Cymbal Brain
This post is focused on my sensory sensitivity as an autistic person. Needless (and needed) to say, I’m not a therapist and have zero ability or intention to guide anyone on their own journey. This is a public journal entry attempting to communicate how sensory inputs affect me personally.
Sensory inputs seem to affect my brain the way a stick or mallet (or anvil) affect a cymbal. When something hits it, there’s a ringing that continues well after the impact. If something hits it again, it’s likely to ring longer. I don’t see ringing as bad; it’s part of the beauty of experiencing life with what some might describe as extra sensitivity. That said, the occasions when my cymbal brain is not given the time to rest are the moments I’ve found myself in a dark room with the lights off plugging my ears until I feel like the world might be safe for me again.
These “hits” I’m talking about can be a number of things, but my biggest trigger is sound: more specifically, loud sounds. My worst triggers are unexpected, uncontrollable, loud sounds when the environment is generally not loud. Another type of cymbal brain hit could be a bright or persistent light, flashing light, uncomfortable clothing, a last-minute plan change (if I had internally set expectations of something else happening), externally-caused distractions, a social moment I don’t understand, unexpectedly hot or cold food, and other events I’m still coming to realize are triggers for me.
On their own, I’m able to handle any and all of these inputs. When they compound, these hits become exponentially more difficult to deal with. When I’m in a less-rested state due to too many inputs, poor sleep, and/or too many hours of constant distractions, my cymbal brain can’t handle as many hits before breaking or needing significantly longer to calm down.
Prior to understanding the reasons behind my moments of overload, I’d try to push through the stimulation and not realize it was breaking me down inside. This (and masking — a subject for another post) caused an underlying guilt and shame, because it seems absurd to me for a plan change or a loud noise to render me useless or less capable of functioning. I am building tools to increase resiliency, but I’m working with significant grace for myself as I come to realize how my brain works.
When the pandemic hit, we started homeschooling. I don’t have to say it, but I will; I love my family more than anything. Also, two little boys just being kids (yes… loud at times) in a house I had grown to trust as a safe and quiet place created constant cymbal hits and no rest for my cymbal brain.
Now that I’m continually seeking to better understand what my triggers are and how much I can generally handle, I’ve been better at removing myself before I’m overwhelmed: allowing me to re-engage in a healthier way and more often. If I catch the overwhelm early enough, all I need is a minute or two or five. Depending on how rested I am (or not) that day, I might do the same thing quite a few times. This approach has generally allowed me to spend more quality time with the people I love without a forced shutdown.
If there’s ever a moment where I remove myself from a situation for a few moments, it’s my way of being able to spend more time in the situation: not less.
This general “cymbal brain” thought process has helped me have a working model to start with.
I still have so much to learn. :)