June 2, 2025
ADHD imposter syndrome and RSD: how I stopped doubting myself
Imposter syndrome and rejection sensitivity are part of ADHD for a lot of us. Here’s how I experience them, what helped, and what I want you to know.
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Imposter syndrome and rejection sensitivity are part of ADHD for a lot of us. Here’s how I experience them, what helped, and what I want you to know.
People often think ADHD is just about forgetting your keys or zoning out mid-conversation. But for me, the hardest part has always been the quiet, persistent feeling that I’m not good enough. That voice in the back of my head is telling me I didn’t really earn my success. That it was just luck, that any minute now, someone is going to figure out I have no idea what I’m doing.
Imposter syndrome didn’t disappear when I launched some of the biggest media platforms in the world. It didn’t ease up after I won a five-year legal battle. And even after I was diagnosed with ADHD, the self-doubt stuck around. That diagnosis didn’t silence the inner critic, but it gave me context and, more importantly, a way to start addressing it.
Imposter syndrome, especially with ADHD, can feel relentless. It’s not a quiet question like “am I good enough?” It’s the certainty that “I’m a fraud,” even when all the evidence says otherwise. You can have success staring you in the face and still feel like none of it counts.
A big part of this has to do with how ADHD affects memory, and there’s a term for it: object permanence. It usually refers to misplacing your phone or forgetting to reply to a message, but it also shows up emotionally. If something isn’t right in front of me, it stops feeling real, and that includes the things I’ve achieved.
So I can crush a project on Monday and by Wednesday feel like I’ve never accomplished anything meaningful in my life. Unless I’ve written it down, printed it out, or stuck it on a wall, my brain will erase the win.
This is where it gets especially tough. Whenever I’m faced with something challenging, it feels like I’m starting from zero. My past efforts, the things I’ve already done well, just don’t seem to carry over. That’s what imposter syndrome does: it erases your sense of progress and makes you feel like none of it really counted. With ADHD in the mix, that effect becomes even stronger because you lose the thread between who you were and who you are now, which makes it so much harder to push back against the feeling that you don’t belong.
Rejection sensitivity dysphoria, or RSD for short, is something a lot of ADHD’ers deal with. It’s when even the smallest bit of criticism or perceived rejection feels overwhelming. Not just a sting, but a full-body crash. It can spiral into thoughts like “I’ve messed everything up,” or “everyone hates me now,” even if nothing major has happened.
Researchers believe RSD is linked to the way ADHD brains process emotional input. ADHD affects the regulation of neurotransmitters like dopamine and norepinephrine, chemicals that play a big role in how we experience motivation, reward, and emotion. When those systems are dysregulated, our emotional responses can feel sharper, faster, and harder to control. RSD isn’t about being too sensitive. It’s a neurological reaction to perceived threat that the brain reads as danger, even when nothing’s actually wrong.
Functional MRI studies have shown that people with ADHD often have more activity in brain regions like the amygdala, which is involved in emotional reactivity. That means our brains can light up like an alarm system at the smallest signal of rejection, even if it’s just a shift in tone or a delayed text. It’s not a choice. It’s wiring.
And once it’s triggered, the response is intense. It hijacks your focus, clouds your judgment, and convinces you that everything is falling apart, even if the situation is minor or fixable. RSD doesn’t just make you feel hurt. It makes you feel unsafe in your relationships, your work, or even your mind.
I remember once signing a contract I knew wasn’t right, just because I couldn’t handle the idea of disappointing someone. That one moment of avoiding conflict turned into a legal battle that lasted for years. I won in the end, but the emotional cost was massive. The shame, the pressure, the need to smooth things over—I didn’t know how else to handle it, so I turned to drinking. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much and didn’t have the tools to cope with how intense those feelings were.
That’s the thing about RSD: it’s not just about getting your feelings hurt; it cuts deeper. It shakes your identity. It brings back every moment you were told you were wrong, or too much, or not enough. And it convinces you that you need to keep proving yourself, again and again, just to be allowed in the room.
