurodivergent People)

FEATURE | MAHIMAHI / SEX

Written by Tashi Donnelly (she/her) | @tashi_rd | Feature Editor

In 2015, at the ripe old age of 18, I was diagnosed with ADHD. About six years later, I started researching autism after noticing how much I related to the experiences of autistic people in my life and online. The blanket term for these (and many other) conditions is neurodivergent. It means having a brain that works a bit differently from what we call neurotypical.

We also use the term spectrum to describe people on the autism or ADHD spectrum. There are strengths and challenges to being neurodivergent. I spent my school years confused, and despite not knowing exactly why, I was very aware that I was different.

There is a plethora of things I could talk about when it comes to being AuDHD (the combination of autism and ADHD), but today I want to focus on one specific area: sex.

I’ve been sexually active since my teens. Even when I thought I was doing all the “right” things, I still felt confused and overwhelmed a lot of the time. In many instances, I verbally consented to things I was not comfortable with, because I was desperate to do sex “right”. This was a terrible problem. I was still interested in sex, had plenty of desire, but when it came down to it, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I enjoyed solo sex. And I couldn’t figure out why.

I’d been a studious learner — I’d watched sex scenes in movies, read sex scenes in books, watched literal sex in porn (for science, of course). That was the sex everyone was doing, right? But nowhere in all that sex-ed-by-osmosis did I learn the golden rule: sex should feel good for you, not just look good from the outside. That’s true for everyone, but for my neurodivergent ass, it was hard to even know what I wanted. 

There’s been a lot of learning and unlearning on my journey toward a satisfying sex life. Hopefully, I can offer some practical advice for approaching sex through a neurodivergent lens. And who knows — maybe it'll help some of you neurotypicals too.

Consent and People-Pleasing:For me, the desire to “mask” or people-please to avoid awkwardness or rejection was devastating my sexual experiences. Masking is when neurodivergent people consciously or unconsciously hide or suppress parts of themselves (like stimming, emotional responses, or talking about special interests) to fit in with neurotypical expectations. Over time, this can lead to intense people-pleasing, because you're so used to ignoring your own needs in order to seem "normal" or make others comfortable. When it comes to sex and consent, people-pleasing is a dangerous beast.

If you struggle to communicate your needs or even have difficulty detecting what it is you need, ongoing consent in a sexual situation can be scary and difficult. 

Many neurodivergent people experience a kind of “disconnect” between their brain and their body’s sensory signals. This means it can be harder to notice things like pain, discomfort, hunger, or even arousal, in real time. Sometimes the brain doesn’t register those signals clearly, or it processes them with a delay, which can make it tricky to respond to what your body actually needs in the moment.

What can you do about it? Before the heat of the moment, make sure you have pre-negotiated boundaries. This can look like whatever you want it to look like. It could be a script, a checklist, or a list of “dos and don’ts” that clarifies what you’re okay with and what you’re not keen on. And the cornerstone to all of this is giving yourself absolute and unequivocal permission to say “stop”, no matter where you are in the process. 

To make things as clear as possible, you can implement a safe word, or a “reset word”. I find this helpful because sometimes I don’t want to stop completely, just pause for a moment to steady myself, and get back in the zone. Being able to safely say “stop” or “pause” makes it easier to navigate the situation. If you want to stop, your partner can cease all sexual interactions, and if you want to pause, you can continue to be in the mood, and hopefully get back to the good stuff. 

And always debrief after sex. Talking about what felt good, what didn’t, and what you’d like to try next time is sexy and important!

Sensory Sensitivities and Sex:

Neurodivergent people often experience sensory processing differences, meaning their brains interpret sensory input, like touch, sound, light, smell, or taste, more intensely or less intensely than others. This can lead to sensory overload (where everything feels too much) or under-responsiveness (where it’s hard to register sensations at all). What feels nice to one person might feel overwhelming, painful, or barely noticeable to someone who's neurodivergent. Sex is obviously a sensory clusterfuck, so it can be a minefield or playground depending on the individuals sensory needs. 

Common issues include fabrics and textures. This can come into play when tussling in sheets that aren’t 100% Egyptian cotton with a high thread count. Some fabrics just don’t do it for me personally, anything polyester or micro-fibre adjacent makes my skin crawl just to think about. These issues can also come into play with things like latex, lube, or even body hair. Figuring out what things give you the sensory ick will allow you to avoid those things and get down to the hanky panky. We all want fun sex without unnecessary distractions. 

The same goes for pressure and touch, sounds and smells, and temperature. Some of us love firm physical pressure, some enjoy a lighter touch. My best friend has such a sensitive sense of smell that someone wearing strong cologne or having bad BO could completely throw her off. Not just to the point of mild discomfort, but complete dysregulation and inability to communicate or focus. Others might love strong smells. Noise can be a huge factor also, I know when my partner is going down on me, if I can hear people talking in the next room, there is no way I’m going to orgasm.

