Masking, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria & ADHD: the vulnerability of trying, learning & growing

I have always hated my voice, having grown up being bullied for my lisp. Over time, I'd stopped noticing it, simply becoming quieter and avoiding talking where possible. This was solidified by bursting into tears when I attempted to present in a public speaking workshop in my legal job!

This is largely what's led me to write so much throughout my life: I am hyperlexic and find writing much easier than speaking. However, when Microsoft (specifically Sam Bramwell (She/Her) ) asked me to speak at their company when I initially self-published ADHD: an A to Z, I was so sure it was a hoax that I said yes - and it actually happened.

Since then, it's pretty ironic that I've spoken on stages at companies like Disney, the Bank of America, La Fosse, NBC and Mind. This largely happened because of the pandemic, where I found speaking into a screen didn't evoke panic attacks, and ever incapable of saying no, I found myself instead pitching absurdly high rates for in person public speaking, believing no one would ever book me for this anyway.

But they did, and each time I just threw myself in it, countering the intense anxiety and pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I figured that if I cried I could explain this was literally because I have ADHD. I stopped obsessing over slides and leant into enjoying showing up as a 'normal human being' instead of a corporate blank canvas.

I thought this was 'mastering' public speaking, until someone pointed out recently that my lisp still very much exists. I can't say 'th', something I'd somehow not realised about myself in the 31 years I have been alive, but clearly everybody else can.

It was quite ironic to then become extremely insecure about 'th'is, and follow my RSD / ADHD hyper-focus into being determined to find someone to help me change it.

In classic ADHD style, I didn't find what I actually needed (i.e a speech therapist), but ended up on an introductory call asking Matt Matheson - The Speaking Coach if he could incorporate 'th' skills into his public speaking coaching framework.

I was also so impressed with Matt that I impulsively decided to go ahead anyway. I really loved that he had a clear framework for coaching (like our ADHD Works Executive Functioning Coaching Model) and he ran the introductory call exactly how I train our coaches to, with a structure for psychological safety and clear boundaries.

Fast forward a few weeks later, and I am regretting this impulsive choice. It has accidentally thrown me out of my comfort zone, making me realise that the reason I avoid learning how to do things 'properly' is because it then makes me feel like a giant imposter, criticising everything I've ever done.

I am seeing my own ADHD struggles become vividly obvious again as I am in a learning environment, with homework and expectations. I beat myself up for forgetting to do my actions. I convince myself that I am not doing it properly. I wonder if I am doing things 'right'.

Fortunately, Matt is inherently ADHD-friendly in how he coaches. He's tailored his approach to me, let me reschedule when I was attempting to show up despite having covid, and made me feel incredibly comfortable at all times whilst pushing me out of my comfort zone.

This provides a safe enough learning space for me to keep showing up and trying, even though it's forcing me to face all of my insecurities. I learn how storytelling is 'supposed' to work, and realise I have been accidentally doing this throughout my life anyway.

I realise how odd it is that I've never taken a writing class (not even studying English Lit at ALevel), but I have written 4 books and am apparently a 'best selling' author. I did get an award for being the best at English Language at school, but I assumed this was because I was English, going to school in Cyprus.)

I realise that this is simply my ADHD child version of 'not trying' to even fit in or do things how they 'should' be done out of fear of failure and doing it wrong, especially when it comes to something I love.

I've never been able to write on command. I can write whatever is in my mind, but if someone tells me to write or create something, I find it extremely difficult. So, when I had to write a story of my own about a flying superpower using what I'd learned for coaching homework, I completely avoided it until the morning of my next session.

I beat myself up for the days before, knowing I should just sit down and write it, having blocked it out in my calendar. I was told I'd have to present it, and didn't even realise how resistant I was to this.

Instead, I woke up at 6am to write it, which I obviously didn't. After scrolling on social media for hours, I realised I had an hour left, and sat down to a blank screen, which was as blank as my mind. I just pasted all of the instructions into ChatGPT and copied it back over, feeling like that would be 'good enough'.

I told my partner who said it was cheating. I realised that it was a complete waste of both of my and Matt's time to turn up to coaching half-committed - the ultimate irony after training coaches on this all the time! I know exactly what it feels like to coach someone who is half-present and isn't truly enthusiastic about being there (try coaching teenagers with ADHD!).

I then reasoned that I shouldn't be wasting our time with coaching at all anyway, I clearly am not committed enough, and I probably don't even want to do public speaking anyway, so why am I even bothering to turn up? I started drafting an email in my head to quit, but got overwhelmed at how to word this without making Matt feel bad. I knew it was my problem, not his, but also knew that as a coach we just want the best for our clients.

I was also annoyed at myself, because this is exactly what I'd done with a stand up comedy course. I got so overwhelmed at the thought of having to actually write something and read it out in front of people that it became a weekly burden to stress out over every day, before I'd write something an hour before.

