What Autistic Women Want You To Know About Sensory Overload

An office isn’t just an office. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. A train isn’t just a train. it’s a bespoke torture chamber I won’t be able to escape.

Why?

I’m autistic and one of the main ways I struggle is with my ability to process and understand the world around me, a difficulty which is also known as problems with ‘sensory processing’.

The way I experience sounds and light is a little different from most people. Especially when I’m tired, people talking can cause me real discomfort and that’s before we talk about evil things like polystyrene.

Please pay attention to the effect you might be having on someone like me.

I hate how obnoxious this probably sounds. I’ve had a lifetime of internalising ableism so it’s a little too easy to shy away from honesty but here goes. Next time you’re on a train or at the theatre and you decide to holler and scream with your friends because you’re too drunk for words and all that matters is your own enjoyment please spare neurodiverse people a thought.

A few weeks ago when four drunk soccer fans chanted in my train carriage I needed to escape. All I could think about was trying to get out of there. There were about five stops left until I’d reach home. If a family member hadn’t been there I would have ended up getting off the train early to avoid complete sensory overload.

I have an appalling sense of direction so that probably wouldn’t have ended well

Because a group of grown men couldn’t pay attention to their surroundings, I was left in extreme physical discomfort and had to try and block the world out with my headphones.

Before you ask, of course I didn’t approach a group of tough middle aged men and ask them to be quiet. Even I have too much self preservation for that.

The assumption that it is the job of autistic people to police their environments, despite the danger it might put them in, fills me with rage.

Earlier that day I had been at the theatre for a show I’d been waiting for months to see. I’d struggled with the slightly obstructed view (I’m short enough to sometimes need a booster seat at the theatre!) and the woman in front had her hair up in a massive bun to boot.

I was ready to enjoy the show when the women behind me decided to start their own show. It started with whispers, which other people were able to ignore. At the frantic emotional crescendo of the show, their tittering sounded like little knives scraping my skin.

They continued, unaware of the impact they were having. Laughter turned to cackling like hyenas and by final curtain call everyone around me were furious too.

Here’s the thing. They were angry. I was overwhelmed. My sensory processing issues mean that every little interruption had staked up until I was on the verge of a meltdown. Barely able to hold myself together.

My Mom went to the staff and explained how awful our experience had been. Their first presumption was that she was complaining about the excited interjections a young man with learning difficulties had been making from his seat way over on the other side of the theatre. Of course not.

To the staff, it was as if the raucous sounds of neurotypical women being completely obnoxious weren’t audible. Even though dozens of paying guests had been there, it was as if the comfort of disabled people was irrelevant.

We tried to explain. The inability of those drunk women to be quiet had ruined my experience and had left me in an emotionally vulnerable position. I hate being overloaded in public. It’s embarrassing and sometimes even a little frightening.

The staff member delivered their next response with full-on judgement. My Mom should have left me and got an assistant to help during the show. As we’d already explained, in that state I couldn’t be left alone. I could have ended up shouting out.

Eventually, with little apology, we were handed a complains card and ushered on our way. I wasn’t even able to cancel my tickets for another show at that venue on the spot. We did eventually get a refund but the overwhelming message I got from that trip was that alcohol sales mattered a lot more than inclusion.

If you think, even a little, about your noise levels you could be a positive force in someone else’s day. They might not thank you, but they’ll know you were kind.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t have fun. Only to consider when that noise might seem excessive, or spot if someone looks like they’re in pain every time you cheer.

Describing the feelings that flickering fluorescent lights cause me is a little more difficult. It’s more than just panic and being trapped. It’s almost a primal fear. My fight/flight reflex sent into overdrive with one malfunctioning bulb.

The thing that makes this all a little trickier is that neurodiversity can’t always be seen at first glance. Most of the time I look ‘normal’, whatever that is.

Sometimes the world and its sounds can be overwhelming. When someone wears headphones don’t judge them.

Headphones aren’t always just headphones. Sometimes they’re a conduit to another world, a shield that it can feel impossible to drop.

Coping in a world that sometimes feels determined to beat down your defences can be extremely hard.

One thing you can do for someone suffering sensory overload, that may help more than anything else, is to be gentle. Treat them like a friend, ask them if there’s anything you can do. Be there, if they need you. Understand if they want to be alone. An autistic friend of mine needs complete quiet to escape overloads, while other people might benefit from a hand to hold.

The main thing autistic women would like you to know, regardless of the coping strategies we employ, is that kindness helps. Be kind to us, please.

And to anyone who has helped me in the past when I’ve been silently struggling, whether you felt acknowledged or not, thank you. It meant more than words could say.