Autism Help & Activism Burnout: Rejection Delicate Dysphoria
As an autistic woman with ADHD, the horrific recent narratives around autism have left me bereft. I am exhausted, terrified, overstimulated, and vulnerable. My justice sensitivity is through the roof, and I feel uncertain and unsafe.
When my passion is ignited and my emotions are triggered, writing is my tried-and-true release. Since I first learned about my own ADHD and autism as an adult, I’ve devoted myself to dismantling misinformation about neurodivergence through writing. I share my thoughts on multiple platforms. I amplify other AuDHD voices and spend hours researching and writing, swirling learned information with lived experience. The work has been immensely rewarding, connecting me with community and other AuDHD folks who tell me that my writing has helped them. That, in itself, makes it worth the effort.
But there’s another side to advocacy that I’ve come to experience more and more in this political climate: rejection sensitive dysphoria (RSD) – the bane of my existence and truly one of the most disabling aspects of my ADHD.
Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria and Gut-Punch Advocacy
Fear of rejection and criticism — real or perceived — has always affected me deeply. RSD shows up for me as physical symptoms like nausea and vomiting, sweating, shaking, and extreme restlessness. My nervous system kicks into overdrive. I pace. I obsess. I’m left with little mental capacity for daily tasks. When I’m out of the proverbial woods, I often sob with gratitude, then sleep it off for 24 hours. So, when I say RSD is paralyzing, I am not being hyperbolic.
My writing on neurodivergence is not terribly controversial or polarizing, but it’s been harshly brought to my attention that some people have problems with me. The number of vitriolic comments I’ve deleted on my Substack is astounding. I’ve endured spiteful attacks and criticism simply for sharing my personal experiences and thoughts as an AuDHD woman. Attacked simply for stating the truth, with sources to back it up. I am consistently startled by the fact that many people really, really hate information. Many people are highly opposed to listening and learning.
I find myself feeling like two distinct people. One is a leader, a fearless and fierce advocate who will stop at nothing to dismantle and correct harmful narratives. The other is a scared little girl crouched in the corner, shaking like a leaf.
I get dreadful nausea just before hitting the publish button. The fear of criticism from faceless bullies and the very people whose minds I am attempting to change rises in dizzying waves. As reposts and positive comments roll in, the nausea decreases, but one hurtful comment in a sea of praise sends me crawling back to my corner. I cry, I rage. I become consumed with my two selves; the one who insists that I persevere and continue to be a voice for my community, and the one who tells me to run, to hide, to place self-preservation at the top of my list.
We’ll Make It Through, As We Always Do
The reality of being AuDHD is that I burn for justice, am sickened by the lack of it, and become inflamed by fallacies. But inextricably woven into that reality is another one: I fear rejection so intense that a single comment can leave me bedridden.
Friends, I would love to end this post with a solution to quiet RSD so we can advocate tirelessly. Sadly, there is no panacea except to accept these opposing needs. To show myself radical compassion and to honor whatever I’m feeling at any given moment. With this comes the realization that much of the AuDHD community is feeling the same way.
To my community, my message is this: Give yourself grace.
Write the post. Engage if it feels right. Speak. Scream if you want to. Delete it if that feels safer. Whisper to the tears on your pillow if that’s what you need. Move in silence if that’s what your heart tells you to do.
It is OK if you need a break from advocacy. It’s OK to block people. As painful as it is to admit, we cannot and will not change the minds of those who are married to their ignorance about neurodivergence. We cannot inspire empathy in people who see no benefit in it. All we can do is speak the truth, be loyal to our own experiences, and give it our best shot. Change isn’t always immediate or quickly visible.
When RSD feels like a gut punch, remember that there are others who know exactly how it feels. I know it feels like your world is being turned upside down and shaken by the hand of a cruel, callous giant.
But RSD is not cause for shame. We’ve made it this far — despite every ounce of rejection, and we will continue to make it through one day at a time.
In dark times, we must remember that there will always be people who uplift and support us. And we always have ourselves, our values, and our non-negotiable truths. We must cling as tightly to this as we can; like-minded community and inner knowing will carry us through.
This too shall pass. I know that’s a tired platitude, but it’s also true. No state is permanent.
I realize that positivity can sometimes feel so irritatingly over-simplified, especially in times like these. But the truth is, we have no choice but to take it one day at a time. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow will bring a fresh sky.
Tomorrow might just be our North Star.
Neurodivergent Support and Advocacy: Next Steps
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