I'd then secretly re-write what I'd written as people delivered their routines, before standing up to read it out for the first time to us all. I quit half way through, which I'd turned into my best ADHD friendly, self-depreciating joke for my public speaking talks (aka the reason they aren't that funny, because I only did half a stand up course!).

I might have made this version work for me, but it also reinforced my narrative of being unable to stick to anything. It reinforced my pattern of not trying 'properly' (as in, by booking a stand up comedy course when I didn't even want to do stand up, but thought it might be so terrifying that corporate training on ADHD would feel easy), so I didn't feel as bad with 'nothing to lose'. I also felt a bit sad for myself that I wasn't able to just enjoy it like everybody else.

I looked at my ChatGPT story about flying through freshly cut grass scented fields and felt that same sadness. The feeling that I wasn't a 'real' writer, or speaker, or anything at all. I decided to just try out writing my own story, and if I still didn't like it, then to quit.

I find writing fiction or 'stories' very difficult, because it feels like masking, or lying. I was always the child in drama class that couldn't understand how other kids were able to pretend to be monkeys. I felt like even writing a story about something that wasn't real was masking, and it would be horrifically awkward and I wouldn't know where to start. I was sure that saying this out loud would expose as the terrible public speaker / writer that I was.

But 10 minutes later, I looked at the below story I'd written, and felt something I very rarely feel - pride. I'd managed to write it in a way that felt authentic, even though I sadly cannot fly:

'A few years ago, my life fell apart. I was standing on the graduation stage at my university, feeling my legal diploma heavy in my hands. As I looked out into the sea of people, I realised how different I felt - how different I'd felt for my whole life.

I'd heard the chatter about training contracts and job interviews for what felt like forever, and had tried my best to join in. Whereas everybody else I knew seemed so excited to start their careers, to me, this felt like a prison sentence.

I felt my legs turn to jelly as I smiled and posed for photos after my graduation ceremony, gulping champagne and feeling the bubbles rise up in my throat.

These bubbles felt like they were making their way into my brain, as the sound of popping filled my ears. I excused myself and rushed outside, my forehead pressing against the rough brick of the wall.

Suddenly, I pulled my head back in shock, as it had started to scrape against the wall - upwards. I realised my feet were no longer on the ground. The bubbles had taken over my body, and I was flying. I screamed as I saw the building grow smaller beneath me, but it felt like freedom. The screams turned to joy, laughter, peace.

I realised that this was where I was supposed to be. This was what it had all led up to: the confirmation that I was different. I didn't need to force myself into a box: I could go anywhere I wanted, and be anybody I wanted to be.

I saw a future spread out beneath me of oceans, adventures, mountains and cultures. I could see the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower, before tasting fresh seafood pasta in Italy. I could do anything I wanted.

From that moment on, I knew that I could live outside the box - the cubicle that awaited so many of my friends. As I felt my feet touch the ground again, I realised I was no longer holding my diploma, or any of the heaviness that I'd felt for so long. Finally, I was free.'

When Matt opened the session asking me how my week was, I told him ALL of the above, including that I'd chucked away a ChatGPT version first. I read him out the story, feeling far more confident than I ever had in 'public speaking' before.

Afterwards, he said that this coaching was an opportunity for growth in learning and also in seeing our natural strengths. As soon as he said 'opportunity for growth', my mind braced itself for rejection and criticism. I braced myself for the likely very valid specific negative feedback I would hear sandwiched in alongside 'you did this really well, though', but that's not what he said.

He said I had a real natural gift for writing, that I'd used descriptive language, and that I spoke it brilliantly. It was one of the most meaningful compliments I'd ever received. There was zero negative feedback, nothing to improve upon, just a suggestion to share this story with more people if I still didn't believe him.

By the end of the session, he said something to me that will stick in my mind forever:

It's not being less authentic, it's just crafting your toolkit.

I realised that trying to improve doesn't mean we were necessarily bad before. Learning, and trying, is vulnerable, especially for those of us with brains that process information differently. However, this is also where the rewards are, in vulnerability, growth, and meeting new versions of ourselves.

Everybody is a work in progress, and there's always more learning to do for us all. This is actually freedom from imposter syndrome, as it's what gives us personal responsibility and empowerment to grow.

Coaching with Matt gives me hope that there's teachers out there adopting similar styles for their students - who are patient, accepting, and adaptable to differences. Who won't tell them off for saying they were going to use ChatGPT, but give them a safe enough environment to decide not to.

This is why I wanted to train ADHD Works coaches, because our world needs people who can help ADHD-ers work with their brains and figure out how we're self-sabotaging. I never would have been able to understand I was masking or the impact of RSD without having had ADHD coaching, and wouldn't even be writing this now.

To join our free taster session on Thursday 15 August at 6pm, head here. You can also join our next training in September here, and access coaching here.

If you'd like me to come and read you a story on a stage (crying and terrible jokes possibly included), head here.