Carrying Weight No One Asked You to Hold: How I Stopped Living by Invisible Rules
Picture it. Georgia, 2025: You miss posting your weekly podcast episode, and suddenly you're lying awake at 2 AM, convinced you've betrayed your entire audience. Never mind that your "entire audience" consists of maybe a dozen regular listeners. Never mind that half of them probably didn't even notice. In your head, you've committed the ultimate sin of inconsistency.
I used to know this feeling very intimately. During our recent move, I couldn't dedicate substantial time to my work for 13 consecutive days—no podcast, no business development, and no book writing. The old me would have spiraled into shame so deep it became impossible to get back on track.
But here's what I've learned: that crushing weight of imaginary disappointment? It was never real, and more importantly, it was never necessary.
The Stories We Used to Tell Ourselves
Then: My ADHD brain would latch onto perceived failures with laser focus, while my autistic brain filled social uncertainty with worst-case scenarios. My trauma brain whispered that disappointing people meant danger, that I needed perfection to be worthy of love. A missed podcast became evidence of fundamental unreliability. I'd construct elaborate narratives about everyone's disappointment without a single piece of evidence.
Now: I recognize these patterns as rejection sensitivity dysphoria in action—my brain treating imagined criticism like a physical threat. When I notice the spiral starting, I pause and ask: "What evidence do I actually have that people are upset?" The answer is almost always none. I've learned to separate my internal emotional experience from external reality.
The neurodivergent brain is brilliant at filling gaps with anxiety. The key is catching it in the act and choosing not to believe every story it tells.
The Invisible Rulebook We Create
Then: I operated by an exhausting set of standards that existed only in my head:
Never miss a deadline, even self-imposed ones
Always exceed expectations to compensate for being "too much"
If you mess up, punish yourself with extra work until you've earned forgiveness
I was judge, jury, and prisoner in a court that never closed, following rules no one else knew existed.
Now: I understand that these rules were survival mechanisms that outlived their usefulness. I've replaced them with reality-based principles:
Consistency matters more than perfection
My worth isn't tied to my productivity
Self-compassion accelerates recovery from setbacks
The exhausting part about those old rules? I was the only one enforcing them. Once I realized I could rewrite the rulebook entirely, everything changed.
The Meta-Shame Trap (this one’s a doozy)
Then: I'd torture myself over imaginary disappointment, then torture myself for being narcissistic enough to think I mattered that much. It was an impossible catch-22: "Everyone is judging you" versus "You're self-absorbed to think anyone cares."
My autism craved consistency, so missing self-imposed deadlines felt like a moral failing. My ADHD made me rejection-sensitive, so I assumed everyone noticed and cared. My trauma brain reminded me I was "too big for my britches" to think my actions mattered enough to disappoint anyone.
Now: I see this pattern for what it is: a trauma response disguised as humility. The truth is, caring deeply about your impact on others isn't narcissistic. It's actually evidence of a conscientious heart. The problem was never the caring; it was the stories I told myself about that caring.
I've learned to hold one truth in each hand: I matter enough to have an impact on people, AND most people are too busy with their own lives to scrutinize mine with the intensity I once assumed.
Closing the Reality Gap
Then: I'd create elaborate dramas in my mind that played to empty theaters. I'd carry the weight of imaginary disappointment while the people I was supposedly disappointing had moved on entirely.
Now: When I finally posted again after our move, the response was exactly what it should have been: minimal. One person mentioned they were glad I was back. That's it. No angry comments, no disappointed emails, no mass exodus. The gap between my internal experience and external reality had been vast enough to drive a truck through.
This taught me the most liberating truth: most of my "failures" that feel monumental to me barely register as blips on anyone else's radar. It’s also perfectly normal to need an occasional reminder of this. Just because I’ve learned how to recognize these mind traps and, for the most part, wrangle them into submission, doesn’t mean that they don’t break free occasionally like an unruly 2-year-old.
A Different Way Forward
The shift isn't about thinking your way out of deeply wired patterns—it's about building new responses alongside the old ones. Here's what works:
Evidence-based thinking: When you catch yourself spiraling, ask, "What evidence do I have that people are upset?" Usually, there isn't any.
The friend test: Imagine a friend telling you they missed following through on a commitment. Would you think they were unreliable? Of course not. You'd offer understanding and perspective.
Redefining consistency: Perfect adherence to schedules isn't consistency—showing up imperfectly over time is.
Understanding your wiring: Your hypervigilance makes you incredibly attuned to others' needs. Your perfectionism drives you to create beautiful things. Your sensitivity allows deep connections. These aren't flaws to fix—they're strengths to channel wisely.
You're Carrying Weight That Was Never Yours
If you recognize yourself in these patterns, please understand this: you don't need to earn your place in other people's lives through perfect performance. Most of the standards you're holding yourself to exist only in your head. The people who matter will love you through the ugly, imperfect, beautifully human moments.
The hypervigilance that now exhausts you once kept you safe. The perfectionism that tortures you also creates extraordinary work. The sensitivity that feels overwhelming allows you to connect with others. You're not damaged goods—you're wired differently in a world that doesn't always understand that wiring.
The invisible expectations you're carrying? Much of that weight was never yours to hold in the first place.
Ready to put down some of that weight? If this resonates with you, you're not alone in whatever burden you think you're carrying by yourself. The path forward isn't about becoming someone different—it's about understanding how your beautiful, complex brain works and giving it what it actually needs to thrive. Let’s chat!
What invisible expectations are you ready to release? I'd love to help you identify the rules you never agreed to follow and create new ones that actually serve you.
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About the Author
Gal is an autistic artist, late-diagnosed at 49, and the creator of AuRTistic Expressions—a space where neurodivergent truth meets creative survival. Through blog posts, printables, courses, and the “This Might Get Messy” podcast, Gal explores what it means to unmask safely, communicate authentically, and make art that doesn’t ask for permission. Stick around—there’s plenty more where this came from.
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Cover Photo by Mahendra Putra on Unsplash
