Emma Talks about Imposter Syndrome and feeling “not good enough”

One of the things I most dislike about being neurodivergent is the constant feeling that anything I do is just not good enough - that I'm just not good enough.

This belief makes me suffer with constant and sometimes debilitating anxiety (not that you’d know because I’m an expert masker), living as if I’m going to be found out at any moment and that people will put two and two together and discover the truth of the matter: that I am actually a big messy waste-of-space hiding behind the facade that I’m OK.

You see, in my head there are two voices: one telling me that I should be proud of myself (after all, despite leaving school early and having to navigate the world without the knowledge I was an undiagnosed autistic with ADHD most of my life, I still managed to do two degrees and train as a Vicar, all in my 30’s and with a young child) and the other which constantly tells me I’m getting it all wrong, everything I do, say and think is rubbish, that I just can’t cope as well as others, and that I have kidded my way through life, convincing people I’m doing OK - hiding behind a mask of adequacy - when underneath, I’m anything but.

And I’m not alone, almost every autistic or ADHD person I have shared that with has said something similar. Which feels really sad because generally those folk are amongst the hardest working, most intelligent, creative, wonderful individuals you are ever likely to meet. I don’t know if there’s any research to support this, but I think it’s safe to say that imposter syndrome and low self-esteem amongst neurodivergents is rife. So, what is it that makes us feel this way?

Well, I have a theory.

Firstly - 'Winging it'. Those of us who are ND have spent the whole of our lives struggling and striving to do things in the way that is expected of us and failing, and so being forced to find our own unique ways of working or coping. Which either means everything takes so much longer, or that we must find ‘work arounds’, which often feel like 'cheats'.

A good example of this is that I wrote my BA dissertation in 24 hours. I recently told my therapist that I did no work on it until 24 hours before... which on reflection was completely untrue. I knew exactly what I was going to write, I'd had to coax my brain into finding novel ways of learning as I found it so difficult to listen in lectures and read; I had a vast collection of quotes, ideas and references, all that I'd been scribbling down on pieces of paper for months, and the chapters and conclusion had been forming for a year in my head, the question was constantly on my mind and I would talk about it with anyone who would listen...

…but, I couldn't put anything down on paper until the day before, when I just zoomed into hyperfocus mode and turned out a piece of work that got me a 2.1 in Theology and Biblical Studies from the University of Manchester. It felt dishonest, after all, everyone else had a brain that could have done it the 'proper' way and didn't have to forgo eating, drinking and going to the toilet for 24 hours to get theirs done... it felt as if I cheated, like I’d just 'winged-it' and that my achievement was somehow less.

Secondly - Masking - if we find we can't find our own way round it or if we can't 'wing it' (or sometimes if we're seen to be doing it 'differently') – we’re then forced to have to listen to the diatribe of criticism and correction that our neurotypical friends, family, colleagues, teachers so very kindly feel we would benefit from hearing... which considering criticism is something we NDs are often extra sensitive to (probably from all of the above) really stings. Most of us are trying our very best just to keep our heads above water, we really don’t need to hear what others think we are doing wrong. And so, what we are forced to do to escape this, is ‘pretend’ or ‘mask’ that we’re getting along like everyone else. Not only do we have to find novel, out of the box, ways around doing tasks that everyone else seems to be able to do in the blink of an eye... we also have to pretend we're doing it just like everyone else and keep up the pretence. No wonder we are constantly drained!

And lastly – We believe it because it’s what we're told - it's thought that neurodivergent children have heard approximately 20,000 more negative or critical comments by the age of 10 than their neurotypical peers. Just imagine the damage that does to a child’s confidence and self-worth, especially to children who already find the world a confusing and overwhelming place to be. Throw this in the mix with an increased risk of trauma, abuse and bullying, and a shameful lack of support for both neurodivergent children and adults and it’s no surprise we end up feeling so badly about ourselves.

It's what the world tells us we are - wrong, not good enough, disordered and dysfunctional. I believe I am a big messy waste-of-space because that is how the world has made me feel - and so any achievement I make, the good I do, the successes that others can celebrate - I just can't... I brush them off and turn them around, and cringe... because I feel like an imposter and at any moment others will realise too.

As liberating as the diagnosis has been, I’ve been labelled with ‘autism spectrum disorder’ – so my autistic brain, according to the medical profession and to anyone who is interested in labels, is disordered… how else do you expect me to feel? That’s why it’s so pleasing to see so many now using ‘autism spectrum condition’ … although I’m not sure that’s without issue either.

And that makes me so sad because I know deep down that I have overcome more than most could bear and that it is a genuine miracle that I’ve managed to get to where I am today, and I mean, 'in one piece' as much as anything else. I also know that the work I do is important and makes a tiny, but positive difference to those I minister to, especially those who like me who are autistic, have ADHD, or have felt ‘on the edge’ for whatever reason. And I know I work flippin’ hard and overthink literally every word, step or action I take; I am definitely not ‘winging’ anything.

So I’m going to give up using the term ‘winging-it’ because it’s an untrue and unhelpful term. What I do is find ways of working, living, relating, speaking, and ministering in ways that my brain finds able. These are what HR would call ‘reasonable adjustments’. I make adjustments for myself because I am a neurodivergent woman living in a world where the rules and norms are set by neurotypical people – by people who think differently to me.  This is not cheating; these are ways I need to work so I can thrive not just survive.

And I’m going to talk about these adjustments and about why I need to make them for myself as much as I can, even when it’s uncomfortable and when people start to get sick of hearing about my autistic / ADHD brain.

And I’m going to do this because:

1.     talking raises awareness that some people do think differently, that our brains are different, and that’s OK.  

2.     talking raises awareness of the challenges that neurodivergent people face every day, those that that prevent us from accessing education, work, healthcare, relationships, and finding belonging (note to self: even in the church).

3.     and most importantly, because perhaps if I use the bit of privilege, I have to be heard to educate others, then perhaps neurodivergent children will hear less of the 20,000 extra critical and negative comments it’s thought they hear by the age they’re 10 years old. That’s such an awful approximation… no wonder so many of us as autistic and other ND adults feel we aren’t good enough and that we can’t do anything right. I’m not encouraging you in any way to do the same, I just know I have the privilege to be heard when I speak as a clergy person.

So although I know I’m not a big messy waste-of-space, it will take me some time to unlearn what I’ve been taught and told most of my life… and what occasionally the world still tells me I am. Until then I’ll have to continue to find ways to cope with the anxiety and be brave in my speaking out. I may seem confident but I’m not really, but as I’ve begun to realise more and more the above has become tied with my sense of vocation, and when you feel the God who made you just the way you are put a message in your heart to share with the world, it does make you brave… even when you’re terrified and can’t find the words to say half the time.

With many thanks,

Rev’d Emma Speake

Vicar at St. Andrew’s Church Grange, Runcorn