Do you want the truth, or something beautiful?

There is something I still find genuinely confusing, and at times anxiety provoking, about being asked for my opinion.

When someone asks me a question, especially for advice or feedback, I tend to take it literally. I assume they want an honest answer, not because I am trying to be blunt or unkind, but because honesty feels respectful to me. If you ask, I answer.

Over time, I have learnt that this is often not what people mean.

I have upset people in the past by answering the question they asked, rather than the question they were hoping I would give. Only afterwards do I realise they may have wanted reassurance, encouragement, or something that sounds gentler. Something beautiful, rather than something true.

This becomes much more noticeable at Christmas.

For most of the year, I mainly shop online. I know what I like, I know what works for me, and I tend to keep things simple. At this time of year, though, going into shops becomes much harder to avoid, often because I am going in with my children while they choose things they need or want. Presents need buying, plans change, and suddenly there are far more moments in busy, noisy spaces where opinions are asked for and decisions are expected on the spot.

This is one of the reasons I usually prefer to shop alone. Shopping with other people often means being asked what I think, while also trying to work out what kind of answer is wanted. A simple “what do you think?” can carry a lot of unspoken expectations. That uncertainty can be tiring and stressful, as my ADHD brain is working overtime trying to analyse what is wanted and whether I am reading the room completely incorrectly.

I take words seriously and I tend to assume people mean what they say. If someone asks me about an outfit and it does not quite work, my instinct is to say so, gently and plainly. Not to criticise, but because clarity feels helpful to me. Over time, I have learnt that many people are not always asking for honesty at that moment. They may be looking for reassurance, confidence, or permission to like what they already have. Because of that, I have learnt to pause, soften my responses, and carefully balance my words, masking what comes most naturally to me.

What adds another layer of complexity is that when I ask for advice myself, I want the opposite. If I ask what someone thinks, I want them to be honest with me. I would much rather know something does not suit me than spend money on something I will not wear. Clarity, for me, feels kind and respectful, and it avoids wasting anyone’s time or money.

When people offer very softened or carefully padded feedback, I sometimes leave feeling unsure, wondering if they are saying what they are really thinking. And I have started to realise that this may not be about me at all. They may be doing exactly what I do. Masking, softening, trying not to hurt, trying to get it right. Neurodivergent people do tend to find each other, and it is entirely possible that we are all quietly working just as hard to protect one another.

This is why being asked for opinions can feel stressful. I am trying to work out what someone wants from me, while knowing that what I would want in the same situation may be very different. Honesty, or reassurance?

I am still learning, and I still get it wrong sometimes. But I am trying to hold onto the knowledge that my intention is rarely to cause harm. It is simply to be clear, and honest in the best way I know how. There is no right or wrong way to connect, but there can be a disconnect between what we say and how it is perceived. Understanding that has helped me approach these moments with more compassion, both for myself and for others.