Once you’ve figured out your unique sensory requirements, you can prep your space accordingly. Sensory-friendly lighting, familiar textures, white noise, and weighted blankets can all help get you comfortable enough to get in the mood. Communicate your preferences too, like “I prefer consistent pressure” or “please don’t wear any strong scents”. All of this will help create a sensorily safe and sexy setting. 

Hyperfocus, Rejection Sensitivity, and Aftercare:

Hyperfocus is when a neurodivergent person becomes intensely absorbed in a task or activity, often to the point of losing track of time, bodily needs, or their surroundings. It can be a superpower for getting things done, but during sex, it might mean getting really locked into one sensation or action, and accidentally ignoring your partner’s cues or your own changing comfort levels. It’s okay to get really into one kind of touch, but make sure you check in with your partner and with yourself.

Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD) is when someone feels emotional pain from rejection, criticism, or even the possibility of disapproval, much more intensely than is typical. Research has even suggested that the type of pain this causes manifests in neurodivergent people as physical pain. It’s extremely common in people with ADHD, and can make things like sexual communication tricky — even gentle feedback might feel devastating, which can lead to avoiding honest conversations or constantly second-guessing yourself. 

I’ve struggled with RSD my whole life. When I feel rejected, especially sexually, it feels akin to someone screaming in my face that I’m disgusting and undesirable, even if all they said was “I don’t want to have sex right now”. It’s a horrible feeling, and one that falls mostly in the hands of the ADHD person to find methods of self-regulation. It relates heavily to the masking and people-pleasing I mentioned earlier. When you’ve put so much effort into being “good” and doing the “right” thing, when someone tells you it’s not, it can be all the more devastating. 

You can, however, communicate with your partner about your RSD if you suffer from it.  If you feel like you’re having an RSD moment, just let your partner know. Say, “I’m getting a strong feeling of rejection right now, could you reassure me?” is a valid way to help you get through a difficult conversation. That isn’t to say your partner can’t express their own needs, just that when they do, you can both feel emotionally affirmed. Ultimately, it will be helpful for anyone with RSD to figure out what helps them get out of that rut. When I’m feeling overly rejected, I like to name the feeling, figure out where its coming from, and attempt to self-sooth by reminding myself (out loud or in my head), that my partner loves me, that I am desireable, and I like to ask my partner to reassure me verbally if I can’t get out of my own head. 

Remember, aftercare is not just for BDSM and kink! Neurodivergent brains need more time to decompress and change states. When we are in sex mode, it can take a while to wind down, and vice versa. Snacks, weighted blankets, a good chat, cuddles, gaming or watching TV, or even some alone time can be necessary to shift gears. Needing aftercare does not make you “too much”, and honestly, neurotypicals and non-kink people should get on this trend. 

Rethinking “Normal” Sex:

Remember, sex doesn’t look like what movies, books, and pornography depict. At least not for the vast majority of us. We have to recognise that when we see sex in media, we’re looking at a choreographed reflection of what real sex is. There is no such thing as “normal” sex, it looks different for everyone. What we want to achieve is sex that’s right for you. 

Sex might look like making out fully clothed and grinding till you cum. It could look like head-to-toe latex outfits and sex toys. It could be planning sex via text in advance to avoid on-the-spot anxiety. It could just be taking lots of breaks, for snuggles or refreshments. You might want fidget or stim toys to help you concentrate. It’s up to you, and the consenting adult you’re fornicating with, to figure out. 

Routine, structure, or even visual diagrams can be sexy, they don’t have to seem clinical. It’s actually very helpful for me to look at a diagram of a vulva and be able to point out all the spots that I like to be touched and how. These can be arousing conversations if we can put aside the learnt awkwardness. 

Final thoughts:

Whatever your needs are, they’re valid. Life is too short to be having unsatisfying or uncomfortable sex when there are so many tools that can help. I’ve suggested a few here, but this isn’t a rulebook — it’s a starting point. Build your own guide. Write your own script. And don’t be afraid to throw out anything that doesn’t work for you, even if “everyone else” seems to be doing it. Sex doesn’t have to be spontaneous or neurotypical. Spontaneity is great, but so is a Google calendar invite titled ‘Bonk Time’.

I used to think I had to perform sex the way I’d seen it done on screen, in books, and through whispered teenage gossip. But sex isn’t something you pass or fail. It’s something you feel. For neurodivergent folks, it might take longer to understand what those feelings mean, where they’re coming from, or what to do with them. But once you do, the sex you have can be deeply connected, wildly enjoyable, and completely your own. And if that includes weighted blankets, diagrams, or a well-thought-out script written on a typewriter, all the more power to you.