There’s no quick fix for imposter syndrome or RSD. But over time, I’ve found a few things that help shorten the spiral and make it easier to recover when I do get knocked off course.
If I can’t see it, I forget it ever happened, whether it’s a win, a kind word, or something I finished. That’s why I’ve had to get serious about externalising evidence. I use whiteboards and scribble lists, and I keep visual reminders where I’ll actually notice them. It’s not really about motivation, it’s about giving my brain something to hold onto, something solid that says, yes, I did that, yes, it counts. Without that visible proof, my mind defaults to assuming I’ve done nothing at all, and that everything I’ve achieved must have been by accident or not good enough to remember.
When RSD kicks in, everything suddenly feels urgent, personal, and overwhelming. I’ve learned to pause in that moment and ask myself one simple question: How old is this feeling? If the answer that surfaces is an age, seven, thirteen, whatever it might be, that’s a clue I’m not actually reacting to what’s happening right now. I’m responding to something much older, something my nervous system didn’t get a chance to fully process the first time. That tiny moment of recognition creates enough space for me to shift from automatic reaction to something more intentional, something that isn’t just about protecting my younger self from danger that isn’t actually there.
Another thing I try is letting my brain run through the fear, just long enough to fact-check it. If the thought is “they’re going to hate me,” I follow it with, “based on what?” If it’s “I’ve ruined everything,” I ask, “what’s actually happened so far?” I’m not trying to shut the voice down, I’m just holding it up to the light and seeing what sticks. Most of the time, the story falls apart when I look at the details. And that’s often enough to stop the spiral from getting worse.
This was the biggest shift for me. I used to let the spiral play out quietly, thinking it would pass if I just powered through. But the longer those thoughts stayed in my head, the louder and more convincing they became. Now, when the shame creeps in or the self-doubt kicks off, I talk to someone I trust. It doesn’t have to be a big, dramatic confession; sometimes just saying, “my brain’s telling me I’ve failed again” is enough to take the sting out of it. Saying it out loud helps break the spell.
Starting the ADHD Chatter podcast gave me an outlet for that, too. Talking to other ADHD’ers, hearing their stories, and realising how many of us share the same fears, that’s been a game changer. You don’t need a podcast or a big following to find that kind of connection. Whether it’s a group chat, a forum, a trusted friend, or a space like Tiimo, finding some kind of community makes it easier to remember you’re not the only one who feels this way. And that the voice in your head doesn’t get to be the final say.
When imposter syndrome creeps in or rejection sensitivity throws me off, it’s harder to think clearly, let alone remember what I actually need. That’s why Tiimo has become such a steady support in my day. It gives me a way to structure my time without overwhelming me, and helps keep things visible when my brain starts to spiral or forget what matters.
I plan my schedule visually so I can see what’s ahead and what I’ve already done, which makes it easier to stay focused without trying to hold it all in my head. I also track my mood, which has helped me spot patterns around when self-doubt shows up or when I’m more likely to hit an emotional crash. That kind of awareness helps me step in earlier, rather than waiting until everything feels too heavy to manage.
And on the busiest days, when I’m jumping between meetings, tasks, or just trying to hold it together, Tiimo makes sure I stay fed, hydrated, and grounded. It’s much harder to manage emotional overwhelm or challenge imposter thoughts when you’re running on empty. The reminders to pause, to take care of myself, to reach for small moments of regulation, make it easier to keep showing up without burning out.
If any of this feels familiar, if you find yourself stuck in self-doubt, caught in a cycle of people-pleasing, or constantly questioning your worth, I want you to know it’s not because you’ve done something wrong. These patterns are not character flaws. They are learned responses, shaped by years of masking, overcompensating, and pushing through without the right kind of support.
Your brain has been doing its best to keep you safe, but there are ways to shift that pattern. You can start by making your progress visible, even when it feels small or forgettable. You can plan your days using tools that work with your brain, not against it. You can say the hard thoughts out loud and ask for support without having to justify why. And if it helps, you can use something like Tiimo to give shape to the chaos and help anchor yourself when everything feels too much.
