I don't get it...
On the outside I’m normal, but…
I sometimes pass off as normal. But the truth is… I’m not. From the outside, my life looks pretty average, pretty normal. Married. Parent. Church leader. Public speaker. Always surrounded by people. Always busy. There aren’t enough hours in the day or days in the week. But that’s a whole other issue. I sometimes remember birthdays — okay, Facebook usually reminds me, and my wife makes sure I haven’t missed any family ones. (Thanks, Facebook. And wife.)
On the inside, it often feels like I’ve been dropped into a foreign country where I barely speak the language. I know just enough to survive — but not enough to really connect with anyone. Small talk confuses me. Conversations exhaust me. Social cues feel like an unwritten code that’s impossible to understand. So, I smile, I nod, I do my best. But more often than not, I feel awkward and alone. I wish I was somewhere else, anywhere else!
Honestly, I look normal, I think. But I don’t really know how to be a person — not the way other people seem to.
Then there’s the friendship thing…
How do people make friends? I’m genuinely asking, because I don’t have a clue! Do you just talk to someone more than once and then that’s it — you’re friends? After a few conversations, do you ask them the big, life-changing question, “Do you want to be my friend?” Do you give them a playful dead arm like you used to in the playground as a kid? I don’t get it. I definitely missed that memo. Maybe I missed that day at school.
This is how it goes…
Small talk with a pre-prepared plan of what I’m going to talk about — is that even small talk?
Sweating like I just ran a marathon — which I used to enjoy, by the way!
Mentally replaying everything I said and wondering if I came across as the idiot, I feel I am.
Overcompensating with jokes that probably weren’t funny — it’s my defence mechanism. It helps me hide the real me, but then I feel like an idiot afterward.
Ghosting - well, I made myself look like an idiot, so I’ve gone into hiding until I think you’ve forgotten about our interaction.
Repeat.
Social situations are exhausting — not just because of the noise or the crowd (which are easier to navigate now that I wear hearing aids), but because I never quite know what I’m supposed to do or say. Every interaction feels like walking through a minefield of unspoken rules, and I’m always worried I’ll step on a metaphorical bomb. That constant uncertainty drains me. It leaves me wiped out — not from being around people, but from the mental gymnastics of trying to appear normal. In the end, it’s just easier to avoid social situations.
People who know me — or even just talk to me a few times — tend to figure it out: I’m a bit of a freak. Not the cool, edgy kind. More the weirdo that it’s easier to avoid type. I don’t get the unspoken rules. I don’t track the rhythm or topics of conversation. I prep what I say like it’s a presentation on a degree programme— and either miss my opportunity because the conversation has moved on, or I stumble through the lines.
If I’m going to make a phone call, I prepare what I’m going to say, write notes, and can’t cope if I don’t And if someone goes off script? I get lost and probably look rude because I don’t know what to say. Thankfully, I’ve got a partner in life, and when I struggle, she will pick up the phone for me. I’d never cope as a single person. Spontaneous conversation is just too hard. I look at those who converse easily with envy. Why can’t I do that? Why can’t I have a conversation without rehearsing it?
It’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve bought books on how to make small talk — The Art of Small Talk, and, How to Talk to Anyone about Anything (they’re still in my bookcase for some reason). They’re full of tips, scripts, questions and techniques. I tried them. But they didn’t work for me. Not really. It felt I was trying to be somebody else. It was uncomfortable and unnatural. I wanted to understand conversation, but more than that, I wanted to find proper connection. And the books didn’t teach me how to feel connection.
I Want Real Friendships
I want to learn how to do relationships — how to start them, keep them, and exist beside someone without either disappearing or explaining myself into oblivion. But I’m constantly caught between: “I don’t know how to do this,” and “Maybe I don’t even want to.” Connection is hard. People are confusing. I wish this was easier. The truth is, I do want connection, I probably need it. I want more than that, though, I want friendships. Not just people I say hello to or someone who I bump into at a national church event like I did in Birmingham 2 weeks ago, I want more than that. Through a recent encounter with an autistic man in a similar line of work as me, I didn’t find conversation and connection easy, but it was certainly easier. We understood each other, I think, and it seemed to make a difference to how open I was and how I communicated. Maybe the solution to this friendship thing is to get to know more people like me? But how? Where do I find people like me? Is there a website or an app? Weird Christian man, socially awkward, not very good at conversation seeks similar!
