I’ve always thought I was just bad at languages. French class was this blur of nasal sounds, irregular verbs, and that one kid who rolled his R’s like he was auditioning for Les Misérables. I remember trying—really trying—to make it stick. But no matter how many flashcards or vocab lists I made, it all slipped through the cracks like sand in a sieve.
Back then, I put it down to not being a “language person.” Now, though, I realise it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t that I couldn’t learn French — it’s that I wasn’t learning it in a way my brain understood.
🧩 The Autistic Angle
I didn’t know at the time that I’m autistic. But looking back, a lot of things make sense. My brain likes structure, logic, and patterns — systems that stay consistent. French, on the other hand, seemed to delight in throwing exceptions at me for sport.
One week we’d learn verb endings, the next we’d be told half of them change depending on context, emotion, or whether the moon was in retrograde. I don’t do well with “sometimes.” I do well with “always.”
And don’t even get me started on how French counts in multiples of twenty. Soixante-dix (sixty-ten)? Quatre-vingt (four-twenty)? My brain wanted to file a formal complaint. It’s like the language looked at numbers and decided to make them unnecessarily creative.
And school didn’t exactly help. Classes were loud, rushed, and full of group exercises where we had to “converse naturally” with no preparation. For me, that was about as natural as juggling flaming baguettes.
🔁 The Routine Problem
Another big factor? Routine.
Autistic learning thrives on consistency. If something isn’t used regularly, it might as well vanish from the hard drive. We had French once or twice a week, then nothing until the next lesson. That’s like trying to learn guitar by holding it every other Tuesday.
If French had been part of my daily life — say, a little reading, listening, or structured repetition — I probably would’ve done better. My brain doesn’t resist learning; it resists randomness.
🧭 The Relevance Factor
There’s also the simple fact that I never really saw a reason to keep going. By the end of 4th year, I’d already decided I was unlikely to ever visit France — or anywhere French was spoken regularly. I couldn’t see myself ordering food in French, writing emails in French, or living in a place where it would actually matter.
And if something doesn’t have a clear, practical purpose, my brain just files it under “not essential.” That’s not laziness — it’s logic. Without real-world use or relevance, the motivation to keep learning fizzled out completely.
🧠 Not Broken, Just Wired Differently
It’s easy to mistake that kind of struggle for failure, especially in a school system built around one learning style. But for autistic people, it’s often not about ability — it’s about fit.
We can be brilliant at language if it’s taught in a way that makes sense to us:
- clear rules and logical patterns,
- quiet environments without sensory chaos,
- repetition through daily routine,
- real-world context instead of random dialogues about Jean-Paul’s pencil case.
If I’d had that, maybe I’d be fluent by now. Or at least capable of ordering a croissant without anxiety.
💬 The Takeaway
So, no — I didn’t fail French. French failed me. Or maybe the system did. Either way, it’s not about laziness or lack of talent; it’s about needing a learning environment that speaks your language, not just teaches one.
And honestly, if I ever do take up a second language again, it’ll be on my terms — quietly, routinely, and preferably without anyone shouting “répétez après moi!” across the room.
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