You don’t have to wait until you feel ready. You just need something to meet you where you are and help you take the next step forward.
Imposter syndrome and rejection sensitivity are part of ADHD for a lot of us. Here’s how I experience them, what helped, and what I want you to know.
People often think ADHD is just about forgetting your keys or zoning out mid-conversation. But for me, the hardest part has always been the quiet, persistent feeling that I’m not good enough. That voice in the back of my head is telling me I didn’t really earn my success. That it was just luck, that any minute now, someone is going to figure out I have no idea what I’m doing.
Imposter syndrome didn’t disappear when I launched some of the biggest media platforms in the world. It didn’t ease up after I won a five-year legal battle. And even after I was diagnosed with ADHD, the self-doubt stuck around. That diagnosis didn’t silence the inner critic, but it gave me context and, more importantly, a way to start addressing it.
Imposter syndrome, especially with ADHD, can feel relentless. It’s not a quiet question like “am I good enough?” It’s the certainty that “I’m a fraud,” even when all the evidence says otherwise. You can have success staring you in the face and still feel like none of it counts.
A big part of this has to do with how ADHD affects memory, and there’s a term for it: object permanence. It usually refers to misplacing your phone or forgetting to reply to a message, but it also shows up emotionally. If something isn’t right in front of me, it stops feeling real, and that includes the things I’ve achieved.
So I can crush a project on Monday and by Wednesday feel like I’ve never accomplished anything meaningful in my life. Unless I’ve written it down, printed it out, or stuck it on a wall, my brain will erase the win.
This is where it gets especially tough. Whenever I’m faced with something challenging, it feels like I’m starting from zero. My past efforts, the things I’ve already done well, just don’t seem to carry over. That’s what imposter syndrome does: it erases your sense of progress and makes you feel like none of it really counted. With ADHD in the mix, that effect becomes even stronger because you lose the thread between who you were and who you are now, which makes it so much harder to push back against the feeling that you don’t belong.
Rejection sensitivity dysphoria, or RSD for short, is something a lot of ADHD’ers deal with. It’s when even the smallest bit of criticism or perceived rejection feels overwhelming. Not just a sting, but a full-body crash. It can spiral into thoughts like “I’ve messed everything up,” or “everyone hates me now,” even if nothing major has happened.
Researchers believe RSD is linked to the way ADHD brains process emotional input. ADHD affects the regulation of neurotransmitters like dopamine and norepinephrine, chemicals that play a big role in how we experience motivation, reward, and emotion. When those systems are dysregulated, our emotional responses can feel sharper, faster, and harder to control. RSD isn’t about being too sensitive. It’s a neurological reaction to perceived threat that the brain reads as danger, even when nothing’s actually wrong.
Functional MRI studies have shown that people with ADHD often have more activity in brain regions like the amygdala, which is involved in emotional reactivity. That means our brains can light up like an alarm system at the smallest signal of rejection, even if it’s just a shift in tone or a delayed text. It’s not a choice. It’s wiring.
And once it’s triggered, the response is intense. It hijacks your focus, clouds your judgment, and convinces you that everything is falling apart, even if the situation is minor or fixable. RSD doesn’t just make you feel hurt. It makes you feel unsafe in your relationships, your work, or even your mind.
I remember once signing a contract I knew wasn’t right, just because I couldn’t handle the idea of disappointing someone. That one moment of avoiding conflict turned into a legal battle that lasted for years. I won in the end, but the emotional cost was massive. The shame, the pressure, the need to smooth things over—I didn’t know how else to handle it, so I turned to drinking. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much and didn’t have the tools to cope with how intense those feelings were.
That’s the thing about RSD: it’s not just about getting your feelings hurt; it cuts deeper. It shakes your identity. It brings back every moment you were told you were wrong, or too much, or not enough. And it convinces you that you need to keep proving yourself, again and again, just to be allowed in the room.
There’s no quick fix for imposter syndrome or RSD. But over time, I’ve found a few things that help shorten the spiral and make it easier to recover when I do get knocked off course.
