Sincerity Is Scary: What Social Media Doesn't Prepare You For as a Neurodivergent Creator

Posting through the imposter syndrome: ADHD, autistic masking, and being sincere online. Crimson Foster talks about their experience as a neurodivergent creator.

Since my ADHD diagnosis at the end of 2023, I've written articles about it. I had so much to say, and still do. Yet, now that I know people positively engage with my writing, something has changed. The anxiety has kicked in, like the bully it is.

But I can't stop.

Because I don't wanna stop.

So, I guess, I won't.

However, the urge to not be perceived is still ever-growing.

There's an interesting dissonance between my fundamental urge to share on social media and wanting to be some anonymous face in the crowd. Now, we could be somewhat extravagant and discuss how there's some tragic backstory at the core of this anxiety, perhaps related to past experiences of rejection or misunderstanding. There's probably something to that. But also, what if there's a secret, snazzy third reason I'm yet to discover?

Let's go back ten years, and you'll find a sixteen-year-old terrified of their own shadow: someone who felt embarrassed by and then attempted to mask their neurodivergence.

The remnants of this autistic masking are something I've carried into adulthood.

I've carried them in a metaphorical backpack, like a van-dwelling YouTuber with psychological issues. Yay. That backpack gets heavier when my stories stop being hypothetical and start cutting closer to the bone. The feeling of intimacy through my writing is thoroughly uncomfortable.

I've got a bunch of unfinished articles on my drug use, my ethnicity, and how all of it intersects with my neurodivergence, because the concept that I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve with them is spooky.

Let's not kid ourselves, however, because it's not as spooky as Midsommar (2019); it's just semi-spooky in the way a Tim Burton movie is.

It does seem like a contradiction to be going on about how it's hard to be vulnerable online with all my failed attempts at writing articles recently, whilst writing this one you're reading right now.

Mainly, this contradiction is prominent because the article you're reading also shows my vulnerability. Who knows why this particular article is pouring out so easily, while all the other articles I'm yet to finish aren't?

It's odd.

We can mine for an answer, though.

But before digging too deep, my brain would like to interrupt with a familiar heckle.

"Why don't you just not post your writing online?" cries the voice in my head!

Well, because no.

I like publishing on social media.

That's why.

But on a less facetious note, I'm a creative person who enjoys making things, and yes, I appreciate the attention I receive from strangers because of my writing. My articles on my ADHD and Autism force me to process how I feel about my conditions, and if people online can connect with that, then that's a bonus. That kid who's scared of their own shadow is still inside me, and pushing myself to talk about this shit on social media is a weird little solution which helps kill that anxiety.

If we're to be incredibly pedantic, I've technically been sharing online since I was nine: silly skits, weird videos, the works. This began around 2008. But none of that felt as intimate or autobiographical as what I write now.

It's almost as if I've unmasked with how I present myself online. That makes sense. I've also unmasked a great deal offline, too, as I'm becoming more and more comfortable with my neurodivergence. As I've shifted from those old comedy sketches I made as a child to these more personal pieces of writing today, the line between my personality offline and my online persona has blurred.

That's what spooks me.

There's an emotional difference between sharing a relatively insincere comedy sketch and a personal essay about the bleakest parts of my psyche. Every other post these days feels like I'm sharing an authentic part of my soul, which the world can judge. It's not like I'm inherently adverse to posting any neurodivergent-related content. If I were adverse to it, I wouldn't do it. But the feeling of putting myself out there, in a sincere fashion, is something I'm still getting used to,because I spent two decades doing the opposite in my personal life.

In real-time, I'm forcing myself to break the cycle on a stage of my creation. This is a stage I crave for you to voyeur at, yet I also cringe when the voyeurism I ask for occurs.

That's arguably why I'm okay with this vulnerable article, but I still feel that thorough discomfort with other articles, which are at least equally vulnerable to this one you're reading.

It's a work in progress.

It's not like some costly therapy sessions cured me enough to be a wellness coach or become a cult-leader. I'm less scared of my shadow than that annoying teenage version of myself, but I'm not at the finish line, hence all the lovely contradictions that are so common in anyone.

There's a tremendous push and pull between what I get from writing my articles versus what people seemingly get from reading them. From what I've gathered from messages and comments I receive, at least some people can relate to or find some value in reading my articles. It's heartwarming. And for me, on a personal level, it's almost rewiring all those negative thoughts I had about myself growing up.

Teenaged me hated that I'm neurodivergent, and would keep it a secret.

The fear of embarrassment was intense.

No one was allowed to see what I was.

But that fear is slowly evaporating as the years go by. Putting what I write out there helps speed up self-love and break that cycle. I get that catharsis from being validated by other neurodivergent peeps, and all the positive feedback is teaching me that my neurodivergent traits aren't fundamentally unlikable. We're doing therapy on some big stage. But the discomfort of being perceived is still substantial. There's something to the feeling of enjoying the praise I garner for my writing, yet feeling like a fraud.

Social media has allowed me to curate this idea of myself.

An idea I composed.

Even though this, for lack of a better term, character I've created for myself is nothing more than just a larger version of who I am naturally, it still feels like I'm acting. Well, that's because everyone is, on some level, when they're posting online, or in any social situation.

Like, obviously, but it just trips me out.

I've become hyper-aware of that fact lately.

Similarly to how I mentioned earlier, the persona I've crafted online and my offline personality are slowly becoming meshed together. If anything, it's now just a big, fluffy ball of quirky, wormy vibes. These lines between the two versions of myself are blurring because I was trying too hard to be this thing I'll never be when I started making content on the internet. Even when I was ten and creating those YouTube videos, I was unconsciously aiming to be neurotypical.

I've stopped that now.

But since becoming sincere in my online persona, the thoughts of not being qualified enough for this bullshit have come into play.

There are still voices in my head telling me that vulnerability in my creative output, which people respond to, isn't good enough. They tell me I don't know enough to be here on my soapbox. They tell me the world won't care if I let them continue seeing the more authentic version of myself.

That's the paradox of being seen: you crave connection but fear the impact.

Anxiety is a very mean disorder. It's just your brain bullying you.

If I were to be incredibly on the nose with the theme of this article, it'd be this: imposter syndrome is a twat. Who am I? Some dude with whom a small number of people engage with online?

A small number of people is still a number of people, however.

The responses to my work push me to keep writing; new writing sparks more positive responses. It's a circle. Being scared of sincerity is silly.

I won't stop writing, because it's one of the only ways I can express myself. The articles will keep happening, but simultaneously, maybe that's why I'm itching to get back into fiction, where I can explore the same stuff from behind a character. There's already a short story in the works, which will be dropped on my Substack soon.

This wasn't the article I meant to write: I kept circling other topics, but this one poured out naturally. Maybe it's because social media raised me. It gave me the weirdest influences (yes, I still remember that Harry Potter puppet video) and a place to scream into the void. And weirdly, sometimes, the void screams back.

The secret to self-acceptance might be shouting into the void until it starts yelling back, 'same.'

This article shares the personal experiences of someone with ADHD but is not intended to provide medical advice. The experiences of ADHD are not universally applicable and may not reflect the experiences of all neurodivergent individuals. If you are concerned about ADHD or its symptoms, please seek help from a qualified healthcare professional. For more information, go to https://adhduk.co.uk