Please be aware that this post discusses physical reactions to overstimulation that might be difficult for some readers.
My heart feels ready to explode, entire body cringing as if responding to nails on a chalkboard. My muscles turn to stone, allowing just enough breath to sustain life, while every nerve surges to a voltage screaming escape.
This is generally how I experience overstimulation.
Overwhelm is harder for me to navigate than any other feeling or emotion. It requires more awareness, openness, self-compassion. It’s why interruptions to my focus, crowded places and certain noises, clutter, multitasking, and having too many what-ifs “up in the air” can incite dread. It’s why, for so long, I went from calm to irritated at my kids’ first cry, whine or angry outburst. I’d be left dumbfounded and ashamed, berating myself as a horrible person. It’s why even a comforting hand or well-intentioned hug can at times make me want to jump out of my skin. One night, it’s why I had a panic attack and nearly passed out.
Fainting the truth
A fall off of the pony in her riding lesson left my daughter sore and scraped, with an especially large abrasion on her elbow. When it came time to take off the bandage and inspect and clean the wound, you would have thought she was being tortured. She ran, she let out blood-curdling screams, she punched and kicked; she even bit her dad. Remember — this is just the anticipation of the bandage coming off. No words, no cuddles could soothe her. We couldn’t empathize. We couldn’t rationalize. Eventually, we just had to get it done.
As we moved to the bathroom to clean the wound, it seemed impossible that her anxiety could ascend any higher. But it did. And so did mine.
Fortunately, my husband, who I believe is also a highly sensitive person, felt more grounded that evening. In one moment, I was nauseous, flushed and lightheaded. I knew what it meant: If I didn’t sit down, I was likely going to pass out.
While I never did faint, those symptoms remained until my husband was able to clean my daughter’s wound and apply a new bandage. I sat helpless in child’s pose until he finished and crutched me to the couch. I was shocked and horrified. My daughter was suffering, and I could not support her in the way that she needed because my body went into overdrive protective mode.
When calm set in again, we were able to talk to her about what happened, including the fact that my struggle was not her fault. I knew I would have to do some in-depth work around that experience, of course with the help of my trusty therapist. This became more resolute a couple of weeks later when I decided to get familiar with overwhelm in a more average setting — my son whining and complaining and screaming about not getting what he wanted (probably a snack). As I tuned into my body, thoughts and emotions, I started feeling that familiar nausea and lightheadedness. It was minor and brief, but it surprised me.
It is what it is is not as bad as I think it is
It seems absurdly obvious now that I can see this overwhelm and what it does to me. How could I not see it before? Because my body and mind were hiding it from me — protecting me from it. But, I am learning to navigate it, and I’m noticing growth and serenity.
When I feel anxiety ramping up, I try to stop, close my eyes, take a breath and let the exhale relieve my body of the tension. Sometimes, I remind myself that I’m safe; I’m OK. If it’s a matter of too much “up in the air,” I can find comfort in the reality that I’m working hard, I’m doing my best, and it will all get done. In this overwhelm, I know my body is in fight or flight mode. Maybe the extreme, chronic muscle tension and tendency to function on autopilot are my body’s freeze mode. Even though there’s no real danger, my emotional mind believes it’s right in front of me; it’s going to eat me alive.
Once I recognize and accept this with some form of “it is what it is,” the fear and discouragement fade. It’s not so daunting, and I have space to explore, learn from and transform it. This doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m completely at ease or happy with whatever the situation is; it means I’m more at peace with myself and have confidence that darkness and difficulty are not everlasting. It’s not nearly as bad as my emotional mind made it out to be, and I’ll move through it and on to the next thing — likely faster and more comfortably if I’m not trying to fight off an evil that’s not even there.
So, when my kids are rolling around laughing and roughhousing on the bed while I’m trying to work (my bedroom is also my office), I remind myself it’s because they want to be around me. I listen to meditative music on the Insight Timer app to facilitate focus. If necessary, I calmly tell them that they’re in my workspace and are more than welcome to find a quiet activity, like coloring, or they can go play loudly somewhere else.
Pressing ‘recenter’ on the internal GPS
This burgeoning equanimity was really tested the day we had our roof replaced. I thoroughly underestimated the volume and jarring of roofing work. While my anxiety spiked and my focus faltered, the kids were cooing “ooh!” and “ahh!” as the workers sped around the yard and the old tiles fell from the skies. But I knew what was happening and why. Although I was frazzled at the end of the day, I was able to recenter myself after the chaos subsided.
Even on an average day marked by a lengthy to-do list, my tendency is to go, go, go, which often leaves me feeling like we’ve had our roof replaced over and over again. I try now to take mini-breaks throughout the day. I stop what I’m doing; check in with the tension, my posture and my breathing; then I close my eyes, breathe in for six counts and breathe out for 12, relaxing my body on the exhale. I’ve also set a goal to meditate for 10 minutes each morning, with the understanding that I will likely miss some days or need to do it later in the day.
What’s been most impactful in exploring my overwhelm is the openness, flexibility and relief I’ve discovered. I see more clearly how I’ve lived my life for everyone else — even complete strangers — trying not to cause any upset. I’m practicing saying “no,” which most of the time is to my own hard-driving, perfectionistic ego mind. And I’m relishing this newfound grace.