If I can’t see it, I forget it ever happened, whether it’s a win, a kind word, or something I finished. That’s why I’ve had to get serious about externalising evidence. I use whiteboards and scribble lists, and I keep visual reminders where I’ll actually notice them. It’s not really about motivation, it’s about giving my brain something to hold onto, something solid that says, yes, I did that, yes, it counts. Without that visible proof, my mind defaults to assuming I’ve done nothing at all, and that everything I’ve achieved must have been by accident or not good enough to remember.
When RSD kicks in, everything suddenly feels urgent, personal, and overwhelming. I’ve learned to pause in that moment and ask myself one simple question: How old is this feeling? If the answer that surfaces is an age, seven, thirteen, whatever it might be, that’s a clue I’m not actually reacting to what’s happening right now. I’m responding to something much older, something my nervous system didn’t get a chance to fully process the first time. That tiny moment of recognition creates enough space for me to shift from automatic reaction to something more intentional, something that isn’t just about protecting my younger self from danger that isn’t actually there.
Another thing I try is letting my brain run through the fear, just long enough to fact-check it. If the thought is “they’re going to hate me,” I follow it with, “based on what?” If it’s “I’ve ruined everything,” I ask, “what’s actually happened so far?” I’m not trying to shut the voice down, I’m just holding it up to the light and seeing what sticks. Most of the time, the story falls apart when I look at the details. And that’s often enough to stop the spiral from getting worse.
This was the biggest shift for me. I used to let the spiral play out quietly, thinking it would pass if I just powered through. But the longer those thoughts stayed in my head, the louder and more convincing they became. Now, when the shame creeps in or the self-doubt kicks off, I talk to someone I trust. It doesn’t have to be a big, dramatic confession; sometimes just saying, “my brain’s telling me I’ve failed again” is enough to take the sting out of it. Saying it out loud helps break the spell.
Starting the ADHD Chatter podcast gave me an outlet for that, too. Talking to other ADHD’ers, hearing their stories, and realising how many of us share the same fears, that’s been a game changer. You don’t need a podcast or a big following to find that kind of connection. Whether it’s a group chat, a forum, a trusted friend, or a space like Tiimo, finding some kind of community makes it easier to remember you’re not the only one who feels this way. And that the voice in your head doesn’t get to be the final say.
When imposter syndrome creeps in or rejection sensitivity throws me off, it’s harder to think clearly, let alone remember what I actually need. That’s why Tiimo has become such a steady support in my day. It gives me a way to structure my time without overwhelming me, and helps keep things visible when my brain starts to spiral or forget what matters.
I plan my schedule visually so I can see what’s ahead and what I’ve already done, which makes it easier to stay focused without trying to hold it all in my head. I also track my mood, which has helped me spot patterns around when self-doubt shows up or when I’m more likely to hit an emotional crash. That kind of awareness helps me step in earlier, rather than waiting until everything feels too heavy to manage.
And on the busiest days, when I’m jumping between meetings, tasks, or just trying to hold it together, Tiimo makes sure I stay fed, hydrated, and grounded. It’s much harder to manage emotional overwhelm or challenge imposter thoughts when you’re running on empty. The reminders to pause, to take care of myself, to reach for small moments of regulation, make it easier to keep showing up without burning out.
If any of this feels familiar, if you find yourself stuck in self-doubt, caught in a cycle of people-pleasing, or constantly questioning your worth, I want you to know it’s not because you’ve done something wrong. These patterns are not character flaws. They are learned responses, shaped by years of masking, overcompensating, and pushing through without the right kind of support.
Your brain has been doing its best to keep you safe, but there are ways to shift that pattern. You can start by making your progress visible, even when it feels small or forgettable. You can plan your days using tools that work with your brain, not against it. You can say the hard thoughts out loud and ask for support without having to justify why. And if it helps, you can use something like Tiimo to give shape to the chaos and help anchor yourself when everything feels too much.