Rowan Williams.
Not long ago, I went to a talk by Rowan Williams at St Paul’s Cathedral. After the talk, I bumped into other leaders from my church denomination and was invited to join them for coffee. There they were — fellow church leaders chatting over coffee. Laughter, shared stories, overlapping voices. It looked so natural, so easy. And I sat there — smiling, feeling awkward, nodding, not knowing how to engage, not knowing how to participate in the conversation. I crave to be around people, which is why I went along, but I don’t know how to be around people, so I was seriously regretting my decision not to head straight home. Confused? I certainly am! It’s an on-going challenge. That night, I realised again how easy it is to feel like an outsider — even among your own people. It’s not a good feeling.
Relationships are important in the church..
Church is built on community. On connection. On the messy, sacred, beautiful work of doing life together. But what if relationships — the very thing church is built on — are the thing you don’t understand? When human connection feels like a jigsaw puzzle missing half the pieces, church can become the loneliest place of all. Everyone else seems fluent in a language you never learned. You’re on the sidelines, watching, longing to understand what, for most people, is normal. The loneliness cuts deep.
Humour
I’m mischievous by nature. I make jokes. I keep things light. I make people laugh. Sometimes it’s real — a way to connect, to bring joy. Other times? It’s camouflage. If I’m funny, then I’m safe. If I’m entertaining, then I don’t have to be vulnerable. If you’re laughing, maybe you won’t notice I feel totally out of place. Some people blend in by being quiet, I do that sometimes. Mostly, I blend in by performing. And I’m still learning the difference between being myself and being the version of me that gets applause.
Being in Ministry Doesn’t Make It Easier
Here’s the irony: I co-lead a church. I’m supposed to help people navigate relationships — with God and with each other. I spend time with people all the time — but it’s structured. Pastoral. Directed. I plan pastoral conversations and visits and try to manage them so that I don’t get lost. I’m confused.
My faith is supposed to be a relationship with Jesus…
This is where the wrestling begins. Because I believe in a relational God. Jesus lived in community. He wept with friends. He noticed the outsiders. He made space for the awkward, the excluded, the ones who didn’t know how to “do it right.” And yet… I struggle with the idea of a relationship with Him. Not because I don’t believe in Him. I do. I follow Him and His teaching, but I don’t get the relationship with Him bit. If I don’t understand human relationships… how am I supposed to manage one with the invisible God of the universe? People talk about intimacy with Jesus. About walking with Him, hearing His voice, knowing Him as a friend. I want that. But sometimes it feels just as foreign as small talk.
How do you connect with someone you can’t see, when connecting with people you can see already feels impossible? I end up praying things like:
“God, how do I do this?”
“How do I connect?”
“How do I make friends — with You and with others?”
Maybe Jesus isn’t asking me to be socially fluent. Maybe I just need to keep showing up and doing what I do. Even if all I’ve got is a tangled mess of hope, humour, hesitation, and — according to my kids — loads of terrible dad jokes.
Why I’m Writing This
I’m writing because I’m tired of pretending to know how to be human. Tired of performing “normal.” Tired of being the funny one, the spiritual one, the competent one — while secretly wondering if I’m the only one who doesn’t get it. I want to learn how to do relationships. I want real connection. I want to stop being scared of friendship. I want to be myself — the real, unmasked me.
Maybe I’m neurodivergent. It’s something I intend to explore. Maybe I’ve been compensating so long, I forgot who’s underneath. But here’s what I do know: I’m tired of not getting relationships. I’m tired of not having any friends.
So, I’m writing this to tell the truth — even if it’s badly written, awkward, overthought, and too honest. Because maybe you’ve felt it too. And if you have… well, hi. Let’s pretend this is the start of a friendship. I don’t know the rules – I know I shouldn’t give you a dead arm though.