Sitting with the Win: Navigating Success with a Neurodivergent Brain

At Beyond the Balcony, I often explore the messy, beautiful intersections of creativity, identity, and growth. Today, I want to share something more personal—something I know many neurodivergent folks, especially those with AuDHD, will understand all too well: the struggle to fully embrace success.

 

One of the quieter battles many of us face is not just earning a win—but believing we deserve it. For me, this comes from a deeply rooted, negative core belief: the feeling that I’m somehow lesser than or not good enough. Therapy is helping me uncover where those beliefs were planted—often in childhood, shaped by hurtful experiences with authority figures and peers who dismissed or belittled me when I most needed encouragement. 

 And here’s where the wonderfully complex neurodivergent brain kicks in to make things even trickier. I don’t just wrestle with self-doubt in the general sense. I live with specific challenges that reinforce these thoughts at a neurological level: 

🔹 Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD): RSD means my brain is wired to expect rejection, failure, or criticism—even when it isn’t there. So when something good happens? I assume it’s a mistake or a temporary fluke. My brain can’t accept that something positive might just… be true. 

🔹 Perfectionism & ADHD: ADHD can cause black-and-white thinking—so if something isn’t perfect, it feels like a total failure. I’ve landed incredible opportunities or accomplished something I should be proud of, only to immediately dismiss it because it wasn’t flawless. 

🔹 Pattern Recognition Gone Wrong: One of the gifts of ADHD and autism is our strong pattern recognition. But it becomes a trap when those patterns are based on past trauma or negative experiences. If I was overlooked, dismissed, or misunderstood in the past, my brain treats that as the rule. So when success shows up? My brain panics. “This doesn’t fit the pattern. Something must be wrong.” 

In the past few months, I’ve had several big wins—things that, by any measure, should be moments of pride. But my brain keeps trying to pour pond scum over them. 

 

• I landed a major role in a local theater production… but convinced myself they only cast me to keep my family in the show. 

•  A LinkedIn post of mine went viral with over 200,000 views… and I assumed it was just an algorithm glitch. 

•  A client gave me incredible praise for my writing… and I figured they must’ve confused me with someone else. 

• The Movie Breakdown podcast is getting major hosting offers… and I had to confirm (twice) they didn’t mix us up with another show. 

•  Someone told me I was a talented writer… and I thought, “They’re just being nice because they know I’m struggling.” 

•  A friend invited me to hang out… and I assumed I was their last resort. 

•  I met amazing new people this past year… and I couldn’t shake the feeling they found me awkward and only put up with me because they liked my family. 

•  I hear praise for someone else… and instantly interpret it as, “But you suck.” 

I know these beliefs aren’t healthy. I know they don’t reflect reality. But knowing that and feeling it in my bones are two different things. 

 

Still, I’m trying something new. I’m learning to sit with the win. Even if my brain tells me I didn’t earn it, I’m practicing staying with the moment a little longer. Letting it exist. Letting the praise land. Trying to celebrate instead of critique. And even if I didn’t earn that win completely (though let’s be real—I probably did), it still happened. It still counts. That still means something. 

Here on Beyond the Balcony, I want to keep creating space for honest reflection—for celebrating our stories, our messiness, and our victories. If your brain also tries to disqualify your joy, know this: you’re not alone. Let’s practice sitting with the win. Let’s help each other hold onto it. Because every creative soul, every neurodivergent mind, every perfectly imperfect person deserves to feel proud sometimes. 

And this? This is me trying.