- Introduction
- Why I created the R.U.D Process®
- What is Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria?
- RSD does not mean the rejection was imagined
- When RSD looks like silence
- Freeze is not an absence of feeling
- When speaking feels safer for one woman
- When silence confirms the original fear
- Overgiving in the hope of becoming irreplaceable
- The racialised cost of visibility
- Recognising the Four S’s
- Unravelling and understanding the layers
- Diffusing and developing steady words
- RSD-informed support for neurodivergent relationships
Rejection sensitivity, freeze and the R.U.D Process® through a neurodivergent, mixed-heritage and third-culture-kid (TCK) lens
One person says:
“I love you. I want this relationship. I choose you. It’s my dream”
The other says:
“You need to make your own decision. I don’t want to pressure you.”
It may be tempting to assume that the first person loves more. Their feelings are visible, affectionate, confident and unmistakable.
But what if the quieter person feels just as deeply?
What if they recognise that the decision belongs to the other person – and refuse to persuade, pressure or make that choice for them?
Respecting somebody’s autonomy does not mean the outcome matters less. This is where rejection sensitivity dysphoria may shape the experience.
They may still long to be chosen, while asking directly feels dangerous because hearing “no” may not register as one person’s decision – it may appear to confirm everything they already fear about themselves.
Why I created the R.U.D Process®
A few years ago, I created the R.U.D Process®, but its roots reach much further back.
I spent much of my life moving into freeze when experiences felt overwhelming. I could feel everything happening inside me, but I could not always recognise, understand or communicate what was happening before the moment had passed.
Sometimes the words arrived hours, days or even years later.
I created the R.U.D Process® for neurodiverse people who may experience that same gap between what is happening internally and what they can recognise, make sense of or communicate externally.
The R.U.D Process® is a simple, repeatable framework:
Recognise → Unravel & Understand → Diffuse & Develop
Although it can be used to explore relationships and communication, it is not limited to a particular problem or situation. It can be applied to anything – a reaction, behaviour, decision, recurring pattern, difficult experience or everyday moment that we want to understand differently.
At its heart, the R.U.D Process® uses self-awareness as a catalyst for change through micro-moments.
A micro-moment might be noticing a change in our nervous-system state, recognising the story we are beginning to create, becoming aware of a sensation in our body or pausing before following a familiar behavioural pattern.
The process does not tell people what they should feel or rush them towards a solution. It helps us gather information, become curious about what may be happening beneath the surface and notice where a different response might become possible.
Awareness does not automatically change everything. But it can create the first small opening for choice.
When these micro-moments are noticed and practised repeatedly, they can begin to support steady, sustainable change.
Next week, I have the privilege of presenting the R.U.D Process® and What’s My State? as research posters at the Polyvagal Institute Gathering in Barcelona.
To see something created from my lived experience, clinical work and years of feeling frozen being shared in that space means more to me than I can easily express.
Although freezing and immobility had been recognised long before Polyvagal Theory, Dr Stephen Porges’s work gave me a framework for understanding immobilisation and shutdown as nervous-system responses to threat. It helped me make sense of my own lifelong experience of freeze – not as weakness, failure or a lack of motivation, but as protection.
What is Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria?
Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria – often shortened to RSD – is a term commonly used to describe an intense emotional and physical response to rejection, criticism or the belief that we have disappointed somebody.
RSD is not currently a formal diagnosis, and it does not affect every neurodivergent person. However, many ADHD and autistic people recognise the experience.
It may feel like:
- a sudden drop in the stomach;
- heat moving through the body;
- tightness in the chest or throat;
- an overwhelming sense of shame;
- an urgent need to defend ourselves;
- repeatedly replaying an interaction;
- ghosting due to intense shame;
- withdrawing before somebody can reject us again;
- becoming unable to find or say the words we need.
RSD does not always look like an emotional outburst.
It may look like silence, freezing, masking, humour, perfectionism, people-pleasing, overgiving or pushing somebody away.
Sometimes the nervous system is responding to an old alarm.
Sometimes there really is smoke in the room.
Often, it is both.
RSD does not mean the rejection was imagined
One of the dangers of talking about RSD is that it can become another way of invalidating somebody:
“You’re overthinking.”
“You’re taking it too personally.”
“That’s just your rejection sensitivity.”
But what if the person was genuinely rejected?
