I used to think there was something wrong with me when I would arrive home from school mentally drained and ready to sprawl out on my bed with my cats. I didn’t know what my specific problem was, but I could barely think of anyone besides my mom who experienced the same dizzying headaches as I did after a typical day at work or, in my case, after listening to teachers talk and being around other people all day. Each afternoon as I slung my clunky backpack to the floor, I could feel both its weight and the tension in my body release like water breaking through a dam.
I did it, my mind soothed. I made it through one more day of loud noises, bright lights and crowded halls full of moody teenagers.
Voices belonging to my classmates and teachers, however, still echoed in the chasm of my mind, their tones ranging from amiable to enraged. Some belonged to people I didn’t even know. Others were snippets of conversation I had overheard in the halls on my way to Chemistry or a debate between two people sitting near me at lunch. Regardless, the sound of so many different voices mixing together in my brain caused my head to spin.
These experiences of social overwhelm and heightened awareness were by no means new to me. I was sensitive before I could even recall being that way. My mom told me I used to cry and cry when I was a toddler for no apparent reason after a busy day or a long trip to the mall. In elementary school I distinctly remember carrying little wipes in my lunch box because the feeling of food touching my fingers grossed me out. On my birthday, when everyone in my family crowded around me as I opened presents, I almost had to plug my ears and grit my teeth against the sound of people unintentionally scratching the rough fabric of the couch. I could practically feel its bumpy, itchy texture scraping under my nails.
I spent the majority of my childhood avoiding large, rowdy groups of kids whenever possible, wearing my socks inside out to protect my toes from their abrasive seams and devoting hours to reading, writing and crafting in seclusion. I still didn’t know why I was overly sensitive compared to my peers, though.
Why did I get the urge to wash my hands five minutes into the cookie-making process when dough would only re-cake under my nails? How come I couldn’t sit through violent films or watch a cheesy horror movie that most 10 year-olds could watch without their stomachs becoming queasy, their palms sweaty and their lungs on the verge of an asthma attack?
For years I lived in a constant state of sensory overload and was prone to bouts of worry until a library book with an orange cover made its way to my bedside stack of reading materials.
“The Empath’s Survival Guide” explains sensory overload, offers advice, guidance
My mom, wanting to share some insightful, thought-provoking wisdom she had come across, handed me “The Empath’s Survival Guide: Life Strategies for Sensitive People” by New York Times bestselling author Dr. Judith Orloff, who identifies as an empath. Dr. Orloff’s book offers sensitive individuals and their families practical advice and education on how to better handle daily stimuli from loud noises to talkative people and enjoy a better quality of life.
After pairing Dr. Orloff’s book with some additional research, I realized I wasn’t strange or overly uptight as I had previously believed. I was a highly sensitive person (HSP) with heightened awareness to details caused by a genetic trait that impacts 15-20% of the population, according to the company Expansive Heart Psychotherapy, which provides therapy and education to sensitive introverts. I could also relate to some of the empathic characteristics, such as absorbing other people’s emotions, that Dr. Orloff described in her book.
Empaths and HSPs experience almost all of the same traits, including a low tolerance for odors, lights and loud noises. Like introverts, both types of people need time alone and take longer to recharge and relax after a hectic day than the average person because their bodies can’t adjust from high to low stimulation as quickly. Not all introverts experience high levels of stress from sensory overload, though, and empaths differ from HSPs in that they sense and absorb others’ emotions, according to Introvert Dear. While HSPs can also be empaths, those who aren’t can’t detect people’s physical and emotional sensations, which are made of subtle energy, also known as prana or shakti in traditional Eastern healing, Dr. Orloff said.
Dr. Orloff said an amplified awareness makes empaths creative, compassionate and understanding although their intuition and keen awareness can cause them to experience fatigue and burnout because they internalize other peoples’ moods and emotions without realizing it.
Psychologists refer to empaths as individuals who possess high levels of empathy, the ability to understand and connect with the thoughts and feelings of others, according to PschAlive, an informative emotional well-being website. A more spiritual definition describes an empath as one with the psychic ability to sense others’ energies and emotions. As medical science continues to advance, however, so do plausible explanations for these so-called “psychic” abilities.
Dr. Orloff said the mirror neuron system, the specialized group of cells that are responsible for compassion, is hyperactive in empaths’ brains, making them a “sponge” for other peoples’ emotions. Introverted empaths also require less dopamine, the neurotransmitter associated with pleasure, to feel happy than extroverts, who crave the effects of dopamine, according to an article by Dr. Orloff featured on the Chopra Center wellness website.
While I wouldn’t say I have psychic powers, I notice spending even several minutes around people exhibiting everything from elation to intense frustration to depression often causes me to feel lightheaded or uneasy. If I absorb another person’s happiness or excitement, I may suddenly become excessively cheerful and bouncy while someone’s disappointment or sadness can transform me into a lethargic puddle of hopeless despair. Luckily, “The Empath’s Survival Guide: Life Strategies for Sensitive People” as well as additional books and online resources by Dr. Orloff and other empaths provided me with the necessary strategies to combat overstimulation.
I learned I greatly benefit both physically and emotionally from spending time in nature or taking a few moments to slow down my movements and recenter my thought process. As much as I wish I were able to, I can’t carry a yoga mat everywhere I go or teleport to a quiet mountain meadow on a whim. Being around people is not only an activity I want to be comfortable with, but is a skill I must have to be successful at school and in other aspects of my life.
For this reason, I make frequent use of quiet spaces such as bathroom stalls and empty hallways to close my eyes and channel negative feelings and tension from my body. I will tune into a particular sense, such as hearing, to bring my awareness back to wherever I am standing as I picture negativity flowing from me when I exhale. I also keep an eye out for what Dr. Orloff refers to as “energy vampires,” people who either intentionally or unintentionally radiate negative vibes and deplete another person’s energy through pessimism, non-stop talking, complaining and other mechanisms.
It is important for me to recognize and, if possible, avoid these people because they can leave me feeling drained, dizzy and nauseous. While it may seem rude when I tell an individual who is dumping all of their problems onto me, raising their voice or in a constant state of unhappiness that I can’t talk at the moment, I know I am doing myself a huge favor in the long-run. Trying to be helpful or a good listener out of guilt or politeness will only cause me to wind up sick and exhausted.
My experience as an HSP has taught me the importance of handling friendships and relationships I view as toxic and has also allowed me to enjoy details and fluctuations in everything from classical music to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a greater level than if I were not as perceptive. Through my increased awareness of sensations and emotions, I can more realistically portray the fictional characters in the stories I write as real people and can express what I feel through different forms of visual and auditory art. While the daily task of taking on the world’s energies and subtleties can be a burdensome load, I am thankful for being “sensitive” and know I would not be the same person I am today without my attention to detail.
How do you manage sensory overload? Let us know in the comments below.
