Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (and me)

I was recently asked by a recruiter how they can best support neurodivergent people. The first thing that came to mind was a challenging feature of my neurodivergence: Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, or RSD.

RSD is related to emotional dysregulation. Sufferers experience emotional and physical pain from real or imagined rejection. That pain is usually sudden, overwhelming, and debilitating, and is out of proportion to the triggering event. Simply imagining a scenario where I might be rejected can trigger feelings in my body as if a polar bear is rearing up to claw me. My body is convinced I’m in profound harm’s way. We all experience rejections big and small every day, so the pain can be immensely draining over time.

That painful internal response can then also trigger an equally disproportionate outburst. My recruiter friend had certainly been on the receiving end of this when delivering bad news. I told him that his friendly communication was simply a trigger, and to try not to take it personally. I have (and want) people to have compassion for this suffering, but I also don’t want this understanding to sound like an excuse for poor behaviour. It might be difficult but people with RSD can learn to expect, understand and modify their reactions, which can go a long way to reducing the pain in the moment and the feelings of guilt that often follow from overreacting.

I’ve seen firsthand how this can affect both myself and others. My own RSD story is an example of how powerful these reactions can be, and how much growth is possible when you learn to recognise and manage them.

It was a few years ago that I finally named this pain. A job I was excited about, and believed I was certain to get, fell through. The intense feelings of rejection were debilitating, leaving me winded and in pain for hours. My outward reaction was anger and blame that I couldn’t mask (not that I’ve ever been great at masking my feelings!). That behaviour, and previous RSD-related reactions, ruined the collegial relationships I had with those people. I didn’t want to feel or behave this way any more.

Consciously reflecting on the event and my response, something finally clicked. This event, the feelings of being in imminent danger, and my reaction did not add up. Even though my emotions felt deeply true, I realised I had to risk disbelieving them for now.

I researched and discovered RSD. This was the clue that started me on a journey of unpacking some old wounds, habits, and self-beliefs, while also developing healthy coping strategies. I’ve learned how much choice and power I have over my reactions to rejection, and how to respond with better proportion.

Nowadays I embrace and seek out feedback and criticism, a stark contrast to the attitude I had when I discovered RSD. I doubt I’ll ever be “cured”—my body is sensitive and hypervigilant. It’s always a work, especially when my face shows how I’m feeling inside!

P.S.

RSD definitely doesn’t go away, it just gets better managed. While I was writing this post, I received a notification on my phone: an automated email from an Applicant Tracking System, with a formulaic “Thanks for applying, but we went with another candidate” message. I could feel the tightness in my chest and the buzzing in my head immediately. I could feel the embarrassment rising, even though nobody in this coffee shop where I’m writing has anything to do with me!

Rational me knows it’s probably a recruitment team relying a little too much on automation; perhaps I didn’t have the right buzz words? I probably got rejected without human interaction. I have plenty of feelings about +that+ even when I’m not experiencing RSD. As I ground myself, I can accept that it’s not personal, even though it feels (in this moment) like a deeply personal judgement on my person. I can accept that this specific rejection, in its opaqueness, doesn’t mean or tell me anything.

Further reading

P.S.