Overstimulated

There are moments when I genuinely feel like if one more person talks to me, I might lose my mind. And I don’t mean that in the funny, haha, it’s been a long day kind of way. I mean there are moments when the television is playing, my phone is buzzing, someone is asking me a question, the dog needs something, there are seventeen thoughts running through my head about things I still need to do, and suddenly the sound of someone chewing three feet away from me feels like a personal attack. The sounds are too loud, the questions require entirely too much thought, being touched feels like one more thing my body has to process, and making a decision about something as simple as what I want for dinner feels like someone has asked me to solve an incredibly complicated math problem.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I can feel myself changing. My patience gets shorter, my responses get sharper, and I start desperately wanting everyone to stop talking, stop needing things, stop making noise and just give me five minutes where absolutely nothing is coming at me. Then, because apparently being completely overwhelmed isn’t enough, guilt tends to show up too. These are people I love. I don’t actually want them to go away, and I don’t want to be impatient with them. I certainly don’t want someone’s completely reasonable question to make me internally scream, I CANNOT ANSWER ONE MORE QUESTION, but sometimes that is exactly where I am.

For a long time, I interpreted those moments as something about me. Maybe I’m impatient. Maybe I’m irritable. Maybe I need to get better at handling stress. Maybe I shouldn’t be so bothered by things that aren’t actually a big deal. And yes, sometimes I probably am just irritable because I am a human being and human beings occasionally get irritated, but I’ve also learned to recognize something else about myself: sometimes the thing happening in front of me isn’t actually the problem at all. Sometimes my nervous system was already full long before somebody asked me what I wanted for dinner.

The Last Thing Usually Isn’t the Thing

I think this is one of the most confusing things about overstimulation because when we finally react, our reaction can look completely disproportionate to whatever just happened. Someone asks an innocent question and suddenly you cannot possibly make another decision. Your phone rings and you stare at it like it has personally offended you. Someone starts telling you a story and halfway through you realize you haven’t absorbed a single word because your brain simply cannot receive any more information. The television is on, someone else is watching something on their phone, another person is talking, the dog is moving around, and every individual sound somehow feels like it is occurring at exactly the same volume inside your brain.

Then someone drops something, asks another question, touches your arm, or makes one more noise, and suddenly you are done. From the outside, it might look like that was the thing that sent you over the edge, but it usually wasn’t. It was just the thing that happened when there wasn’t any room left. That’s the part I think we miss when we talk about overstimulation. It isn’t always one enormous overwhelming experience. Sometimes it’s fifty completely manageable things stacked on top of each other until thing number fifty-one arrives and your nervous system says, Absolutely not. We are closed.

Our brains and bodies are processing an incredible amount of information all day long without us consciously thinking about most of it. Sounds, lights, conversations, emotions, physical sensations, decisions, notifications, responsibilities, interruptions, worries and the endless stream of thoughts happening inside our own heads are all asking for some amount of attention. Most of the time our brains do a pretty impressive job of sorting through all of it, deciding what matters and filtering out what doesn’t. But there is a limit, and when we reach it, things that would normally barely register can suddenly feel enormous.

Overstimulation Doesn’t Always Look Like Overstimulation

I think when people hear the word overstimulated, they sometimes picture someone covering their ears in a crowded room because everything is simply too loud. That absolutely can be overstimulation, but it can also be much quieter and much harder to recognize. It can look like becoming irritated with people you genuinely enjoy being around, suddenly not wanting anyone to touch you, struggling to answer basic questions, jumping between twelve different tasks without actually finishing any of them, staring at your phone without processing what you’re looking at, or sitting in your car for five extra minutes because the thought of walking inside and immediately having someone need something from you feels like more than you have available.

Sometimes we get louder when we’re overstimulated, and sometimes we get very quiet. Some people become emotional or start crying over something that normally wouldn’t bother them, while others shut down completely. Some of us become incredibly productive-looking and start frantically doing everything at once because our brains are desperately trying to regain some sense of control. There are a hundred ways it can show up, which is probably part of why so many of us don’t recognize it until we’re already completely overwhelmed.

That’s when the judgment usually starts. Why am I acting like this? Why am I so irritated? Why can’t I handle this? Why am I making such a big deal out of something so small? I’ve asked myself those questions plenty of times, and I’m learning that there is another question that is usually much more useful: How much had I already been carrying before this happened?

Because sometimes the answer explains quite a bit.

There Are More Kinds of “Noise” Than We Realize

Overstimulation isn’t just about literal noise. It’s anything our brains and bodies are being asked to process, and once I started thinking about it that way, some of my own experiences made a lot more sense. Noise can be the email I still need to answer, the conversation I’m replaying from earlier, the grocery list I’m mentally creating while someone is talking to me, the appointment I can’t forget, the notification that just popped up, the decision I need to make tomorrow, the person I’m worried about, the uncomfortable shirt touching my skin and the three people who are waiting for an answer from me.

