You don't belong here!!

I’ve heard that voice more times than I can count. It creeps in during the quiet moments, usually right after something good happens.

Maybe I’ve supported a young neurodivergent person into employment, or I’m about to speak to a room full of people about building neuro-inclusive workplaces.

A pesky automatic thought “You don’t belong here.”

For me, imposter syndrome doesn’t always show up as loud self-doubt. It’s subtle, like a background hum. It’s in the way I overprepare for meetings, convinced that if I don’t, people will finally realise I’m not as competent as they thought. It’s in the times I downplay my achievements, brushing off 20 years of experience as a learning disability nurse like it’s nothing special.

How mamy times have you been complimented and said “it was only a fiver”.

Where the firk does that come from? To receive a compliment and worry that you’ll be seen as too boastful, not modest enough to be liked.

It’s even in how I sometimes hesitate to fully own my identity as a founder, because who am I to lead a not-for-profit?

But here’s what people don’t talk about enough: imposter syndrome doesn’t just affect how we feel; it shows up in the way we interact with the world. And if you’re neurodivergent like me, it hits even harder.

How Imposter Syndrome Shows Up in Ways We Don’t Recognise

1. Overcompensating to “Prove” Yourself I’ve spent hours refining projects, diving into the smallest details, not because I needed to but because I felt like I had to. ADHD adds another layer here. When you’re used to struggling with executive function, it’s easy to think that any success is a fluke, that you’ve got to work twice as hard just to keep up. But what if the drive to overcompensate isn’t proof of incompetence, but a sign you’ve internalised the idea that you’re always one step behind?
2. Minimising Achievements When Spectrum Dynamics started gaining traction, I caught myself saying things like, “Oh, it’s just a small project,” even though I was building something that mattered. Why do we do that? For me, it’s tied to a fear that if I own my success, people will challenge it—and worse, I’ll believe they’re right.
3. Avoiding Opportunities Imposter syndrome convinces you to shrink. I’ve said no to speaking gigs or partnerships because I thought, “What if they realise I’m not as knowledgeable as they think?” But here’s the twist: the only reason those opportunities came my way is because I am knowledgeable. Imposter syndrome thrives when we let fear guide our decisions.
4. The Comparison Trap Social media is brutal for this. I’d scroll through posts from other founders or advocates and think, “They’ve got it all figured out. I’m just winging it.” But here’s what I’ve learned: nobody has it all figured out. We’re all just navigating life with the tools we have—and for some of us, those tools include a neurodivergent brain that works differently but is no less capable.

The Hidden Ableism in Imposter Syndrome

Here’s something I’ve been reflecting on: the way society stigmatises people who use tools to support their thinking, especially AI. There’s this unspoken assumption that if you use technology to organise your thoughts, generate ideas, or manage executive function, you’re somehow cheating or less capable.

Let’s call that what it is: ableist nonsense.

People wouldn’t bat an eye if I used a calendar to keep track of appointments or a calculator for complex maths.

For those of us with ADHD or other neurodivergent conditions, tools like AI aren’t shortcuts, they’re extensions of how we process the world. They help bridge the gap between our ideas and execution. And using them doesn’t diminish the value of our work; it enhances it.

The stigma around using support tools isn’t just outdated, it’s exclusionary. Like when soellcheck came out and they said it would dumb us down. It reinforces the idea that unless you can perform like people who think in expected ways, your contributions are somehow less valid.

That’s the real imposter here, not us.

Reframing the Narrative

Imposter syndrome thrives in isolation and silence. But what if feeling like an imposter isn’t a sign that you don’t belong?

What if it’s proof that you’re pushing into spaces that are uncomfortable, which is how we all grow.

My ADHD doesn’t disqualify me from leading a not-for-profit or advocating for neuro-inclusion. It’s the very thing that gives me the insight, creativity, and strong sense of justice to challenge the systems that make people feel like they don’t belong.

So, if you’ve ever felt like an imposter, I see you. But I’m here to tell you: you DO belong here.

The very fact that you’re questioning your place means you care enough to show up with authenticity.

That’s not weakness.

That’s courage.