What if they were welcomed privately but hidden publicly?
What if her care, emotional support or body were accepted, but they were not acknowledged as somebody worthy of an open and respectful relationship?
What if another person was permitted to occupy the visible position while they were expected to remain quiet?
RSD may turn up the volume of an experience. That does not mean there was nothing making a sound.
A nervous-system response can be shaped by earlier wounds while still communicating something important about what is happening in the present relationship.
My work is not about deciding that somebody is simply “too sensitive”. It is about helping people explore:
- what happened;
- what their nervous system detected;
- what meaning they made;
- what earlier experiences may have been activated;
- what cultural and relational context may be present;
- what they might need now.
When RSD looks like silence
RSD can sometimes portrayed as an emotional outburst or a repeated need for reassurance. It can look like that – but it can also look like silence.
It can look like being asked what is wrong and saying, “Nothing,” because speaking feels impossible.
It can look like refusing to ask somebody to choose you or fulfil your needs because direct rejection would feel unbearable.
It can look like laughing while describing something deeply painful.
It can sound like:
“It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“I can laugh about it.”
“Make your own decision.”
The words may sound detached, but underneath them could be an unspoken conversation:
I want you to choose me.
I need to know that I matter.
I am frightened that you are ashamed of me.
I cannot ask directly because your answer might confirm everything I already fear.
If they never asks to be chosen, they never have to hear a direct refusal.
That can preserve dignity in the short term. It can also make it easier for other people to underestimate what they feel.
Freeze is not an absence of feeling
The following sections use the example of two women to explore how these different protective responses might appear within the same relational situation.
A woman for example in freeze may appear detached, passive or indecisive.
She may struggle to respond in the moment. She may agree to something she does not really want because she cannot immediately access a “no”.
She may watch an interaction unfold while feeling unable to participate in it or access either a clear “yes” or “no”.
Later, when her nervous system has more capacity, the words may return. Or those stories may remain unsaid for years, replaying on a loop in her mind.
She may suddenly understand why something hurt, what she needed to say or which boundary was crossed.
By then, somebody else may ask:
“Why didn’t you say something at the time?”
But the inability to speak in the moment does not mean the experience was acceptable.
Freeze is not consent.
Silence is not indifference.
Delayed understanding does not make the understanding less valid.
When speaking feels safer for one person
Another woman for example in the same situation may feel more able to say:
“I love you.”
“I want this relationship.”
“I want people to know that we are together.”
That directness is not automatically controlling. It may be clear, honest and affectionate.
However, we do not all enter relationships with the same expectation of being heard.
A woman with greater racial, cultural or relational privilege may have learned that expressing her needs is unlikely to cost her belonging.
She may expect her feelings to influence what happens next.
A neurodivergent woman of colour may be making a more complicated calculation:
- Will I be rejected if I say what I need?
- Will I be labelled jealous, dramatic or oversensitive?
- Will my directness be interpreted as aggression?
- If I ask somebody to choose me, will I ever know whether the choice was genuine?
- Will speaking honestly cost me the relationship altogether?
Privilege is not only being heard.
Sometimes it is the expectation that speaking will not cost you love, safety or belonging.
The more confident woman’s feelings become visible and actionable. The quieter woman’s feelings remain private and may be mistaken for uncertainty or indifference.
Loud love can then be treated as deeper more authentic love simply because it is easier to see.
When silence confirms the original fear
Silence can create a painful cycle:
- A person anticipates rejection, so they withhold what they need.
- Other people assume they do not need or want very much.
- The more outspoken person receives recognition.
- They experiences this as confirmation that they matter less.
- Their rejection sensitivity becomes stronger.
- They experience this as confirmation that they matter less. They withdraw, mask, dysregulate visibly or overgive rather than speaking directly.
They may even push somebody away while desperately wanting closeness.
From the outside, this may appear contradictory. Internally, it can make protective sense:
If I leave first, I retain some control over the rejection.
The tragedy is that protective behaviour can contribute to the outcome the person feared – not because the rejection was their fault, but because nobody understood what the behaviour was protecting.
Overgiving in the hope of becoming irreplaceable
Rejection sensitivity does not always result in withdrawal. Sometimes it produces extraordinary helpfulness.
A person may become the dependable listener, organiser, cook, problem-solver, emotional support or financial safety net.
