The first time I heard the term “pathological demand avoidance” (PDA*)—a description of a set of behaviors usually characterized as an extreme avoidance of everyday demands and requests—I felt simultaneously called out and annoyed. “Oh no, that’s me!” I thought (as I imagined an entourage of family, friends, bosses, coworkers, and teachers vehemently nodding in agreement). And then immediately I thought “BUT, BUT, BUT…!!” (though my typically ableist inner critic wondered if those “buts” in and of themselves were evidence of avoidance, or PDA).
Some time later, I came across a post reframing PDA as a “persistent drive for autonomy,” an alternate description that felt much more amicable to my system, and simply truer.
As I’ve touched into that inner feeling of digging in my heels when someone demands something of me (or even suggests I do something), I’ve realized it’s always been accompanied by a feeling of paralysis and oncoming attack, or of losing the freedom to choose how and when to do things (despite the fact another part of me sometimes is able to pretend this is not the case). I’ve spent my entire life feeling like I’m swimming upstream, constantly told how I’m supposed to act, think, or feel, when it doesn’t resonate at all with how my mind works, the pace at which I process experience, or how I naturally function. And not only that: my “discipline” and ability to “follow through” have been so continuously questioned that I’ve become used to questioning them myself. To the point that I often provoke a “PDA” response in myself internally (in other words, setting out to do something I create so much internal pressure for myself that I fall into paralysis all the same).
The effects of this in my life have been complex, debilitating, and far-reaching, but one small moment that comes to mind as I write this is how, as a child, I had a burning desire to learn how to play piano. I would spend visits at my aunt’s house deciphering sheet music, with occasional help and invaluable encouragement from her (one of the only “teachers” I ever had who was able to adjust her teaching style to my learning style). I was so obsessed I think I even begged my parents for lessons. But as soon as I had a piano teacher and formal lessons, I lost interest. My progress ground to a halt despite all the rewards promised me for practicing.
Until recently, I thought of that moment as a huge failure in disciplining myself.
But what if we didn’t consider this a pathological response? Wouldn’t it be much wiser to understand that, as neurodivergent humans, whether we have rainforest minds, are autistic or VAST (ADHD), have sensory processing sensitivities, or are otherwise atypically wired, we are just entirely over being pushed and prodded to do things in ways that don’t suit us? Because I also simultaneously notice the parts of me that trip over themselves with the desire to please and accommodate both loved ones and strangers alike, how a part of me would love to be able to “just say yes,” but can’t. As I’m aware of these other parts of me and the considerable space they take up in my inner system, I know it’s not just a stubborn willfulness that has me bucking against demand.
And meditating on it further, I think: even better than or in addition to reframing PDA as a “persistent drive for autonomy,” I would characterize it as a “persistent desire for agency.” Whenever I have the chance to move at my own pace and rhythm, when there is enough spaciousness, I inevitably unstick and move forward. I choose to move forward (or back or away or any which way).
I’ve now learned to harness this in my favor, not allowing my art teachers’ complaints of “you never listen” to stop me from learning by trial and error on my own—something that’s made my creative practice entirely more fruitful. Which reminds me of something Jean Piaget affirmed: “Each time one prematurely teaches a child something he could have discovered himself, that child is kept from inventing it and consequently from understanding it completely.” I would argue this is no less relevant for adults.
Another aspect of this to consider is that often when someone makes a demand or request of us—whether that be a friend, coworker, boss, family member or even stranger—we may need more time to review how it sits with us, or we may require more information than is initially given. For example, I often dig in my heels when asked to do something if I don’t have clarity about the why and how of what is being asked of me, or if I can’t visualize all the steps involved and how they fit into the larger picture.
I especially appreciate being able to feel out whether what is being asked of me makes sense, and many times I can come up with a better or more efficient way of doing it (workflows and efficient/effective design are a bit of an obsession for me). This is sometimes interpreted as being “difficult” or “uncooperative.” It’s true that sometimes I may actually be evaluating whether I want to participate at all (which I believe is fair enough in and of itself), but at other times it’s only that I need more information and background to feel like I can perform a task adequately, even if it’s within what would be considered a normal request at work or in home life (and perhaps obvious to others).
In the ideal world I would like to live in, “avoidance” would never be characterized as pathological. It would instead always be understood as a desire for agency and choice with an oh-so-important, oh-so-understandable need underlying it.
Whenever we find someone digging in their heels, or whenever we feel this resistance or freeze in ourselves… what would happen if instead of considering it a behavioral issue or fault, we got really curious about it?
* PDA was first coined by child psychologist Elizabeth Newson in the 1980s.
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