Is It Really Alexithymia—Or a Language and Cultural Barrier? Or Both?

By Katie Koullas

Alexithymia is often defined as difficulty identifying, describing, or expressing emotions. It literally means “without words for feelings.”

This concept is frequently applied to autistic people—particularly those of us who struggle to answer questions like “How do you feel?” or who often respond with “I don’t know.” But we believe it’s time to reconsider how alexithymia is framed.

Rather than assuming it reflects a lack of emotional articulation, we are starting to see it as a mismatch—a disconnect between how neurodivergent people may experience emotion naming and how we’re expected to communicate it within neurotypical systems. Many of us do, obviously, feel deeply. And throughout our preparation for this year’s conference, it’s dawned on us that we might be dealing more with a language and cultural barrier than we realised. For so many of us, our emotions don’t always show up in neat, nameable ways—and our articulation, sharing, or expression of them may not match what others expect.

Alexithymia might mean we don’t have the standard words to describe emotion. But what if we’re expressing emotions in ways that are overlooked because they don’t come in the “right” or “typical” format?

What if, instead of saying “I’m angry,” we express it differently?

💛 We might use gestalts—like phrases, quotes, or lines from shows and movies—to show how we feel. These aren’t random; they mean something to us. They often say more than just using a basic feeling word. So instead of saying “I’m angry,” we might say something like: “You can’t handle the truth!”—a famous line from A Few Good Men. 

To an outsider, this might seem disconnected from the emotion itself. They may assume we haven’t identified or expressed what we’re feeling—because we haven’t used the expected label or described our emotion using typical words. But here’s the nuance that matters: that quote is an emotional expression. It may convey frustration, injustice, feeling dismissed, or emotionally overwhelmed. AKA angry!?! And sometimes—we don’t even consciously recognise that we’re angry until we say the gestalt. The expression comes first. The labelling may come later, if at all.

This doesn’t mean we lack emotion or the ability to describe it. And it doesn’t always mean we’re unaware of what we’re feeling. It may mean we’re processing emotion—and how we express that—in a different way. In these moments, it’s not necessarily that we can’t identify or describe our feelings— It’s that we’re doing so in a way that isn’t always recognised.

Perhaps it’s less about lacking words for feelings, and more about our feelings being spoken in a neurodivergent cultural dialect that others haven’t yet learned to recognise. For many neurodivergent people, gestalt language is how we access and express emotion. It’s meaningful. It’s valid. And it deserves to be understood as part of our emotional vocabulary. We might also express it in other ways, such as:

💛 Explaining the energy level rather than using traditional emotional words.

As Dr Amy Laurent and Dr Jacquelyn Fede suggest, traditional emotion words may not fully capture the internal experiences of some of us. Instead, focusing on energy levels—such as feeling amped up, calm, frozen, or flat—can provide a more accurate and accessible framework for understanding and communicating one’s emotional state. This kind of lens validates the way many of us actually live and express emotion: through energy, through the body, and through relational context—not just through words. So when asked “how do you feel?” and we respond with “I don’t know,” it might mean: I haven’t found the words yet, or the feeling is too complex to name. Or we have expressed it in the ways above, but you don’t see it.

And for some of us—especially those who’ve masked for years—it may run deeper. What if we’ve become so used to hiding or reshaping our emotional expressions for the comfort of others, that we’ve forgotten our native way of feeling and expressing? 

“I don’t know” might not mean disconnection from emotion—it might mean I don’t feel safe enough, or I’m still finding my way back to myself.

To someone else—especially someone expecting a direct emotional label—gestalts or framing emotions as energy might seem confusing, irrelevant, or even humorous. They might assume we haven’t identified or expressed how we feel.

 But that’s the issue.

What if the emotion has been identified and expressed—just not in the “expected” way? What if the quote is the emotional expression? What if the energy state explains things perfectly?

 It’s how we let others know what we’re feeling—on our terms, in our own language. But sometimes, even that language doesn’t come through words at all. Sometimes, emotion arrives first in the body—through aches, shifts, silence, or overwhelm—long before it can be named.