It can also be emotional noise, and I think we underestimate that one tremendously. Listening takes energy. Helping takes energy. Making decisions takes energy. Caring for people takes energy. Problem-solving takes energy. Being emotionally present with another human being takes energy. None of those things are inherently bad, and many of them can be incredibly meaningful, but meaningful things still require something from us.

I have had to learn this about myself because I spend a huge portion of my life listening, thinking, problem-solving, making decisions and being present with other people. I genuinely love what I do, and I wouldn’t want to change that, but loving my work doesn’t somehow give my brain unlimited processing capacity. I can move through an incredibly full day feeling completely fine and then get home and discover that apparently I have absolutely no tolerance left for two electronic devices making noise at the same time. Nothing terrible happened. Nobody did anything wrong. My brain has simply reached the point where it would very much like everyone and everything to stop sending it information for a little while.

That distinction has become important to me because there is a huge difference between I don’t want you and I cannot process any more input right now. Unfortunately, when we don’t recognize the second one, the people around us can very easily experience it as the first.

I Don’t Think the Goal Is to Handle More

This is probably where my thinking about overstimulation has changed the most. I used to think being better at managing life meant being able to tolerate more of it. I should be able to handle the noise, manage the schedule, answer the questions, keep making decisions, remain patient and somehow stay completely regulated through all of it. There is always one more thing that technically can be done, and I am very good at convincing myself that because I can keep going, I should keep going.

But capacity doesn’t work that way. The goal isn’t to become so good at coping that we never have limits. The goal is learning our limits well enough that we notice them before our nervous system has to announce them for us.

I’ve started thinking about it almost like a gauge. What does 50 percent full feel like for me? Maybe I’m having a harder time concentrating or noticing that I’m jumping between things more than usual. Maybe noises that normally wouldn’t bother me are starting to get my attention. Maybe I’m rereading something because my brain isn’t absorbing it. Then what does 75 percent look like? My patience may be getting shorter, decisions feel harder, conversation starts requiring more effort and I find myself really wanting some quiet. By the time I reach 95 percent, there is no subtlety left. I don’t want another question. I don’t want another sound. I don’t want another decision. I don’t even want someone to ask me what I need because now figuring out what I need is another thing I have to figure out.

And that is the point I am trying to get better at avoiding.

Sometimes the Answer Is Less

We talk so much about coping skills that I think sometimes we accidentally turn regulation into another task. Breathe this way. Do this grounding exercise. Practice mindfulness. Journal. Meditate. Use this technique. Those things can absolutely be helpful, and I teach many of them, but sometimes when my brain has spent the entire day processing information, the last thing I need is another assignment.

Sometimes I just need less.

I need the television turned off. I need to put my phone down. I need comfortable clothes, fewer lights, less conversation or a few minutes where nobody needs me to make a decision. Sometimes I need to drive without music or sit somewhere quietly. Sometimes I need to say, “My brain is really full right now. Can we talk about this in ten minutes?” None of that is particularly revolutionary, but I think many of us are much better at adding things to our lives than we are at intentionally removing input from them.

There is also something important about learning to communicate this before we reach the point of snapping at the people around us. Needing quiet isn’t the same as rejecting someone. Not wanting to be touched for a moment doesn’t mean we don’t want affection. Needing to stop talking doesn’t mean we don’t care about the conversation, and wanting to be alone for a little while doesn’t necessarily mean anything is wrong. Sometimes creating space is exactly what allows us to come back and actually be present instead of physically remaining there while internally begging the entire world to please stop making noise.

I’ve had to remind myself of that because the people around me cannot read my nervous system. They don’t necessarily know that I’ve reached my limit, especially if I’ve spent the entire day appearing perfectly capable. If I don’t communicate what is happening, they only experience the irritation, withdrawal or sharpness that comes afterward. Learning to say, “I’m overstimulated and need a few quiet minutes” gives both of us information that “leave me alone” doesn’t.

Pay Attention to What Happened Before

So the next time you find yourself inexplicably irritated by the television, sitting in your car because you’re not quite ready to walk inside, desperately wanting everyone you love to stop talking at exactly the same time, or feeling like you might unravel because someone asked you one completely innocent question, get curious before you judge yourself. What happened during the hours leading up to that moment? How much noise had you already processed? How many decisions had you made? How many people had needed something from you? How many conversations had you navigated? How many thoughts were you carrying around that nobody else could see?

Because the moment we finally become overwhelmed is rarely the whole story. Our nervous systems have usually been telling the story for quite a while; we just tend to notice once they become loud enough that we can no longer ignore them.

Reflection

Think about the last time you felt unusually irritated, shut down, desperately needed to be alone or found yourself thinking, I cannot handle one more thing. Instead of focusing only on what finally pushed you over the edge, rewind the day a little. What signs did your body and brain give you before you reached that point?

This week, try to notice what your own 50 percent and 75 percent look like. Maybe it’s difficulty concentrating, sensitivity to sound, shorter patience, decision fatigue, physical tension or the beginning of that desperate craving for quiet. When you notice it, don’t immediately ask yourself how you can push through. Try removing one source of input instead.

You don’t always need to become better at handling more. Sometimes you need to become better at noticing when you’ve had enough.