We always talk about the things that were said to us as kids are the reason many neurodivergent people may suffer from Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD). How constantly being told by those around us that we’re ‘too much’ or ‘not enough’, how we talk too much or we’re too quiet, how we’re “so emotional!” but also not showing enough emotion in other cases. How that those kind of contradictory assessments of our characters always left us trying to change ourselves more and more to fit this teeny tiny box of the ‘ideal’ person. We also talk about how those comments taught us to be wary of how we present ourselves and communicate with others as well as blame ourselves when things go wrong.

But do we talk about how RSD plays a huge part in families, friendships, and relationships? That constantly believing that we’re the problem has a huge impact on how we behave when our loved ones are involved? Because it does, even if we don’t know what RSD is or that we’re even neurodivergent.

My relationships were impacted the most by my RSD and some of my exes even fuelled my RSD even further! It got to the point where it took so much out of me to open up to my partner and I was so petrified that my heart would end up broken again. I don’t think I could’ve survived another heartbreak. That’s not to say that my RSD doesn’t affect my current relationship. It does. But my partner is so supportive and we’re working on things together.

My first relationship started when I was 18 years old. Back then, I didn’t know I was AuDHD and I thought I had anxiety. I thought my then-boyfriend was the most understanding person to be around but, truth is, he really wasn’t.

We went to college together and I remember one particular day where everything was just wrong. I felt overstimulated and agitated the minute I walked in and ended up going to an empty room to work in rather than the studio. I was alone in there and I just couldn’t concentrate no matter how hard I tried. Eventually, the frustration and overstimulation just built up and up until I was having a full blown meltdown. Only I thought it was a panic attack. I managed to text a very broken message to my then-boyfriend, who was in the studio next to me, asking him to help me out but his response was that he didn’t want to get up because it would’ve been ’embarrassing’ for him. I left early that day and had to hold in everything I felt until I got home and in my room.

Multiple times, he’d say that my emotions were just ‘too much’ or he’d just outright make me feel like I was burden. I ended up diluting my personality so much so, in that relationship, that when I got out of it I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t show too much emotion after that. I’d hide my excitement, go upstairs and hide away if I was sad or angry, held all my tears back. I bottled everything up. I remember someone comparing me to Captain Holt from Brooklyn Nine Nine due to the lack of expression I had. When really, I just didn’t feel like I could express myself in fear of being ‘too much’ for others.

I continued holding back my emotions when I entered my next relationship and instead focused on little gestures like making food and planning dates. I guess I just wanted to be seen as something I wasn’t so hopefully that one would stick. What I wasn’t expecting was the body-shaming. This boyfriend was a body builder and he had no shame in telling me that I’d look better if I toned up a bit. I wasn’t overweight by any means back then but it made me feel like I was and that he found it disgusting. I’ve always said that ‘fat’ shouldn’t be a bad word and that our size shouldn’t define our beauty but the way he said it made me feel like I was ugly because I didn’t have a flat stomach. I never wore tight tops or skirts again for years after that, even though he split up with me a few months into the relationship.

Finally, my most recent ex. I’d taken what I thought I had learned from my previous relationships and was ready to apply them to this new one. If any emotion slips out, I’d laugh it off with self-depreciating jokes. Never wear tight or revealing clothes, just baggy clothes that make me look as small as possible. Never finish a whole plate or packet in front of him. I thought “there was no way I can mess this one up! There’s no way he’ll think I’m ‘too much’ of anything!”. But he still broke up with me because my problems were ‘too much’ for him. Despite the fact that he told me all of his, despite that I supported him through some of his worst moments, despite that I never ranted about my problems but made jokes here and there, and despite the fact that he wanted to be a mental health professional. I was still ‘too much’ even after all my hard work of watering myself down.

I swore to myself, after that, that I’d never water myself down for anyone again. That people can take me as I am or leave me alone. If I’m ‘too much’ then go find less! I started being honest about how I felt and expressed my emotions in anyway I saw fit. Eventually, I met my partner. I told him right from day 1 that I’m AuDHD and some of what that meant. I told him that I feel my emotions so strongly and sometimes I may express them in a way that’s not the ‘norm’ or I might not show them at all. I told him that I need clear communication and that I’ll always tell him if something’s bothering me.

He has been so brilliant and so supportive. He’s taken his time to do research and ask questions and made me feel so loved, But RSD doesn’t just go away. If he’s upset, angry, or even just quiet, I still can’t help but feel like I’m the problem. I hear myself rambling to him about something I like or care about and my brain says “he’s not listening” “he doesn’t care about this stuff” “you’re just boring him”. If I accidentally interrupt him or talk over him, and he points it out, my mind starts reeling and I feel like things would be easier for him if I just never spoke ever again. He always tells me otherwise but it’s hard to unlearn nearly a decade’s worth of self-doubt.

RSD exists in all of my relationships; with my partner, my family, and my friends. It will for a very long time and my partner and I are working on combating those feelings. But progress can be slow and it isn’t always linear. I’ll have good days and I’ll have bad days! What’s important is that I have support and that I learn to teach myself to love myself too. RSD affects a lot of us neurodivergents, it’s important to remind each other that we’re not alone. We can get better at this!

I will speak more about what RSD is another post!