Imagine waking up to a radio tuned just slightly off-station, where static drowns out the melody, and the volume knob is stuck on high. Now imagine you can’t turn it down. That’s what living in my autistic brain often feels like.
The static is everywhere—conversations in crowded rooms, fluorescent lights flickering overhead, the sudden clatter of dishes in a restaurant. It’s not just noise; it’s too much everything. Too much sound, light, texture, emotion, all competing for attention, all refusing to fade into the background.
An atypical day for the neurodivergent
Last Thursday, I had errands to run—a quick trip to the grocery store and the pharmacy. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
The fluorescent lights in the store made my vision blur, every beep at the checkout lane felt like a hammer to my skull, and someone’s cart wheel squeaked in a way that made me want to scream. By the time I reached the pharmacy, I was holding back tears. My sensory threshold had maxed out.
The pharmacist smiled, but her words blurred into the noise of the background music and the couple arguing in the next aisle. I nodded as if I understood her instructions, grabbed my prescription, and bolted to the car.
Once inside, I sat in silence, gripping the steering wheel and focusing on my breathing. It took twenty minutes before I could drive home, where I collapsed onto the couch, buried under my weighted blanket, trying to calm the static that had taken over my brain.
What Causes the Static?
- Hyper-Sensitivity: My senses are on high alert, always scanning for details most people would ignore. That tag in my shirt? It might as well be sandpaper.
- Difficulty Filtering: Neurotypical brains automatically filter out irrelevant stimuli—like background chatter in a coffee shop. Mine doesn’t. Everything comes through at the same volume.
- Sensory Cumulative Effect: The more stimuli I encounter, the louder the static gets. By the end of the day, even a whisper can feel like a scream.
How I Manage the Noise
- Noise-Canceling Headphones: My go-to weapon against the chaos. They’re a permanent fixture in my bag.
- Sunglasses Indoors: Fluorescent lights are my nemesis, so I wear tinted glasses when I have to endure them.
- Strategic Escapes: When I feel the static building, I find a quiet place to regroup—whether it’s my car, a restroom, or just stepping outside.
- Weighted Blankets and Compression Gear: At home, these are lifesavers. They provide the grounding my body craves.
What You Can Do to Help
If you’re around someone struggling with sensory overload, here’s how you can support them:
- Lower the Volume: Turn down music, dim lights, or step outside to reduce sensory input.
- Be Patient: They might need time to recover before they can engage again.
- Ask What They Need: A simple “How can I help?” goes a long way.
Visual Snapshot
Right now, I’m curled up in my favorite chair, a cozy nest of pillows and my weighted blanket. The room is dim, lit only by a soft, flickering salt lamp on my desk. My cat, Miso, purrs at my feet, her rhythmic vibrations grounding me in a way no words ever could.
The static is low today, almost quiet, like a distant hum instead of a roar. I’m grateful for the calm, knowing it won’t last forever—but learning to embrace it when it does.
FAQ
Q: Is sensory overload the same for everyone on the spectrum?
A: Not at all. Some people are more sensitive to sound, others to light, smell, or texture. It varies widely from person to person.
Q: Can sensory overload be “cured”?
A: No, but it can be managed with strategies, tools, and accommodations tailored to each individual.
Q: How do you recover after a day of sensory overload?
A: Quiet time is key. I retreat to a sensory-safe space, often with my weighted blanket, noise-canceling headphones, and a comforting ritual like tea or a favorite book.
Final Thoughts
Living with autism often means living in a world that’s too loud, too bright, too much. But I’ve learned to navigate it on my own terms—with tools, strategies, and a lot of self-compassion.
If you feel like the world is too much sometimes, know this: you’re not broken, and you’re not alone.
And if you need me, you’ll find me here, sipping tea in my sensory sanctuary, waiting for the static to fade.
