When it’s all just a little Too Much
Prior to my diagnosis, I never understood the challenges I have with sensory inputs. Loud noises, crowds of people, or bright lights can drive up my anxiety and make me uncomfortable, triggering the “flight” part of the fight or flight response. In this post, I hope to outline the techniques that I’ve developed—both before and after my diagnosis—to cope with overstimulation and prioritize my mental wellbeing. Look at that—a proper introduction!
Sources of Overstimulation
When talking about a disability, it feels silly to convey a feeling of gratitude, or feeling lucky, but with the wide-reaching nature of autistic symptoms, there are some that are subjectively “worse.” On the topic of sensory inputs, I am extremely grateful that I do not struggle with tastes or smells. The most problematic inputs for me are sound, light, and touch.
Sound
When I say sounds are overwhelming, it’s specific sounds or sound patterns. Sudden, loud noises can have an impact on anxiety and discomfort that lasts hours—a struggle not even exclusive to autistic people. I enjoy listening to music and often use it to fill the empty space left by the absence of sound. Yes, not only can sound be a problem—the absence of sound can be a problem as well. This makes sleeping awful; I can’t sleep if there is noise, but I can’t sleep without some sort of noise. White noise, especially thunderstorms and rain, are my go-to solutions for this issue. White noise can drown out the problematic sounds while satisfying that piece that won’t let my brain shut down without something to hear.
If someone needs to talk to me, I cannot have music on and pay attention to them—let alone participate in a conversation. I have to make a conscious effort not to make a face when someone talks to me while I have music playing. At the office, this is as simple as removing my headphones entirely. In less formal environments, pausing the music and removing one ear cup is usually enough.
Malls and supermarkets are among the worst for noise sensitivity because I cannot control the volume, which is usually too high and the entire experience becomes too much. It’s one of the reasons I avoid shopping at all costs. When I do need to go the store, I use noise-cancelling headphones to give me control over my sound inputs. I also shop exclusively at stores with self checkouts that don’t require a stupid amount of inputs. Walmart and Canadian Tire are by far the worst self-checkout experience. Walmart tries to get you to apply for its credit card, and the other day I accidentally tapped “Learn More” instead of “No, thanks.” I had to request help from an associate because it locked me out of the checkout process. I was buying two items, and I actually turned around to just leave, but someone was already there. They jumped on that credit card application. Canadian Tire’s self checkout is the worst experience—why do I have to tap no to coupons every time I shop there? “Do you have any coupons?” is burned into my brain.
Unfortunately, the best solution I have for sound is to avoid it or drown it out with headphones. Maybe wear a hoodie that explains your challenges.
Light
A few sources of light really get my heart racing or break my brain. Years ago, I worked at Starbucks—if I knew then what I know now, I never would have subjected myself to that suffering. I was sometimes an early opener and sometimes a late closer. I rode a bike to work, and like everyone else, had little lights on my bike. If you’re one of the people who set their front, white light to blink mode, fuck you. The number of times a flashing bike came towards me on the bike trail, it felt like a personal attack against my senses.
Those excessively bright fluorescent lights are another issue. You know the ones—they’re the number two problem with working in an office (the number one problem is the people). But these lights pollute every area of our lives. They’re at the dentist, every store, Service Canada, Service BC / Ontario (the DMV for my American readers). Honestly, anywhere that’s indoors and not a home. Places with high ceilings, like libraries and grocery stores, are okay—it’s the normal-ceiling places that are the worst. And there is a special kind of Hell where you’re sitting, waiting for your appointment, and the bulb above you is making that electrical buzzing noise. You can’t wear your headphones in most of these environments, because you need to wait for your name or number to be called.
Light is inescapable, but I have found great comfort in dimmer switches. I had one already installed in my office before I started working there, and it has been invaluable in managing my light inputs at work. When I stream on Twitch, I use Key Lights, but being able to control the brightness and colour settings allows me to adjust based on how I feel on streaming days (Sunday & Wednesday, by the way).
While not possible to avoid all office scenarios, I have found that I elect to use services that support online renewals. My car insurance renews online and they email me to confirm that nothing has changed. Perfect. In Ontario, I could renew my vehicle registration online as well. If a business or a service requires me to come to their physical location, or talk on the phone, I reassess if I truly need that service. Banks, for example.. why do I need to go into a branch to make changes to my account? It’s stupid.
Touch
Touch is the hardest to explain but is the thing that probably makes me the most autistic out of all my sensory sensitivities. Since high school, I’ve known people who are huggers. I am not a hugger. Don’t hug me. Especially without my consent. I cannot understand the value people put on hugs, outside of their immediate family. I hug my kids (I frequently check that they are okay with this), but the hug train stops there. I recently reconnected with a friend from two decades ago, and he is a hugger. I had to mentally prepare myself for the incoming hug, and it was so awkward for me I still ended up head-butting him in the chin. I don’t know how, because I am at least a full head taller than he is. From the moment I recognized him, I knew it was coming—and I felt that I had to be okay with it, but I didn’t want to be. I wanted to explain that I’m not comfortable hugging people, and while it makes you feel good, it makes me feel bad. I’d rather we both just feel neutral.. sit at this seesaw perfectly horizontal, just having a conversation about our lives over the past 20 years.
Another type of touch sensitivity comes in the form of crowds of people. Being in the presence of others. There’s probably some scientific classification for this, but to me it’s connected to touch. It’s the feeling of being crowded, where any wrong move could result in bumping into or brushing against someone. This is another reason I don’t like to go to the mall, and why if I do go shopping, I do it early or late. I went to Walmart last night at 9 PM and it was fine. Still surprisingly crowded, but nowhere near what it would be at 6 PM.
One of the worst parts of working with other men is handshakes. Why can’t we just say “Hello”—why do we need to shake hands? I’m mostly okay with fist bumps, but a handshake causes time to slow to a crawl as I analyze my grip strength, his grip strength, and how I’m going to be perceived. Typically, my hand is both limp and firm, like grabbing the tail of a hairless cat. But every handshake triggers “bullet time” and drives me down a pit of concern over the vast social implications of a weak handshake. I miss the COVID elbow bumps.. those were the best.
The solution to touch sensitivity is, unfortunately, the hardest to implement. It requires clear communication about your limitations, but that’s hard to communicate without feeling like you’ve offended someone at their core. What I’ve historically done is allowed myself to fall out of contact with friends who rely on physical contact, as we have an incompatibility that neither of us can accommodate comfortably. So why force it?
In Closing
Few people in your life are going to go out of their way to accommodate your needs. You have to take what you need—within the confines of what is socially appropriate. Workplaces are only required to provide accommodations that fall within their own definition of reasonable. So installing dimmer switches or calling in virtually to meetings from behind a closed door could be seen as reasonable. In my experience, creating your own accommodations within the existing system is the easiest—but not the best—way to approach things to begin with. Having a manager who understands and respects your needs helps, but unfortunately that is not as common as it should be. I think as the years progress and autism is more widely understood, we might see a shift in work culture to be more inclusive, but it won’t happen unless the working autistics speak up. For my part, I’ve identified with everyone in my workplace and made my adjustments public to everyone. I still get my job done at no additional cost to the company, because at the end of the day it’s always about the bottom line. If your autism is costing your company money, your time there is limited. Companies will eventually figure out how to change their operations to not have disabilities cause a financial burden, but autistic people will continue to struggle with work until then. That’s why I’ve built this site—to offer autistic people a path that doesn’t involve a corporate 9-to-5 or working in the same supermarkets that cause sensory issues.
