Call It By It's Name
The quiet power of specificity
“We do not see things as they are, we see them as we are.”
~ Anaïs Nin
Hello friends,
Happy new moon! Well, actually not so happy in our house…for some reason the new moon always causes far more turmoil than the full moon, resulting in short tempers and frayed nerves!
This week our youngest has been struggling more than usual with language, needing more clarity and specificity in conversations, and lacking the patience to accept explanations. It can be easy to dismiss this as being argumentative or difficult, but through the lens of autism it becomes dysregulation and overstimulation.
Her need for specificity in speech can be incredibly tiresome, we need to watch very carefully which words we choose and how they match up with what we actually mean to say. This is so at odds with how we speak normally in today’s world where our words often don’t reflect what we actually mean.
We use foggy language to avoid sharp truths. We use vagueness as a comfort blanket, keeping us safe from confrontation or judgement. It’s easier to say I’m stressed than to admit:
I’m tired because I was up all night worrying
I’m jealous of my friend’s going on holiday
I said yes to too much because I don’t want to disappoint anyone
Generalities let us mask our real emotions. Precision can make us vulnerable.
But it’s also how we truly connect. When someone says exactly the thing you didn’t know how to say - that is intimacy.
Specificity often brings shame to the surface, or fear. But it can also bring agency if we are brave enough to use it. You can’t fix ‘stress’. You can fix unhealthy bedtime routines. You can have honest conversations about your own needs. We often think clarity will make things harder or that it will hurt someone we care about. In truth, if we’re all more honest things begin to flow a lot more smoothly.
In many ancient stories (and some modern ones too), names hold power. Demons, rivers, spirits, even people. In Rumpelstiltskin, the girl wins her freedom only when she learns the little man’s name. In Beetlejuice, his name is what gives him the power.
That’s not just fairy-tale logic. It’s real. We are flooded daily with emotions and thoughts which we have been taught to keep to ourselves. But naming what you’re feeling is often half the battle. Sometimes naming a thing shrinks it. Sometimes it dignifies it. Either way, it brings it into the light and makes it easier to manage.
As a writer, specificity means trading the vague for the vivid, the abstract for the tangible. It means pulling the camera closer until we can see the cracked mug on the table, tea-leaves nestled at the base in the shape of loneliness. As readers we respond to details. It’s that strange alchemy of “I’ve never lived this exact story, but somehow, I know this feeling”.
There’s another kind of clarity that many of us find difficult.
It’s the kind that asks:
What do you mean by 'later'?
What does ‘maybe’ mean?
Do you mean what you just said, or were you joking?
That clarity, the need for language to be specific, literal, and exact, is often framed as rigid or difficult. But for many autistic people, it’s not a quirk. It’s a way of surviving in a world full of contradiction.
Autistic minds often crave precision. Not because they’re inflexible, but because vague language causes friction, confusion, and often distress. “I’ll see you later,” “You know what I mean,” or “Let’s just see what happens” are not casual phrases, they are unsolvable puzzles. Specificity brings comfort and knowledge. It brings order and clarity.
For our daughter, knowing exactly what is happening for the day helps her to know what to wear, how much energy to conserve, what to have for breakfast. Knowing what we’re doing when we go to town helps her to prepare for the noise levels, she can make notes on her phone to remind herself of things she wants to buy in certain shops, she can bring a snack if we’re not planning to have lunch. Even simple things like which shoes to wear based on how much walking we’ll be doing can make the difference between a pleasant day out for her, and a very stressful experience for all of us.
The world doesn’t like autistic specificity. We prefer to let people ‘read between the lines’, ‘get the hint’, or ‘just know’. But I think there is a wonderful honesty and sense of relief when we speak freely. How many arguments come about as a result of miscommunication? How many times have we thought someone meant one thing, only to find out later that they meant something entirely different?
Literal language is specific language. It’s exact, direct, often beautifully unambiguous. It strips away the posturing and social niceties that neurotypical communication often over-relies on.
Specificity isn’t loud. It doesn’t scream to be heard. But it is brave. We don’t need to say more. We need to say it clearer. And sometimes, smaller. Slower. More exact.
The truth, after all, lives in the details.
Until next time,
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Autism awareness month
“Compassion is not a virtue - it is a commitment. It's not something we have or don't have - it's something we choose to practice.”
oh you're so right, specificity IS brave. What a fantastic article. I definitely hide within generalities to avoid many things - confrontation, embarrassment, deeper thinking, being rejected .....oh my goodness, the more I think about it the more concerned I become about how long this list is going to be! What a challenge, to say exactly what you mean! I suspect that as clear as you may think you are, it doesn't prevent miscommunications just minimises them, maybe....?
Wow, so much to think about here. Of course, so often we shield ourselves in language without even realizing that we're doing it. I think you're right that when we are specific, things can often become solvable. It sounds like it can be a challenge having to be aware of your speech all the time in this way, but also there is value in being forced to think about what you really mean