It is that time of year again, isn’t it? The time when we all collectively agree to stop eating cheese and start running up hills. We buy expensive diaries that will remain pristine after February 14th, and we purchase Lycra in shades of neon that frankly, nobody should see before noon.
We spend January trying to optimize our waists and our wallets. But I was thinking the other day—usually while trying to avoid eye contact with someone on the Tube—that perhaps we’re missing a trick. What if, for 2026, we focused a little less on the body beautiful, and a little more on the brain baffling?
I’m talking, of course, about communication.
Because, let’s be honest, talking to other human beings is a bit of a minefield, isn’t it? It’s like a never-ending quiz show where the rounds keep changing and nobody has explained the rules. And for a huge chunk of the population—the neurodivergent among us (the autistics, the ADHDers, the dyslexia crowd)—it’s like playing that quiz show in a foreign language while someone shouts at you about the weather.
So, pop the kettle on. Let’s have a look at how we might talk to each other a bit better this year.
The Great Eye Contact Conundrum
For years, we’ve been told that there is a “Proper Way” to behave. You must shake hands firmly (but not too firmly, you’re not crushing walnuts), you must sit still, and you must maintain eye contact.
Good heavens, the eye contact. We treat it like a competitive sport. If you look away, you’re shifty. If you stare too long, you’re a serial killer. You have to hit that sweet spot in the middle, which is roughly the amount of time it takes to boil an egg.
But here is the thing: for many people, looking you in the eye is like staring directly into the sun while trying to recite the alphabet backwards. It’s too much.
There is a rather brilliant theory called the Double Empathy Problem. It sounds like a Robert Ludlum novel, but it’s actually a breakthrough in understanding how we tick.
The old thinking was that if an autistic person and a non-autistic person couldn’t understand each other, it was the autistic person’s fault. They were “lacking” social skills. But the new science says: nonsense.
Imagine I speak only English, and you speak only French. If we can’t order dinner, is it because I am broken? Or is it because we just have different guidebooks? The Double Empathy Problem suggests that autistic people communicate perfectly well with other autistic people. The static on the line only happens when two different operating systems try to talk to each other.
It’s not a deficit; it’s just a mismatch. Like trying to play a VHS tape in a toaster. Neither object is broken, but you’re not going to get to watch Die Hard.
A Few Gentle Suggestions for 2026
So, if we accept that we are all wired up to different switchboards, how do we stop crossing wires? Here are three resolutions that don’t involve kale smoothies.
1. The Death of the “Hint”
We British love a hint. We love to say, “It’s a bit chilly in here,” when what we mean is, “For the love of God, shut the window before I freeze to death.”
We think this is polite. To a literal thinker—and there are many of them about—this is just a weather report. They will agree with you (“Yes, it is brisk”) and leave the window wide open.
This year, let’s try something radical: Saying what we mean. It’s not rude to say, “Please could you close the window?” It’s actually incredibly kind. It saves everyone the mental gymnastics of trying to decode your riddle.
2. Embrace the Silence (and the Email)
There is a pervasive myth that the quickest answer is the smartest answer. We love a rapid-fire meeting. But for those with ADHD or auditory processing quirks, a verbal ambush is a nightmare.
If you ask a question and get silence, don’t panic. The other person isn’t ignoring you. They are likely downloading the files in their head. They are buffering. Give them a minute. Let the silence hang there. It won’t bite.
And while we’re at it, let’s stop demonizing the email. Some people are poets on paper and stumbling wrecks in person. If Joyce prefers to text you her ideas rather than shout them across the open-plan office, let her. The idea is the gold; the delivery method is just the envelope.
3. The “Social Battery” Check
You know that feeling at a party where you suddenly want to lie in a dark room with a damp flannel on your forehead? That’s your social battery dying.
Neurodivergent folks often run on a slightly smaller battery life for noisy social events. It drains faster.
If you see someone slipping away from the dinner party for twenty minutes, don’t chase them. Don’t ask if they are “having fun.” They are just recharging. Let them have a quiet moment with the cat in the kitchen. They’ll come back when they’re ready, and they’ll likely be much better company for it.
The Final Word
The world is full of fascinating, brilliant, odd, and wonderful minds. Some of them run on straight lines, and some of them spiral like a firework.
The trick to a happy 2026 isn’t to force everyone to walk in a straight line. It’s to widen the path so we can all walk together without bumping elbows.
So, next time you’re chatting to a colleague who is fidgeting with a pen and looking at the floor, don’t assume they’re bored. Assume they are listening fiercely in their own way.
Be kind, be clear, and maybe, just maybe, let’s all agree that eye contact is overrated.
Happy New Year!
Steve
Steve Connell BSc, PGCE, PGD Management
