Landing in engineering management wasn’t an accident, but it also wasn’t exactly a master plan.
It started with coaching and mentoring - helping teammates fumble through problems, gently nudging them toward growth. I was kind of good at it. More importantly, I liked it. Then I went further, teaching at the college level. That hammered it home: I wasn’t just into code; I was into people. Into how they learn, how they grow, how they collaborate.
So when the chance came to step into management full-time, I chased it. Not because I wanted a title or a bigger desk, but because I wanted to lean into the people side of tech.
Fast-forward a couple years, and I’ve proven I can do this work. I’ve seen developers grow into leaders. I’ve watched teams hit their stride. I’ve navigated some gnarly projects. But here’s the thing: none of that erases the fact that now, I’m new again. New company. New team. New politics, new acronyms, new inside jokes I don’t get yet.
And being “the new manager” comes with its own cocktail of fun. Especially when you stir in ADHD, RSD, and imposter syndrome.
ADHD: The New-Kid Overload
Starting at a new company is basically an ADHD nightmare disguised as an adventure. There’s a firehose of new information, new names, new systems. Every Slack channel is an endless scroll of context you don’t have yet. My brain wants to chase all of it at once, like a dog seeing squirrels in every direction.
I’ll sit down to prep for a 1:1, and suddenly I’m rewriting my onboarding notes because the formatting looks wrong. Then I’m ten tabs deep into the company wiki. Then I’m halfway through drafting a message to the team before realizing I forgot the actual point I was trying to make. Meanwhile, the meeting I was prepping for is already starting.
The one upside is novelty: ADHD loves novelty, and a new company provides it in spades. The first few weeks are like dopamine fireworks. Every conversation, every new acronym, every unexpected tangent feels fresh. It’s exciting. But novelty eventually wears off, and when it does, the old chaos creeps back in - the sticky notes, a thousand scattered tabs, the desperate search for structure I’ll inevitably abandon after a week.
It’s a balancing act: part liability, part secret weapon.
RSD + Imposter Syndrome: The Perfect Tag Team
RSD and imposter syndrome are like a two-person con job running in my head.
Imposter syndrome sets the stage: “You don’t really deserve this role. They’ll figure it out.”
RSD swoops in: “And that tiny frown from your developer? That’s proof. That silence in the meeting? Definitely about you. That short email? They regret hiring you.”
Every neutral interaction feels like evidence. And every piece of “evidence” gets filed neatly into the imposter folder: See? We told you you didn’t belong.
It’s brutal because being new somewhere already feels like an audition. You’re hyperaware of how you come across. You’re trying to build trust, to establish credibility, to show you belong here. And in that environment, RSD and imposter syndrome don’t just whisper—they shout.
The worst part? RSD doesn’t wait for real rejection. It reacts to the possibility of rejection. A pause. A sigh. A Slack “…” while someone’s typing. It’s like carrying around a smoke alarm that blares at burnt toast and five-alarm fires with the same volume.
And here’s the kicker: once RSD spins me up, imposter syndrome has new fuel. RSD says, “That architect doesn’t respect you.” Imposter syndrome chimes in, “See? You’re not cut out for this role.” They feed each other until I’m questioning everything from my last sentence in a meeting to my entire career.
The Messy Middle of Belonging
So here I am: not brand new to management, but I’m still young enough in this career to second-guess myself constantly.
Some days, it feels good. I’ll have a conversation with a developer, watch the lightbulb go on, and think: Yes. This is why I do this. These are the days I may leave a meeting feeling like I actually helped move something (or someone) forward instead of just taking up space. Those are the days which remind me that, despite the doubts, I’ve actually got something to offer.
Other days, I log off feeling like I’m just playing manager until someone more competent shows up. Every awkward pause, every time I overshare (or stay silent) replays on loop. I stare at Slack like it’s a pop quiz I didn’t study for. Logic has nothing to say in these moments, and honestly, it barely gets a vote.
That’s the messy middle of belonging. You know you’re capable. You know you’ve done this before. But your brain hasn’t caught up yet.
Why I Keep Going
Despite all the noise and self-doubt, I keep going after this work. Because underneath the ADHD chaos and the RSD-imposter duet, I know I belong here.
I know because I’ve seen the difference it makes when managers care. When they’re human. I want to be the kind of leader who can say, ‘I don’t know’ without pretending otherwise. Not flawless. Not bulletproof. Just human enough to give people permission to be human too.
And maybe that’s the little fact RSD and imposter syndrome keep trying to bury: belonging isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up, actually caring, and doing the work even when your brain screams otherwise.
At least that’s something I can manage.