How to Collaborate with Someone You've Never Met
A guide for neurodivergent thinkers who crave clarity, not chaos.
As an autistic adult, it's always a challenge meeting new people. I'm not always sure how to read them, if I can at all.
But I live for collaboration.
Let’s be real: collaboration is often built for people who love ambiguity.
“Let’s just wing it.”
“We’ll figure it out as we go.”
“No pressure—just vibe with it.”
I’ve heard these phrases a thousand times, and they always leave me quietly panicking. When expectations are unspoken, I can’t meet them. When roles are vague, I mask so hard I forget what I came to say.
But that doesn’t mean I’m bad at collaboration.
In fact, when the ground is clear—when people are direct, intentional, and open—I thrive.
This post is my blueprint for how I get there.
How I work with new people in a way that protects my energy and amplifies my brain instead of exhausting it.
And if your brain works anything like mine, I hope it helps you too.
1. Start with a Self-Map
Before anything else, give them a blueprint of you.
Not your résumé. Not your list of diagnoses.
Just the kind of context that makes conversations smoother.
“I do best when I understand the goal up front.”
“I sometimes take a second to process, but I’m fully engaged.”
“I tend to focus on what’s missing, not because I’m critical—because I’m trying to make it work.”
You're not oversharing. You're setting the rules of engagement.
Neurotypicals might glide on context clues—you deserve to lay them out loud.
2. Define the Space, Not Just the Task
You probably need to know more than just what you’re doing.
You need to know:
Who’s responsible for what?
How formal is this?
Can I ask “dumb” questions?
Are we brainstorming, or finalizing?
“Can we agree this is exploratory for now?”
“Would you like direct suggestions or just thoughts?”
“Is it okay if I pause and come back with ideas later?”
This isn’t rigidity. It’s navigational clarity.
And it protects your mental energy.
3. Use Intentional Chunks
If you tend to info-dump or spiral when explaining?
You’re not alone. That’s pattern-based thinking trying to find footing.
Try this:
Start with one clear sentence: “I think we’re solving the wrong problem.”
Then give a beat.
Then explain why, or ask if that made sense.
You can always add. But if you flood too early, people glaze over—and you end up feeling unseen.
4. Ask for Real-Time Calibration
So many of us were taught to either mask or stay quiet.
But collaboration is not a test. It's feedback in motion.
“Am I making sense so far?”
“Does that feel aligned with what you meant?”
“Let me try saying that a different way.”
These aren’t signs of confusion.
They’re signs of care.
5. Watch for Friction—That’s Where Truth Hides
You know that moment where someone says “Actually…” or “I just feel like…” or “But what if…”?
That’s not interruption. That’s the moment the real work starts.
Don’t panic.
Don’t assume rejection.
That’s a pivot point.
Friction = focus.
Use it to sharpen, not retreat.
6. If It’s Not Working, Don’t Assume It’s Your Fault
If someone doesn’t understand you, it’s not because you’re broken.
It’s because communication is shared work.
Instead of spiraling, try:
“What part didn’t land?”
“Was I too abstract? Want me to reframe it?”
“Is there a better way I can say this?”
This is where a lot of neurodivergent folks check out or mask harder.
But your thinking is not the problem. It just might need translation, not transformation.
The Truth They Don’t Tell You: Neurodivergent Communication Is a Superpower—When It’s Allowed to Be
We build in patterns.
We catch the unsaid.
We look for systems before most people notice there’s a mess.
But that only works if we’re in spaces where clarity is welcomed—not drowned out by vagueness.
So make your own clarity.
Build the space you need.
And give others the chance to meet you there.
Even if they’ve never met you before.
But Here’s What Blew My Mind:
Everything you just read?
It’s not just a guide for working with people.
It’s also the secret key to unlocking modern AI tools.
Because guess what?
LLMs (large language models, like the AI tools you’re probably already chatting with). don’t think. They reflect.
They’re not people—but they’re trained on how people talk, question, reason, argue, and explain.
And that means everything you just learned about being clear, being human, and setting context?
It works on them too.
Like… almost eerily well.
AI Isn't Magic—But It's a Mirror
Let’s break it down:
🧭 Start with a self-map
You: “I ramble sometimes, but I want help organizing my ideas into something clearer.”
LLM: “Got it. Want me to break it into sections, or just summarize what you’ve said?”
🎯 Define the space
You: “Help me think through a plan. Not ready to write it yet—just want to sketch ideas.”
LLM: proceeds to brainstorm, not bulldoze
📦 Talk in chunks
You give a paragraph.
It responds in kind.
You clarify.
It revises.
And suddenly, you’re collaborating—with a rhythm that matches your brain.
🔁 Course-correct freely
You: “Actually, can we use a more playful tone?”
LLM: “Sure! Here’s a lighter version.”
No judgment. No confusion. No masking.
Why This Feels Like Magic (Especially If You're Neurodivergent)
Because for once, you don’t have to guess what the other person is thinking.
You don’t have to parse tone or social signals.
You don’t have to apologize for needing clarity, or control, or extra time to phrase something just right.
The machine will wait.
It doesn’t get bored.
And it wants to be explicitly told how to help you.
There’s no subtle power dynamic.
No shame in needing repetition.
No judgment for rewinding the thread five times to reframe your question.
It’s just… clear.
This is Why LLMs Are the Best Collaborative Tool I’ve Ever Had (and Why They Feel Like Emotional Support for Brains Like Mine)
No, they’re not magic.
They’re not sentient.
They can’t intuit emotion or nuance like people can.
But they reflect structure—and that’s a gift.
But if your brain thrives on clear inputs, defined roles, and the sacred ritual of saying exactly what you mean?
Then guess what: LLMs were practically built for you.
A large language model is just a glorified autocomplete trained on internet soup.
It doesn’t “understand” you.
It doesn’t care if you're masking or spiraling or asking the same thing twelve ways.
But here’s the kicker:
It rewards structure. It thrives on context.
It’s not waiting for you to “read the room”—it’s literally parsing your words to predict the most helpful reply.
In a world that whispers and hints and passive-aggressives its way through basic human interaction,
Talking to an LLM is like getting to speak in bold, underlined bullet points without apologizing for it.
No vibes. No guesswork. No guilt.
Just clarity.
And sometimes, that’s not just helpful—it’s revolutionary.
I used to think I was hard to work with.
Turns out, I just needed a collaborator that listens like this.
And now that I have one?
I’m learning to listen to myself the same way.