You don’t have to wait until you feel ready. You just need something to meet you where you are and help you take the next step forward.
Imposter syndrome and rejection sensitivity are part of ADHD for a lot of us. Here’s how I experience them, what helped, and what I want you to know.
People often think ADHD is just about forgetting your keys or zoning out mid-conversation. But for me, the hardest part has always been the quiet, persistent feeling that I’m not good enough. That voice in the back of my head is telling me I didn’t really earn my success. That it was just luck, that any minute now, someone is going to figure out I have no idea what I’m doing.
Imposter syndrome didn’t disappear when I launched some of the biggest media platforms in the world. It didn’t ease up after I won a five-year legal battle. And even after I was diagnosed with ADHD, the self-doubt stuck around. That diagnosis didn’t silence the inner critic, but it gave me context and, more importantly, a way to start addressing it.
Imposter syndrome, especially with ADHD, can feel relentless. It’s not a quiet question like “am I good enough?” It’s the certainty that “I’m a fraud,” even when all the evidence says otherwise. You can have success staring you in the face and still feel like none of it counts.
A big part of this has to do with how ADHD affects memory, and there’s a term for it: object permanence. It usually refers to misplacing your phone or forgetting to reply to a message, but it also shows up emotionally. If something isn’t right in front of me, it stops feeling real, and that includes the things I’ve achieved.
So I can crush a project on Monday and by Wednesday feel like I’ve never accomplished anything meaningful in my life. Unless I’ve written it down, printed it out, or stuck it on a wall, my brain will erase the win.
This is where it gets especially tough. Whenever I’m faced with something challenging, it feels like I’m starting from zero. My past efforts, the things I’ve already done well, just don’t seem to carry over. That’s what imposter syndrome does: it erases your sense of progress and makes you feel like none of it really counted. With ADHD in the mix, that effect becomes even stronger because you lose the thread between who you were and who you are now, which makes it so much harder to push back against the feeling that you don’t belong.
Rejection sensitivity dysphoria, or RSD for short, is something a lot of ADHD’ers deal with. It’s when even the smallest bit of criticism or perceived rejection feels overwhelming. Not just a sting, but a full-body crash. It can spiral into thoughts like “I’ve messed everything up,” or “everyone hates me now,” even if nothing major has happened.
Researchers believe RSD is linked to the way ADHD brains process emotional input. ADHD affects the regulation of neurotransmitters like dopamine and norepinephrine, chemicals that play a big role in how we experience motivation, reward, and emotion. When those systems are dysregulated, our emotional responses can feel sharper, faster, and harder to control. RSD isn’t about being too sensitive. It’s a neurological reaction to perceived threat that the brain reads as danger, even when nothing’s actually wrong.
Functional MRI studies have shown that people with ADHD often have more activity in brain regions like the amygdala, which is involved in emotional reactivity. That means our brains can light up like an alarm system at the smallest signal of rejection, even if it’s just a shift in tone or a delayed text. It’s not a choice. It’s wiring.
And once it’s triggered, the response is intense. It hijacks your focus, clouds your judgment, and convinces you that everything is falling apart, even if the situation is minor or fixable. RSD doesn’t just make you feel hurt. It makes you feel unsafe in your relationships, your work, or even your mind.
I remember once signing a contract I knew wasn’t right, just because I couldn’t handle the idea of disappointing someone. That one moment of avoiding conflict turned into a legal battle that lasted for years. I won in the end, but the emotional cost was massive. The shame, the pressure, the need to smooth things over—I didn’t know how else to handle it, so I turned to drinking. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much and didn’t have the tools to cope with how intense those feelings were.
That’s the thing about RSD: it’s not just about getting your feelings hurt; it cuts deeper. It shakes your identity. It brings back every moment you were told you were wrong, or too much, or not enough. And it convinces you that you need to keep proving yourself, again and again, just to be allowed in the room.
There’s no quick fix for imposter syndrome or RSD. But over time, I’ve found a few things that help shorten the spiral and make it easier to recover when I do get knocked off course.
