Sensory Overwhelm: Learning to Listen to My Body
Sensory overload happens when your brain is processing more sensory input than it can handle at once. For autistic people and many others with sensory sensitivities, this can mean that sounds feel louder, lights seem brighter, textures feel more intense, and social interaction can drain energy quickly. It’s not just about being “sensitive” — it’s a physical and neurological response that can trigger anxiety, irritability, or the urgent need to escape a situation.
Over time, I’ve learned that the best way to manage sensory overwhelm is to notice the early signs, listen to my body, and take action before I hit my breaking point. And that’s exactly what I’ve been practicing lately.
Lately, my life has been full of change—and with change comes a lot of new situations. For me, that’s meant experiencing sensory overload almost daily. In the past, I would have pushed through it, ignoring my body’s signals out of fear of disappointing others or seeming “lame” or “uncool.” But I’m learning something new: being true to myself is far more important than pleasing the room.
Sometimes that means stepping away when I feel overwhelmed. Sometimes it means leaving altogether. And that doesn’t make me selfish or neglectful—it means I’m taking care of myself so the best version of me can be present. I’ve realized that anyone who truly cares about me will understand my needs, even if they seem “difficult” in the eyes of neurotypical people. Those who don’t try to understand probably aren’t people I need in my life anyway.
Yes, I’m a little awkward, with a few extra quirky traits that come with autism. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
A Surprise Party and a Pool
Yesterday, I went to a surprise party for a family member. I’d never been part of planning something like that before, and it was actually a lot of fun to help create a joyful, unexpected moment for someone else.
The pool ended up being the perfect size for my 4’11” frame—safe and shallow enough for me to swim without the fear of going too deep or drowning. We barbequed, laughed, and gathered with friends and family—some I knew, some I didn’t.
At first, I was worried about being awkward, but I noticed other guests seemed just as nervous. That made me feel like I had a role: to help others feel comfortable. And in doing that, I ended up feeling more comfortable myself.
Coping in the Moment
I used my usual strategies to manage sensory overwhelm:
Phone time – to give my mind a break when things felt too loud or busy
A small drink – to help me unwind after hours in the pool
Leaving when my social battery ran out – so I could rest before the overwhelm became too much
Three hours in the water was a lot for me, and by the time I got out, the sun was going down and the Texas breeze kicked in. That transition from warm water to cool, humid air? Brutal. I hate the in-between phase of being wet and trying to dry off, especially when the air feels cold against my skin. And since I had to wash my hair after swimming, going to bed with wet hair made it even more uncomfortable.
Why This Feels Different
Even with those moments of discomfort, I had an amazing time. And what made it different from the past was my willingness to listen to my body, honor my limits, and give myself permission to step away without guilt.
For me, this is growth. It’s realizing that taking care of myself isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s the only way I can keep showing up as my best self.
And honestly? If you’re someone who cares about me, you’ll understand. If you don’t, then you probably aren’t part of my inner circle.
If you’re autistic, neurodivergent, or simply human and struggling with sensory overwhelm, I hope you remember this:
Your needs are valid. You don’t have to earn the right to take care of yourself. And the people who truly love you will never make you feel bad for it.