They may continue giving long after the relationship has stopped being reciprocal.
Their generosity may be completely genuine. But beneath it, there may also be a quieter hope:
If I become useful enough, perhaps I will become valuable enough to keep.
This is where caring for somebody can gradually become abandoning ourselves.
A helpful question might be:
Would I still offer this if I knew with certainty that it would not make this person choose, love or return to me?
If that question produces fear or panic, the giving may no longer be entirely free.
The racialised cost of visibility
A person of colour, a third-culture kid (TCK), or somebody of mixed heritage may already have spent years navigating questions of identity and belonging.
- Where do I fit?
- Who sees me as one of them?
- Which parts of myself must I soften, explain or hide?
They may have experienced being considered too much in one environment and not enough in another. They may have learned that directness is interpreted differently depending on who is speaking.
They may have been described as aggressive when they were clear, difficult when they established a boundary or oversensitive when they named racism.
They may therefore wrap painful truths in cushioning:
- “Perhaps I got it wrong.”
- “I don’t want to cause trouble.”
- “I understand that you have your own way of coping.”
- “I’m not asking for anything.”
These words do not necessarily indicate an absence of anger.
They may represent a nervous system asking:
Can I tell the truth without being punished for how I tell it?
For example if a white person is publicly recognised while a person of colour is privately desired but hidden, the injury may connect with something much larger than one relationship.
It may reinforce the belief:
People like them have more right to be seen than people like me.
We should not assume that every relational experience is racialised. But neither should we remove race from the conversation simply because acknowledging it feels uncomfortable.
Recognising the Four S’s
The first stage of the R.U.D Process® is Recognise.
Rather than beginning with “Am I overreacting?”, we gather information through the Four S’s.
1. Situation
What observably happened?
I was welcomed privately but not acknowledged publicly.
2. State
What nervous-system state am I experiencing?
I feel activated, guarded and ready to push the other person away.
3. Story
What meaning am I making?
I am not attractive enough. I am only valuable when I am useful. People like me are not chosen. People like me are not liked.
4. Sensation
What am I noticing in my body?
My chest feels tight. My stomach has dropped. I feel hot, shaky and unable to find my words.
At this point, we are gathering information – not trying to solve, challenge or dismiss the experience.
Beginning with the observable situation, nervous-system state and bodily sensations may be particularly supportive for people who find emotion-first approaches inaccessible or overwhelming.
The story may contain beliefs carried from earlier rejection. It may also contain meaning grounded in what is genuinely happening now.
Both require compassionate attention.
Unravelling and understanding the layers
The next stage of the R.U.D Process® is Unravel & Understand.
We begin with three prompts:
What got me there?
This helps us explore what happened and why it may have affected us so deeply.
We might ask:
- What was the immediate situation or rejection cue?
- Was the rejection perceived, anticipated or observable?
- What did the other person say – or leave unsaid?
- Did the experience feel familiar?
- What earlier experiences may have been activated?
- How might neurodivergence, race, age, culture, gender or social power be affecting what this moment means?
For example:
I saw that our relationship was being kept private while another relationship was acknowledged publicly. This connected with earlier experiences of feeling hidden, misread and not good enough.
What kept me there?
A nervous-system response may continue long after the original moment has passed.
We can become curious about what may be maintaining it:
- Was there uncertainty, secrecy or contradictory information?
- Did I receive acknowledgement, clarity or repair?
- Am I repeatedly replaying the interaction?
- Am I searching social media for clues because direct information is unavailable or does not feel trustworthy?
- Am I trying to understand the situation by analysing another person’s behaviour?
- Am I relying on other people’s accounts, gossip or partial information to fill in the gaps?
- Which parts do I know directly, which parts have I been told and which parts am I interpreting?
- Is the information helping me understand what happened – or keeping me emotionally connected to the uncertainty?
- Am I masking my feelings because asking for reassurance feels unsafe?
- Is shame preventing me from speaking?
- Am I overgiving in the hope of becoming valuable enough to keep?
- Is the situation still happening?
When direct communication does not feel safe or trustworthy, we may begin collecting clues.
Unravelling asks us to separate what we experienced, what we were told and what our nervous system has concluded from the gaps.
For example:
The lack of clarity kept me searching for an explanation. Each new piece of information appeared to confirm the story that I did not matter. I acted as though I was unaffected, but privately I continued replaying what had happened.
