I initially scoffed when I received a box set of Little House on the Prairie books as a gift in third grade, but it wasn't long before I devoured not only these stories but all the information I could obtain about the real-life Ingalls family, pioneers, and Westward expansion.

In middle school, my obsession shifted to floor plans of residential dwellings. I would cut out my favorites from my mother's architectural magazines, as well as create a suitcase filled with drawings of my own. Each of those floor plans included a brief write-up about the people who I imagined would live in the house.

Is it any surprise that by high school I began to fixate on writing a series of stories about families? I made websites for each of my series of stories, learning HTML and rudimentary JavaScript when the Geocities editor didn't live up to my standards.

When I have an interest, it's go big or go home.

Having a "special interest" is one of the defining characteristics of Autism.

As stated by the Association for Autism and Neurodiversity,

Autistic individuals of any gender identity often have deep interests. From arts and literature to science and technology, there are no limits to the variety and depth of interests or expertise Autistic people have. Individuals may discover that their interests change throughout the course of their lifetime, and new interests develop.

Sometimes, an Autistic person will hyperfixate on a special interest, becoming so completely absorbed in that task that they tune out the rest of the world — much like how I would get lost in my story writing and publishing, forgetting to eat and losing track of time, much to my parents' chagrin.

Of course, I didn't know a thing about the power of special interests and hyperfixation when I was a teenager — I barely knew what Autism was back in the 1990s.

I simply knew what I was interested in — and what I wasn't. While I understood that my peers found my interests strange, I didn't think mainstream stuff like soccer was much better. But I didn't dare say that aloud; instead, I kept my special interests a secret lest I get labeled "weird."

This began a decades-long debacle of masking and hiding my authentic self.

There was one special interest, however, that I couldn't keep under wraps: Jack, the boy I fell in love with in high school.

We fell in love fast and hard. My writing was tossed to the wayside; now, all of my time was filled with him. Thinking about him, writing to him, imagining a future with him, talking for endless hours, first on a date and afterwards on the phone.

And when we weren't talking, we were all over each other. I'm told it was disgusting.

I knew Jack was "the one," even as a dumb teenager. There were the obvious reasons: we enjoyed spending time together, we had intense sexual chemistry, and our values aligned. We thought about things in a similar way, too. It would make perfect sense when we later recognized that we both fall under the neurodivergent umbrella, Jack with ADHD and me with Autism.

But what ultimately gave me that "soulmate" feeling was my ability to be authentic with Jack. It was as if he saw exactly who I was from the very start and not only accepted me, but actually loved me for it.

When I sheepishly revealed my fascination with floor plans to Jack, he related it to his interest in maps (which, truth be told, also interests me in a similar way). When I revealed that I was a writer, he built me up with praise for my skills and allowed me to talk ad nauseam about the characters and scenarios I imagined.

Yes, Jack's love let me be myself in a way I couldn't with anyone else. And while that may seem terribly romantic, it also became a problem.

Hyperfixation on a person feels a lot like falling in love.

The rest of the world was an afterthought compared to my interest in Jack. In fact, I was so absorbed in him that for a time, during our first few years together, I lost myself.

This didn't bode well for our relationship, of course. Jack would accuse me of "smothering" him, but I saw my intense clinginess as a sure sign of love. I know now that my Autism plays into my issues with attachment styles and boundaries, but back then, I just didn't know how to "be" without him.

Autism can be attributed to different styles of communication, which, in the case of our relationship, ended up being a win. I need things spelled out very clearly, preferably in writing. In verbal conversation, I need others to repeat their ideas and intentions multiple times in multiple ways. I don't do well with ambiguity or nuance; I crave blunt, open, and honest discourse, always.

Jack shares my communication style. This has long been our relationship's saving grace. We talked about our relationship nonstop in those early years before marriage and thus worked out many of our issues.

I came to see that even though Jack and I were in love, we weren't the same person. We could be interested in each other, but hyperfixation on each other wasn't healthy for our relationship. We still needed time apart with our own friends, and we needed to cultivate our separate interests.

Special interests are like a security blanket for an Autistic person.

