There’s something almost magical about a special interest — the way it takes hold of you, wraps itself around your thoughts, and refuses to let go. It’s not just a hobby. It’s a pull, a need, an all-consuming curiosity that says, “One more… just one more.” Until, of course, one more turns into ten… then twenty… then all of them.
I’ve had quite a few special interests throughout my life, and looking back now, I can see the pattern so clearly.
It started when I was really young — with pigs.
Not real ones (although that would have been interesting), but pig ornaments. Tiny ones, big ones, silly ones, cute ones — if it was a pig, I needed it. My little bedroom slowly filled up with them, every surface claimed by another addition to my ever-growing collection. And I loved it. Every new pig felt like a small victory, like I was building something important.
Although, in hindsight, I do sometimes wonder what my friends thought when they walked in and were met with what must have looked like… a pig shrine. I imagine there were a few silent “What on earth…?” moments.
As I got older, the interests changed — but the intensity didn’t.
That same feeling transferred itself to TV shows, particularly Friends and The Walking Dead. And when I say I liked them, I don’t mean casually watching an episode here and there. I mean fully immersed. I collected The Walking Dead comic books, DVDs, collectible figures, Funko Pop heads, posters, framed memorabilia — you name it, I probably had it. I even had framed pieces displayed in my hallway.
Yes… my hallway.
In fairness, I was incredibly easy to buy gifts for. If it had anything to do with my current obsession, it was guaranteed to be a win. But what I didn’t always recognise at the time was how intense it could seem to other people.
Because special interests don’t just live quietly in the background — they want to be shared. Talked about. Replayed. Analysed. Repeated again and again.
And that’s where things can get a little tricky.
When you’re autistic, like I am, those social cues that might tell you someone is losing interest — or has already mentally left the conversation — aren’t always obvious. So you keep going, driven by excitement and passion, completely unaware that the person in front of you might be politely nodding while internally screaming.
It’s never intentional. It comes from a place of genuine joy, of wanting to connect, of sharing something that feels important. But without realising it, that enthusiasm can sometimes overwhelm others.
And that’s the difficult balance.
Because special interests are not a bad thing. In fact, they’re wonderful. They bring comfort, happiness, structure, and a deep sense of identity. They can be a safe place in a world that often feels overwhelming.
The challenge isn’t the interest itself — it’s learning how to navigate sharing it in a way that works for both you and the people around you.
And honestly? That’s still something I’m learning.
But one thing I know for sure is this: I wouldn’t change that part of me. The excitement, the passion, the joy of finding something you love so deeply — it’s a beautiful thing.
Even if it does sometimes turn your hallway into a mini museum.
