Why Autistic Adults Feel Guilty for Depending on Others
Depending on other people doesn’t always mean you’re codependent — but for a lot of late-diagnosed autistic adults, it can feel that way. This post explores why.
You know where the guilt comes from. You’ve mapped out your family dynamics. Sat with the shame. Named it in therapy — probably more than once.
But still… it lingers. That you depend on people more than you should. That maybe you’re leaning too hard on your partner. And if they pulled away — even slightly — the whole system might collapse.
It’s not that you don’t know how to be alone. Or be independent. You’ve spent years proving you could survive without anyone’s help.
You’re good at pulling it together, carrying the emotional weight, being the one others count on — even when you’re falling apart inside. But needing someone? Letting yourself depend on them?
That still feels dangerous. Like something that still makes you feel too dependent. Or too much.
Let’s talk about why.
1) You Were Shamed for Needing Too Much. And Praised for Being Independent.
It’s hard to feel safe needing anything when your earliest blueprint taught you that your needs were inconvenient.
Maybe you were the sensitive one. The “dramatic” one. The one who cried too easily or asked too many questions or needed too much reassurance. And instead of being met with care, you got eye rolls. Silence. Shame. Guilt trips. Or sharp criticism. Or worse — you learned that the only way to stay connected was to stop taking up space.
So you did. You stopped asking. You figured things out on your own. You got good at anticipating what other people needed — so no one would have to notice what you needed.
And the world rewarded you for it.
You were praised for being “independent.” For being low-maintenance. For never needing help. So you threw yourself into school. Into your career. Into being competent, reliable, the one who always follows through. You started to believe that was strength. That the less you needed, the better you were doing.
Now that you’re trying to be more open. More honest. To actually let people see what’s hard — there’s a part of you that still flinches. That still wonders if needing this much is something to be ashamed of.
2) Depending on Someone Still Feels Like a Problem — Even When It’s Not
When you’ve spent years surviving in states of hyper-independence, even healthy support can feel like a red flag. Your nervous system isn’t wired to recognize it as safe — at least not yet. Instead, it reads closeness as a potential threat: if you rely on someone, you risk being abandoned, misunderstood, or blamed when your needs are “too much.”
It doesn’t matter that the support is mutual. It doesn’t matter that it’s been offered. Your body still reacts like you’ve crossed a line.
This is the collision point between early attachment wounds and the adult relationships you’re trying to build. If connection was inconsistent, contingent, or withdrawn when you needed it most, you likely learned that dependence was dangerous. And now? Even when you’re in a relationship that’s emotionally safe, your body still flinches.
That’s not immaturity. That’s memory. A relational imprint.
What you’re experiencing might not be codependency — but the fact that you’re worried about it makes sense. You were conditioned to expect consequences when you needed people. You were praised for not needing anyone at all.
So now, in a moment where your needs are actually being met — consistently, lovingly, without strings — of course it feels confusing. Your system doesn’t have a reference point for that. It’s not that something is wrong. It’s that something is unfamiliar.
And unfamiliar doesn’t always feel good — even when it’s what you’ve always wanted.
3) You Keep Bracing for the Day They’re Gone — and You’re Not Ready
Even in the most stable relationships, there’s a part of you that’s still preparing for the moment it ends.
Not necessarily because you think they’ll leave you — but because life has taught you that the people you count on don’t always stay. Sometimes they burn out. Sometimes they move away. Sometimes they die. And no matter how steady someone seems now, you can’t help but wonder what will happen when they’re no longer there — and you still need them.
It’s not catastrophizing. It’s practical. Logistical. Emotional.
How long would it take to find someone else who sees you this clearly?
Who wouldn’t need you to translate everything first?
Who could offer feedback that feels real, but not threatening?
You know you’d get through it — you always do. That’s not the question.
What you’re bracing for is the exhaustion that would come after. The mental load of holding everything alone again. The emotional shutdown that protects you but slowly wears you down. The part of you that gets sharp, over-responsible, impossible to reach — not because you’re fine, but because it’s the only way you know how to keep going.
This isn’t about avoiding loss. It’s about not wanting to lose this version of yourself — the one who finally let someone in.
There’s nothing wrong with being cautious. But at some point, you have to decide whether protecting yourself from that grief is worth missing out on the parts of you that only show up when you’re not doing it all alone.
4) If Support Feels Too Big, It Might Just Be New
Sometimes when someone offers you real support — consistent, attuned, without making it about them — it doesn’t land as comfort. It lands as tension.
But that feeling isn’t proof something’s wrong. It’s just your body responding to something unfamiliar.
You spent years managing things on your own. You got used to filtering your needs, translating your emotions, making things easier for everyone else. Support didn’t just feel unavailable — it felt dangerous to want.
So when it finally arrives — when someone sees the whole picture and stays — your nervous system doesn’t immediately recognize it as safe. It recognizes it as new.
And new things, even good ones, often feel wrong at first.
That doesn’t mean you’re doing something unhealthy. It means your body is learning how to trust something it’s never had a real reference point for.
The goal isn’t to feel instantly okay with it.
The goal is to notice when the discomfort shows up, and pause long enough to ask:
Am I really asking for too much — or am I just not used to being cared for in this way?
You’re Not Too Dependent. You Just Learned to Hide It Well.
You’ve been carrying this tension for years — the push and pull of wanting to rely on people, and not always trusting that it’s okay to need them.
You know how to go without. You know how to look fine. You’ve trained yourself to be low-maintenance, emotionally contained, careful about how much space you take up. And on the outside, that can look like independence.
But it’s not independence if it comes from fear.
So now, even when support is available, your first instinct might still be to brace for impact.
To double-check that it’s okay.
To wait and see if this is the moment it becomes too much.
You don’t have to stop waiting for the shoe to drop.
But you can start to notice it for what it is — a sign that your reflexes just haven’t caught up to the present yet.
And maybe that’s the work now. Letting the part of you that’s still on high alert start to consider:
Maybe this time, you’re not asking for too much.
If this hits close to home…
This is something we talk about a lot in therapy.
Learning how to need people — without spiraling into shame or self-doubt — can be some of the hardest work we do. You don’t have to figure it out alone. Explore therapy with us →
(📍Learn more: Codependency vs. Interdependence)