As Pete Wharmby says in his book Untypical, special interests "help us regulate our moods and manage our stress levels."

After a long day, I want to come home and rip off not only my bra but also my mask. I want to be myself — meaning, absorbed in something I love to the point that I forget to go to the bathroom.

I liken this feeling to a state of flow. The rest of the world falls away; my mind is finally quiet. I find myself in total peace, and when I emerge from my cocoon, I'm refreshed. Of course, if you interrupt me in the middle, watch out.

By the middle of my freshman year of college, I had finally emotionally processed the problem with my hyperfixation on Jack.

My deep realization and acceptance of the issue allowed me to set better boundaries and balance my time in ways that were healthier for both of us.

I rediscovered old special interests like floorplans, which I acted out on The Sims rather than paper, and writing, which now included poetry and essays. I developed new interests just for myself, like Renaissance-era European royalty (the English being my favorite). I also nurtured new interests that Jack and I shared, like fitness and sex.

I've always known that I'm happier when I have a project, so is it any surprise that I really started to come into myself in my early twenties? Upon college graduation, I was planning out a career, a wedding, and a home.

I was, as Jack likes to say, "like a pig in shit."

And then we had children.

Talk about upsetting your routine.

We had four kids by the time we were thirty-three, and absolutely zero time for sex or any other special interest, save scrolling through social media on our phones while holding a baby.

I loved those babies, but babies rarely improve mental health issues. I suffered through four pouts of postpartum depression, a lingering existential crisis, and more meltdowns than I care to admit.

Throw on top of that the sensory overwhelm of being pregnant or breastfeeding for a cumulative total of eleven years, and you have one messy, still-undiagnosed Autistic woman.

As soon as my fourth baby was old enough for me to think clearly again — age two, that is — I intuitively dove back into recovering some semblance of self.

In doing so, I rediscovered the joy of sex.

It's not healthy to hyperfixate on your lover, but it's damn hot to share a special interest.

Especially when that special interest is the physical act of love that binds two people together — emotionally and spiritually as well.

Jack and I talk about sex the way my neurotypical friends talk about cars. The same blunt, honest communication that glued our relationship together when we were teens continues to bind in every facet of our shared life together, from parenting to play.

We tell each other what we want and how we want it.

We discuss philosophies of love and pleasure. We've attended classes on tantra and tying shibari ropes. We've had public sex; we've opened up our marriage to explore with others. We discuss shame and spirituality in regard to sex. We read books about intimacy and send each other episodes of relationship podcasts. We vacation at sex resorts.

When I have sex, I unmask. I know the rules — I'm supposed to let go, find pleasure, and allow orgasm to happen. It's easy with Jack because I trust him completely. He understands all of my sensory issues regarding sex, he respects my boundaries, and he knows exactly how to make me forget the rest of the world.

With others, it's been more difficult, but it's also been eye-opening. Some people come back from climbing mountains, changed by their adventure. But I swing on vacation, and I come back changed, too.

I suppose you could say that sex has been my vehicle of self-discovery.

I'm writing again, too.

This has allowed me to track my special interests with a trail of words.

I started my sex blog in 2020. I wrote about shedding sexual shame and becoming non-monogamous for the bulk of 2022, eventually forming a book.

Now, in 2024, I also write about parenting, books, Autism, and mental health, in addition to sexuality and relationships. You could even say that writing itself has become my hyperfixation; as I become absorbed in the process of pouring words from my soul, the topic is (almost) irrelevant.

This particular special interest seems immensely healthy for me, at least when I'm following my passions and not worried about producing on a particular schedule. I write to think, to understand, and to make sense of society. It seems to go without saying that my mental health has thus improved greatly.

My special interests have shaped my life. They've been my saving grace, my stress relief, my way of being as an Autistic woman in a largely neurotypical world.

And let me tell you, Jack has had zero qualms with my interest in sex. It seems that some special interests are simply better when shared.

Anna Eliza Rose writes raw and honest prose about life, love, sex, relationships, authenticity, Autism, and books. To keep up with Anna's seemingly never-ending drama, please subscribe.

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