RSD in ENM: What Happened When My Neurodivergent Brain Hit a Perfect Storm

Stella Billerey
Jun 1
5 min read

Close-up portrait in dark warm tones, evoking the raw emotional intensity of rejection sensitive dysphoria in ENM and neurodivergent relationships

I want to start by saying something that might surprise you: I don't experience jealousy in the way a lot of people expect me to as an non monogamous human. I practise non-hierarchical ENM: no labels like partner or girlfriend, just friends, loved ones, beloveds. I genuinely feel compersion. When the people I love are thriving, are happy, are lit up by someone new I feel joy. It's real not fake or pretend. I love that for them.

I've been consciously practising ENM for around ten years. In that time, I've experienced RSD plenty of times in life — but only twice within ENM relationships specifically. The first was with someone who was new to non-monogamy and ultimately ended our relationship to be with a monogamous partner. Looking back, you could argue that the fear I felt then was pretty grounded in reality, the threat was real, even if RSD amplified it.

And genuinely? Outside of those two instances, ENM has felt liberating, expansive and joyful for me. I love meeting my beloveds' beloveds. My people are extraordinary so their people tend to be extraordinary too. It's win-win. I've never received feedback from lovers that I come across as jealous or possessive, and that's something I feel quietly proud of (no shade if you feel jealous or possessive tho' hun).

Which is exactly why the second time RSD hit me in an ENM context landed so hard and felt shameful. Because it felt so out of character. So at odds with who I know myself to be.

The second time happened recently. And that's the one I want to tell you about.

So when rejection sensitive dysphoria hit me like a freight train at a play party, I didn't see it coming. And I want to talk about it because I think a lot of neurodivergent people navigating ENM and kink spaces are carrying this quietly, and not enough people are naming it.

1. The Perfect Storm for RSD in ENM

Let me set the scene.

I'd just got back from a festival. I was short on sleep, short on spoons, and quietly anxious about a minor surgery I had coming up in a few days. Not my most resourced self! but I wanted to be social, I wanted to have fun, and I made the choice to go.

My beloved had recently had a wonderful first date with someone who was also going to be at the same play party. They asked if I'd like to meet them and their date beforehand and go together. I said yes. We met. They were all delightful. It was lovely, easy, warm, no weirdness.

And then, at the party, without any explicit conversation or check-in with me, my beloved and our new friends began moving into what felt like the beginnings of a triad situation.

I want to be clear: I'm parking the consent and communication piece here. (That's a whole other post, and it deserves its own space). What I want to focus on is what happened inside me, because what happened inside me was RSD.

2. What Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria Actually Felt Like (for me in that moment)

Intense, visceral rage. A wave of it. Old stories, loud and insistent:

'You're not being included'.

'You're not being considered'.

'You don't matter here'.

I know, objectively, that my beloved felt no less for me in that moment or after. I know that. And still, I could not turn it off.

When we got home, I was inconsolable. I felt unsafe in my own body. It was frightening in a way that felt disproportionate, and yet I couldn't logic my way out of it.

That dissonance: knowing something isn't true while feeling it with absolute certainty, is the hallmark of RSD.

3. What Actually Helped

The next day, alone, I was still shaken. Here's what helped me come back to myself:

Asking for brief space. I knew some of the event of the night were not OK for me. I needed time to figure out what was actually happening before I could be in contact with my beloved. It was also harm reduction because I knew I was vulnerable to pushing them away in my wounded state. Requesting to take a beat wasn't punishment, it was self-preservation and preserved our love.
The basics. Food. Water. Sleep. Meication. When you're neurodivergent and already depleted, your nervous system has almost nothing left to regulate with. The basics aren't boring, they're medicine.
Reaching out for support. I contacted two of my most trusted people and shared: "I'm really not doing well. I think I'm in a crisis. My thoughts are intrusive." I didn't dress it up. I didn't minimise it. And the people I reached out to stepped up and held space (because they are wonderful and they have got me).
Being held without being fixed. Through that holding, I was able to start identifying what was actually going on. Yes, my beloved could have been more considered and sought explicit consent before escalating (especially knowing I was depleted that night) but lets face it, we're all human, sometimes we do things without ill intent that hurt others. But, the intensity of my fear was about something older and less to do with what was happening in the moment.

4. Tracing It Back

After time in community, time alone and meditation, I was able to trace the feeling, the original wound, back to a period of dysfunction in a previous monogamous relationship many moons before. And here's the tender part: one of the friends who held space for me that day had been in that relationship with me.

We are siblings now. Our bond is one of the most solid things in my life. And we were able to speak about what happened back then in a way that was genuinely healing, to name why this particular night had been the perfect storm for RSD to surface so loudly.

Not enough sleep. Pre-surgery anxiety. Low spoons. An unexpected situation I hadn't consented to. An old wound that hadn't fully closed.

5. What I Believe About Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria in ENMEvery single one of those things, layered on top of each other.

I want to be really clear about this: the solution for me is not to move away from my values.

Non-hierarchy is not the problem.

Don't ask don't tell? No thank you.

The solution is remembering painfully, sometimes, that I am neurodivergent. My brain is fizzy. Sometimes, especially when I'm depleted, I will feel an overwhelming certainty that I am not loved, that I am being rejected, that I don't matter. And that feeling is not the truth.

I can ground. I can come back home to myself.

I don't believe that jealousy or possessive feelings are gendered, and I don't think they're shameful. They can be terrifying in the moment, but once I was grounded enough to hold them, I was able to receive them as a gift. A signpost toward something that needed healing.

I reflected to my beloved that while certain things hadn't been okay for me, it is my responsibility to communicate clearly and ahead of time, what I need to feel safe. And to ask: can you provide this? Knowing that the answer might be no. Knowing that a no is not a catastrophe.

Rejection isn't something to fear. It's a tool for growth. It tells you where you are, who you're with, and what you actually need.

That's not a small thing.

If any of this resonates — whether you're neurodivergent, navigating ENM or kink spaces, or just trying to figure out why rejection hits you so hard.

I'd love to hear from you. And if you're curious about ADHD coaching that actually makes space for all of who you are, you can book a free discovery call here .