When I was just five years old, my mom organized a big birthday bash at a local skating rink, and she has never let me forget how I behaved that day. I was crying, visibly irritated, and constantly complaining about my classmates invading my space. Looking back, I realize that what I was experiencing were sensory processing challenges. However, to my mom, I was just being “difficult.”
What she didn’t grasp was that the overwhelming blend of voices, music, flashing lights, and all the demands of “Open my present next!” made me feel like I wanted to escape my own skin. I was excited to attend the party, having anticipated it for weeks, but the reality was far more than I could handle.
Unfortunately, that birthday party incident was not an isolated experience. A recurring memory from my childhood is the bewildered expressions on the adults around me as they urged me to “calm down.” They couldn’t comprehend why my reactions to situations, which they deemed trivial, were so intense.
I like to think of myself as a kind-hearted individual. Nevertheless, I often feel that I come across as moody or unpleasant because many people react to my overstimulation as if I’m being unreasonable. Even as an adult, I still receive those same bewildered looks and hear the command to “just calm down” during moments of sensory overload. Ironically, those words hardly ever help anyone to self-regulate; instead, they leave me feeling invisible, dramatic, and even a bit crazy.
What other reasons could there be for feeling irritable when multiple conversations happen at once? Or for the growing frustration I feel when I’m in the grocery store’s refrigerated aisle, where the hum of the refrigeration units and the chill make my skin crawl?
It has taken me 27 years to understand that my reactions weren’t mere “excuses” but were tied to an undiagnosed condition known as Sensory Processing Disorder. Everyone has certain tastes, smells, textures, and sounds they dislike, but for some, those reactions can be unbearable.
I know that when I experience sensory overload, sound and touch are my biggest triggers. For instance, when I’m tidying up my home, and the TV is blaring, my kids are using their iPads at maximum volume, and one of them is bombarding me with questions, I can usually handle it until something minor happens—like stepping in a juice spill while wearing socks. Observers may assume that such small incidents push me over the edge, but it’s rarely that simple. It’s often a combination of stressors, and what they witness is merely the last straw.
It wasn’t until my daughter, who is now four, was diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder that I started to recognize the striking similarities between her sensitivities and my own. While I don’t throw myself on the floor or scream when overwhelmed, I often find myself triggered during her moments of overload. This allows me to empathize with her, as I was once in her shoes.
Her diagnosis illuminated the fact that there’s nothing inherently “wrong” with her, just as there’s nothing wrong with me. Nobody realized my sensory sensitivities as a child because adults perceived my meltdowns as mere temper tantrums, which they are not the same. Consequently, I learned to suppress my irritations and frustrations without having the tools to process them.
Now, however, I’m on a path toward understanding. While my daughter seeks sensory input and craves deep pressure, I am the complete opposite. The thought of being tightly wrapped or confined drives me to the edge. I can’t wear tight clothing to bed or use weighted blankets because those sensations make me feel trapped and desperate to escape.
When it comes to sound, we share common ground. Loud noises are significant triggers for both of us. I can’t fully explain how my daughter feels when overstimulated, but for me, it’s as if the music is blasting, the vacuum is running, ten people are compressing me, and my phone is ringing—all at once. In reality, none of these things may be happening, yet I experience that chaotic feeling.
I’ve always disliked how I react to overstimulation because the moment I snap, I become acutely aware of how my behavior might affect others. I don’t intend to belittle anyone or make their lives difficult, but sometimes my irritation manifests externally, leading to snappy exchanges.
I genuinely want to improve, and I hope others know that my occasional brusque behavior is not a reflection of them but rather a manifestation of what’s occurring within me that they can’t see. I was unaware of sensory overload until my twenties, and even then, I didn’t believe it applied to me.
Throughout my life, I learned to suppress my feelings until I could no longer contain them, which would lead to outbursts. Now, at 27, I’m beginning my journey toward finding healthier strategies to cope with overstimulation.
Recognizing my reactions has been a vital step in unraveling the shame I’ve carried for so long. I was never a bad mom, friend, or employee; I was simply someone with undiagnosed Sensory Processing Disorder who struggled to cope.
For more insights on this topic, check out this other blog post, and for authoritative resources, you can visit this site. Additionally, this resource is excellent for those seeking support with pregnancy and home insemination.
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In summary, sensory sensitivities can often be misunderstood, leading to feelings of shame and frustration. Recognizing these sensitivities is the first step in learning to cope with them effectively. It is crucial to understand that such reactions are not a reflection of one’s character but rather an expression of deeper sensory challenges.