If I can’t see it, I forget it ever happened, whether it’s a win, a kind word, or something I finished. That’s why I’ve had to get serious about externalising evidence. I use whiteboards and scribble lists, and I keep visual reminders where I’ll actually notice them. It’s not really about motivation, it’s about giving my brain something to hold onto, something solid that says, yes, I did that, yes, it counts. Without that visible proof, my mind defaults to assuming I’ve done nothing at all, and that everything I’ve achieved must have been by accident or not good enough to remember.
When RSD kicks in, everything suddenly feels urgent, personal, and overwhelming. I’ve learned to pause in that moment and ask myself one simple question: How old is this feeling? If the answer that surfaces is an age, seven, thirteen, whatever it might be, that’s a clue I’m not actually reacting to what’s happening right now. I’m responding to something much older, something my nervous system didn’t get a chance to fully process the first time. That tiny moment of recognition creates enough space for me to shift from automatic reaction to something more intentional, something that isn’t just about protecting my younger self from danger that isn’t actually there.
Another thing I try is letting my brain run through the fear, just long enough to fact-check it. If the thought is “they’re going to hate me,” I follow it with, “based on what?” If it’s “I’ve ruined everything,” I ask, “what’s actually happened so far?” I’m not trying to shut the voice down, I’m just holding it up to the light and seeing what sticks. Most of the time, the story falls apart when I look at the details. And that’s often enough to stop the spiral from getting worse.
This was the biggest shift for me. I used to let the spiral play out quietly, thinking it would pass if I just powered through. But the longer those thoughts stayed in my head, the louder and more convincing they became. Now, when the shame creeps in or the self-doubt kicks off, I talk to someone I trust. It doesn’t have to be a big, dramatic confession; sometimes just saying, “my brain’s telling me I’ve failed again” is enough to take the sting out of it. Saying it out loud helps break the spell.
Starting the ADHD Chatter podcast gave me an outlet for that, too. Talking to other ADHD’ers, hearing their stories, and realising how many of us share the same fears, that’s been a game changer. You don’t need a podcast or a big following to find that kind of connection. Whether it’s a group chat, a forum, a trusted friend, or a space like Tiimo, finding some kind of community makes it easier to remember you’re not the only one who feels this way. And that the voice in your head doesn’t get to be the final say.
When imposter syndrome creeps in or rejection sensitivity throws me off, it’s harder to think clearly, let alone remember what I actually need. That’s why Tiimo has become such a steady support in my day. It gives me a way to structure my time without overwhelming me, and helps keep things visible when my brain starts to spiral or forget what matters.
I plan my schedule visually so I can see what’s ahead and what I’ve already done, which makes it easier to stay focused without trying to hold it all in my head. I also track my mood, which has helped me spot patterns around when self-doubt shows up or when I’m more likely to hit an emotional crash. That kind of awareness helps me step in earlier, rather than waiting until everything feels too heavy to manage.
And on the busiest days, when I’m jumping between meetings, tasks, or just trying to hold it together, Tiimo makes sure I stay fed, hydrated, and grounded. It’s much harder to manage emotional overwhelm or challenge imposter thoughts when you’re running on empty. The reminders to pause, to take care of myself, to reach for small moments of regulation, make it easier to keep showing up without burning out.
If any of this feels familiar, if you find yourself stuck in self-doubt, caught in a cycle of people-pleasing, or constantly questioning your worth, I want you to know it’s not because you’ve done something wrong. These patterns are not character flaws. They are learned responses, shaped by years of masking, overcompensating, and pushing through without the right kind of support.
Your brain has been doing its best to keep you safe, but there are ways to shift that pattern. You can start by making your progress visible, even when it feels small or forgettable. You can plan your days using tools that work with your brain, not against it. You can say the hard thoughts out loud and ask for support without having to justify why. And if it helps, you can use something like Tiimo to give shape to the chaos and help anchor yourself when everything feels too much.
You don’t have to wait until you feel ready. You just need something to meet you where you are and help you take the next step forward.
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