 For many of us, emotion isn’t just mental. It’s physical.

We don’t just feel sad—we ache, we go silent, we shut down.

We don’t just feel anxious—we feel our chest tighten, our stomach churn, or our thoughts fragment.

We’re often asked to describe what we’re feeling in the moment—clearly, calmly, and with the “right” words.

But for many of us, those words don’t come first.

What comes first is tone. Energy. Movement. Gestures. Scripts. Stillness. A reference. A shift in breathing. A quote from a show.

These are all valid ways of expressing emotion. They might not come with a tidy label—but they do tell a story, if someone is willing to listen beyond the words.

Autistic interoception—the ability to notice internal body signals—is often described as delayed or dysregulated. But it’s also deeply shaped by trauma, masking, and culture.

For some of us, our body is sounding the alarm before we consciously understand what’s wrong.

For others, we’ve learned to ignore those signals entirely—because we’ve been told they’re exaggerated, inconvenient, or “not that bad.”

So when we say “I don’t know,” it might not mean we don’t feel.

It might mean:

– “I haven’t worked out how to put it into words yet.”

– “The feeling is too much, too fast.”

– “I don’t know how to describe something I haven’t been given language for.”

– Or, simply: “I don’t trust this space enough to show you.”

When someone quotes a film or uses a familiar phrase, they might not be avoiding connection—they might be reaching for it in the best way they know how.

If a student says “You can’t handle the truth!” in a moment of distress, they may be expressing anger, fear, rejection, or injustice—all in a way that feels safer than saying, “I feel overwhelmed.”

Our emotional vocabularies aren’t limited to words. They include scripts, symbols, energy states, colour, posture, silence, humour, and movement. To understand neurodivergent communication, we need to join, not correct.

Too often, “I don’t know” is seen as a deficit.

But what if it’s not confusion at all—what if it’s protection?

It might mean:

– “I don’t feel safe yet.”

– “I’m still processing.”

– “I’ve never been asked in a way that allows for how I actually experience things.”

Dr Alberto, a psychiatrist who’s been reflecting deeply on this topic, recently shared a beautiful reminder:

The question isn’t “What’s wrong with you?”—

It’s “Help me understand what you’re going through.” That shift—from judgement to curiosity—is everything.

Because when someone is allowed to take their time, express themselves in their own language, and feel safe enough to explore what’s happening inside, real connection becomes possible.

And for many of us, that’s where understanding starts—not with a label, but with trust.

For many of us, being asked “How are you feeling?” on the spot—especially when we’re tired, focused on something else, or emotionally overloaded—can feel impossible to answer.

It’s not that we don’t want to share. It’s that we haven’t had time to check in with ourselves yet. We might need space to process. We might need a pause before we can even notice what we’re feeling. And the expectation to respond quickly can make us freeze or mask, rather than genuinely connect. So when someone says “I don’t know,” it might simply mean:

“I haven’t had a chance to figure it out yet.”

Or: “I’m not ready to say it out loud yet.”

Understanding this isn’t just compassionate—it’s essential.

 Often, we do know what we’re feeling. Or at least, we would—if we had the time, space, and support to figure it out.

But we’re asked to speak our feelings in real time. With clarity. Without pause. Without nuance.

And that’s not always possible.

Not when our nervous system is already flooded.

Not when we’re trying to interpret signals that come through metaphor, movement, silence, or song.

Not when we’re carrying shame for having needs that don’t fit the script. Neurodivergent people often express emotion through things others overlook:

Gestures. Symbols. Energy. Silence. Memes. Colour. Music.

Even weather metaphors, scripted lines, or insights that arrive hours—or days—later. These aren’t broken ways of expressing. They are rich, textured, valid—and part of a broader neurodivergent emotional culture. When we stop measuring emotion by how quickly or clearly it’s verbalised, we open the door to recognising and respecting that culture.

At Yellow Ladybugs, we’ll keep unpacking this at our conference and in community.

This blog isn’t about denying the challenges of alexithymia or interoception. It’s about reframing them—so we can build real understanding, safety, and connection.