It was supposed to be an ordinary day at work.
The morning started like it always did: coffee in hand, headphones on, diving into emails. But by noon, I felt it creeping in—that familiar tightness in my chest, the heat rising in my neck, the static building in my brain.
I told myself to hold it together. I had a meeting in ten minutes, and I couldn’t afford to lose it.
But the moment someone snapped at me over a miscommunication, I knew it was too late.
What a Meltdown Feels Like
If you’ve never experienced a meltdown, let me paint a picture:
Imagine a pressure cooker left on the stove too long. The steam builds and builds until the lid blows off. That’s what it feels like inside my brain.
Meltdowns aren’t tantrums or attention-seeking. They’re a visceral, uncontrollable response to being overwhelmed—by sensory input, emotions, or just the sheer weight of masking all day.
For me, it starts with my heart racing and my breathing getting shallow. Words slip away. My skin feels too tight. And then, like a dam breaking, I lose the ability to hold it all in.
The Stairwell Incident
When I felt the meltdown coming that day, I didn’t think—I just moved.
I left my desk, walked briskly past my coworkers without saying a word, and ducked into the emergency stairwell. The door clicked shut behind me, and suddenly, I was alone.
The stairwell was dim and quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights muffled by the thick concrete walls. I sat on the bottom step, curled my knees to my chest, and rocked back and forth.
Tears streamed down my face, and my breaths came in short, shaky gasps. I didn’t care about the mascara smudging under my eyes or the fact that I’d left my phone at my desk. In that moment, the only thing that mattered was finding a way to let it out.
I rocked. I cried. I pressed my hands against the cold metal railing, the sensation grounding me just enough to stay present.
After what felt like hours (but was probably ten minutes), I stood up, wiped my face, and walked back to my desk as if nothing had happened.
No one noticed I’d been gone.
Why Meltdowns Go Unseen
- Masking: Autistic people learn early on how to hide their struggles. We’re experts at slipping away quietly, at pretending everything’s fine.
- Stigma: Society often misunderstands meltdowns, labeling them as childish or dramatic. This pushes us to experience them in private, away from judgmental eyes.
- The Aftermath: By the time we re-enter the world, the storm has passed. What’s left is exhaustion, not evidence.
What I Wish People Knew About Meltdowns
- They’re Not a Choice: Meltdowns aren’t something we can stop or control. They’re our brain’s way of coping with an unmanageable situation.
- They’re Not Always Loud: While some meltdowns involve crying or shouting, others are silent. Sometimes, the only signs are retreating to a quiet space or shutting down completely.
- They’re Incredibly Draining: After a meltdown, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. It can take hours—or even days—to recover.
How to Support Someone Having a Meltdown
If you witness a meltdown, here’s what you can do:
- Stay Calm: Your energy can influence theirs. Speak softly, move slowly, and avoid crowding them.
- Offer Space: Many of us need solitude to process. If they leave the room, let them go.
- Avoid Touch: Physical contact can be overwhelming during a meltdown unless the person explicitly asks for it.
- Be Patient: Don’t ask questions or try to “fix” the situation. Just wait for the storm to pass.
Visual Snapshot
I’m writing this from my favorite spot by the window, wrapped in a cozy blanket with a steaming mug of tea beside me. The late afternoon light casts long shadows across the room, and the soft hum of a white noise machine fills the air.
In the corner, my cat Miso is perched on her tower, her slow, deliberate movements a comforting contrast to the chaos I felt in that stairwell.
FAQ
Q: How can I tell if someone is about to have a meltdown?
A: Look for signs of escalating stress, such as fidgeting, shallow breathing, or withdrawing from conversation. But keep in mind that everyone experiences meltdowns differently.
Q: Is a meltdown the same as a tantrum?
A: No. A tantrum is a deliberate behavior often used to achieve a goal, while a meltdown is an involuntary response to overwhelm.
Q: How can I help someone recover after a meltdown?
A: Give them time and space. Offer water, a quiet environment, or a favorite comfort item if they’re open to it.
Final Thoughts
That stairwell meltdown taught me something important: it’s okay to take a break, to step away, to let myself feel overwhelmed without shame.
If you’ve ever had a meltdown and felt invisible afterward, know this: your experience is valid. You’re not alone, and you don’t have to hide your struggles to be worthy of understanding.
And if you need me, you’ll find me here—wrapped in my blanket, sipping tea, and reminding myself that even the messiest moments are part of being human.
