Avoiding sensory overload.

I have a reputation for always doing things the hard way and stubbornly pushing through things when I shouldn’t (ask any of my concussion rehab providers). I am willing to bet money that my last words will likely be “I got this/I’m good!”…so when I say that avoiding sensory overload is the way to go, please pay attention. I am not proposing sensory deprivation (although that sometimes sounds like a lovely idea!); however, balance is our friend. Additionally, remember that we’re discussing sensory overload, not stimulus in general – there is a whole world out there, and tolerating stimulus is part of the human adventure.

For me, the first step in learning to avoid sensory overload was figuring out how to conceptualize the issue. I started to pay attention to what sensory overload looked like for me (anxiety, inhibited communication, inability to focus, increased pain – the list goes on). As I gained a deeper understanding of the issue, my perspective(s) began to shift. I began to realize some of the impact that sensory overload was having on my life: the toll it was taking on relationships; the increased exhaustion, both mentally and physically; really, my quality of life overall. Interestingly, it also helped me see stimulus in a more positive way. I slowly began to realize that stimulus wasn’t the problem; rather, the problem was my inability to measure stimulus, calculate it’s impact on my day-to-day, and adjust my trajectory when necessary. Sensory overload isn’t something I can or should push through!

Sundays: my number one source of sensory overload. I had not yet identified sensory overload as an issue, and certainly hadn’t realized that it was the primary source of my anxiety; I just knew that when I got to church, my anxiety spiked and things got messy (more on that later…maybe). I started sitting exclusively in the balcony, thinking that being able to see everything and being somewhat separate would help abate my anxiety. NOPE! The anxiety only continued to build, week after week. I had no idea that my “safe” place was possibly one of the worst places for me to be! Once I realized the impact of stimulus in my life, I realized that being up in the balcony, where sounds seem more amplified and every little movement can be observed, was the last place I should be. I felt so defeated when I realized that my previous, uninformed solution was actually making everything worse!

As much as I dislike it, being able to calmly sit through church means:

• walking in at the last moment (fewer people milling about = reduced visual stimulus),
• sitting in the very front (I am so glad that lovely friends of mine, who have patiently learned with me how to keep my brain happy, happen to already sit up there!), and
• shooting out the door the moment church is over (again, fewer people milling about! Bonus: those lovely friends of mine know why I’m sprinting out the door – I don’t have to explain, apologize, or make excuses).

I miss being one of those who is milling about, catching up with my friends. I miss being able to sleep through the service without my pastor noticing (this is largely a joke – except for that one time…). On a cognitive level, I miss hearing the sermon and actually being able to remember and absorb it (the joy of cognitive deficits). I am still figuring this all out. I am still learning how to measure the amount of stimulus I will encounter driving to/from and being in church, how to calculate the impact attending will have on the rest of my week, and figuring out how to make it a priority while also ensuring I will still have the energy to get up the next morning and survive my workweek. I’m trying to remember that when sensory overload is rearing it’s ugly head, my face goes flat and words become hard – this is super important for me to remember, because that can so easily be interpreted as a lack of caring, or me being upset/angry. I haven’t figured out what to do about that yet, but acknowledging it and sharing about it seem like good first steps.

Sensory overload doesn’t have to hold you hostage…but it can if you let it. Acknowledging the power stimulus can have in my life has made a huge difference; learning to respond to it appropriately has helped me feel less like my brain has been hijacked, and more like my brain is a new partner I need to learn to work with. It isn’t easy, and it isn’t fun…but it beats the alternative.