A person may not remain activated solely because of rejection sensitivity. They may remain there because the relationship is still inconsistent, the injury has not been acknowledged or the environment does not yet feel safe enough.
What gets me out of there?
This question is not about controlling the nervous system or forcing ourselves to “move on”.
It invites us to consider what might support enough capacity for choice:
- Do I need clear and truthful information?
- Do I need my experience to be acknowledged?
- Would time, space or reduced contact help?
- What supports my body to feel steadier?
- Is there a direct question I need to ask?
- What steady words could help me communicate what happened?
- Is there a boundary I need to establish?
- Do I need support from somebody outside the relationship?
- What would protect my dignity, even if the other person cannot provide the response I want?
For example:
I may need to stop searching for indirect signs and recognise what the existing pattern is already communicating. I can name what hurt, decide what I am no longer available for and seek support from people with whom honesty feels safe enough.
“Getting out” does not always mean returning to calm or preserving the relationship.
It may mean moving out of freeze, rumination or uncertainty and towards greater understanding, agency and choice.
These three prompts help us hold several truths at once:
- I may be experiencing rejection sensitivity.
- I may also have been genuinely hurt.
- My earlier experiences may be intensifying the response.
- Something in the present may still be keeping the response active.
- I can begin identifying what I need now.
Diffusing and developing steady words
The final stage is Diffuse & Develop.
The aim is not to control the nervous system, force ourselves to stop caring or decide which person is right.
It is to turn the volume down enough to create choice.
That may mean finding steady words:
I am noticing the story that I do not matter. I also recognise that being kept secret genuinely hurt me. I need clarity about whether this relationship can acknowledge me openly.
It may mean asking a direct question instead of searching social media for clues or listening to gossip or hearsay.
It may mean establishing a boundary around secrecy, contradictory messages or being placed in competition with somebody else.
It may also mean recognising:
I can love somebody without remaining permanently available to them.
RSD-informed support for neurodivergent relationships
My work focuses on what happens between people when rejection feels unbearable.
I support neurodivergent individuals and couples to explore patterns including:
- silence and withdrawal;
- freezing during important conversations;
- conflict or defensiveness;
- people-pleasing and overgiving;
- repeated reassurance-seeking;
- difficulty trusting positive feedback;
- searching for hidden meanings;
- pushing people away before they can leave;
- struggling to communicate needs directly.
This is not about deciding who is “too sensitive”.
It is about understanding what happened, what each nervous system detected, which personal and cultural histories were activated, and what might support clearer, steadier communication.
A safer relationship does not require perfect communication. It creates conditions in which honesty becomes safe enough.
It sounds like:
You do not have to compete for an acknowledged place in my life.
I will make my own decisions rather than asking you to carry them for me.
I can recognise that my actions hurt you without arguing about whether I intended to.
If I am uncertain, I will tell you instead of keeping you close through ambiguity.
You do not have to become useful, silent or easy to retain my affection.
The ultimate goal is not to become less sensitive.
It is to understand what our sensitivity is communicating – about an old wound, a present injury, an unequal relationship or a social world in which some people are given more permission to be visible than others.
The answer is not simply to tell the quieter woman to speak louder while leaving unchanged the conditions that made silence feel necessary.
We must also ask:
What would help this person feel safe enough to speak – and are the people around them genuinely prepared to listen when they do?
If these patterns feel familiar, my RSD-informed relationship work offers a space to explore what may be happening beneath the reactions, behaviour and communication.
Using the R.U.D Process®, we can begin to recognise the pattern, unravel and understand its different layers, and develop steadier ways to communicate, establish boundaries and respond.
You can begin by downloading the free introductory version of the R.U.D Process® here: [insert link].
In October, I will open Finding My Steady with Glad We Talked® – For Intimate Relationships.
The programme explores the relationships that affect us deeply – including relationships with current partners, ex-partners and within connections that have never been clearly defined.
It is for people who want to better understand patterns including rejection sensitivity, withdrawal, conflict, overgiving, uncertainty and difficulty communicating what they need.
You can join the Finding My Steady waitlist below to be the first to receive programme details and enrolment information.
In my next article, I explore what can happen when both people are waiting for their needs met – to be chosen – but neither feels safe enough to express their needs, ask for reassurance or risk showing the other person how much they matter.
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