Neurodivergent Joy, Sensory Haven, and the Whymeez
What to Expect in this Blog Post:
Insights on ways to turn sensory overwhelm into your own sensory haven
Helpful mindset and perspective shifts for managing sensory challenges
Affirming terms and definitions coined by neurodivergent thought leaders
Sensory tools and practices
Links to neurodiversity-affirming resources
Autumn and Sensory Havens
Crisp autumn mornings. Trees emblazoned with rich yellows, oranges, and burgundy. The alluring scents of pumpkin, cinnamon, and vanilla.
I love the harbingers of fall—along with the bittersweet kiss of nostalgia this season always seems to promise. Themes of letting go and self-reflection fit the waning daylight like a glove, and we quite literally offset them with our own sources of light. Thank you, Thomas Edison, and thank you to the ancient civilizations who first gave us candlelight.
Perhaps it’s because of the darkness that we begin to rely more heavily on our senses—the feeling that lends itself to cozy blankets, the smelling that inspires scented candles, and the tasting that calls for warm soups and chilis—pleasantly intoxicating when we slow down enough to notice. For me, honoring my unique sensory experiences has become a non-negotiable practice born from the realization that on the other side of sensory overwhelm lies sensory haven.
Sometimes being sensory-sensitive can feel isolating, inconvenient, and frustrating. But here’s what I’ve learned. We aren’t all meant to thrive in the same ways, hence the parallels between biodiversity and neurodiversity. And while it can feel lonely to sit out of loud and crowded spaces where others seemingly thrive, it can feel empowering to curate your own environmental haven through the senses.
On Being Sensitive
There are many understanding people out there who will not only tolerate but anticipate and appreciate your wonderful idiosyncrasies.
Neurodivergent friends and clients often express to me their struggles with being highly sensitive. They might share things like:
I wish I didn’t have so many needs. I feel like a burden. I hate being so sensitive.
I’ve had these feelings too, and exploring these introjects through parts work is something I regularly do with my clients (read more about TIST parts work here). Wanting for nothing has become a cultural pride point, and it disproportionately impacts highly sensitive individuals. Besides being ableist and pathological, it keeps us from experiencing joy, and that matters–because across generations and tragedies, joy is one of the most enduring ways we’ve learned to survive what seeks to silence us.
Here is some commentary on the parallels between joy and resistance. Pay attention to what it stirs in you as you read through them:
Resistance is the secret of joy! — Alice Walker
We must dare to love and to be happy in the face of injustice. That’s a form of resistance too.— Desmond Tutu
The sharing of joy, whether physical, emotional, psychic, or intellectual, forms a bridge between the sharers … and lessens the threat of their difference. — Audre Lorde
That’s why joy has always been a form of resistance. — Michelle Obama
Here’s the truth: being unapologetic about our niche environments (niche construction)—the ones that need to be just so—can be joyful. By doing so, we liberate ourselves from situations that lead to sensory overwhelm and begin to seek what soothes us. For those who’re just beginning this journey, it can take some practice. The first request to dim the lights or turn down the volume may feel terrifying, but by the 10th, 20th, or 100th time, it’s likely to be the equivalent of saying, gee, what lovely weather we’re having, huh? Repetition helps us learn that there are many understanding people out there who will not only tolerate but anticipate and appreciate your wonderful idiosyncrasies. It gets easier with practice.
What Actually Happens When We Make Sensory Requests
When we make sensory requests, we not only heal ourselves; we resist a pathologizing culture that leads to dysregulated nervous systems; we model an affirming culture that values accessibility for all neuro-types.
To my relief and increased hope for humanity, I’ve experienced countless situations where people have thanked me for expressing my needs. I once attended a friend’s birthday getaway where I was concerned about getting the auditory space I typically need to thrive. On the first night, I mustered up the courage to ask everyone if they were willing to set quiet hours. I wanted to protect my sleep (and protect my friends, who’d be subjected to my rare form if I didn’t get enough). I remember dreading having to make the request and feeling ashamed about the prospect of imposing on others. It turns out that while most didn’t share my desire for an earlier bedtime, people remarked that they were appreciative of me bringing it up. We negotiated a reasonable hour where everyone agreed to be considerate of noise levels—it made all the difference for my nervous system, allowing me to trust that I’d get the window of quiet I needed along with some restful sleep. And one of the best and unanticipated benefits was that it made me feel like there was room for me; that I belonged.
Another time I was in a therapy training. It was early morning, and the blinds were closed. I often feel lights are too bright, but this time I felt circadian rhythm confusion. Being the sensitive person I am, I felt disoriented and became anxious. When I made the request to let some daylight in, sighs of relief and “thank yous” filled the space where my anxiety once hung. It turned out that most everyone was feeling the exact same way. When we make sensory requests, we not only heal ourselves; we resist a pathologizing culture that leads to dysregulated nervous systems; we model an affirming culture that values accessibility for all neuro-types.
While people will not always be tolerant of the sensory needs of others, it’s more the exception than the rule. But it does happen, and we can prepare for that—I once asked my neighbors to lower their late-night noise level, and they told me no. Luckily I had noise cancelling earplugs that eventually helped me settle (and just enough audacity to call the cops). When these things happen, we need to be willing to say, I belong here. Remembering that others’ intolerance of your needs does not diminish our inherent belonging in this world can act like armor when we’re dismissed. You may decide to forgo those relationships and environments where you aren’t heard or seen. Or maybe you decide to remain in them from a safer distance. Either way, other people’s disregard for your sensory needs isn’t proof that you’re too much or too sensitive—it’s proof of how deeply our world misunderstands or outright ignores neurodiversity, or in other words, the diverse experiences of others. We all have an inherent right to be here simply because we are here. The more we tell ourselves that we belong—just as we are—the easier it gets. And the more we look for evidence of our belonging, the more we see it reflected through affirming experiences and relationships.
The Case of the Whymeez
Why me? A question I’ve often found myself asking at the crescendo of every sensory meltdown or chronic health flareup.
I call it the whymeez because it sounds like a whimsical, pesky little creature–one that shows up uninvited and demanding answers.
Alas, just as we must combat the common cold to build our immunity, coming down with a case of the whymeez is an important step in building our resilience–it’s a chance to feel our sorrow, grief, and sadness, a chance to recognize that because of our differences and/or limitations, we can’t always be a-part-of in the ways we’d like. Being aware of our feelings allows us to process them, have connection with others through them, and feel more understood and supported. It’s only when we get stuck there that—by definition—we don’t move forward to what’s next or what’s possible.
It wasn’t until I was in the midst of a scary health crisis that I had no choice (after much metaphorical kicking and screaming) but to move on from the whymeez. My sensitivities and limitations were making my world feel increasingly small, and when I tried to override them, I got sicker (to my stubborn HSP friends, my wish for you is to know you have inherent permission to make changes before developing health issues). Looking back, I can now see the myriad ways my body was pleading for deep rest, and how questioning that was only hurting me. Instead, my body needed me to ask what now given this set of circumstances, however much I resented them.
And oh, did the possibilities begin to line up at my door, one by one, to share their beguiling secrets. It wasn’t always easy and the path wasn’t always clear, but eventually, I learned some valuable lessons about possibility, joy, and how to invite them in.
Possibility and Joy
The whymeez aren’t fun, but they’re important because they make way for introspection and emotional processing.
The first thing I did after the whymeez lifted was search for people who’ve been through what I was experiencing at the time. It led me to a book called Wintering, by Katherine May (highly recommend for anyone dealing with mental or physical burnout) and to deeper connections with people who understood what I was going through. I learned even more about what made me feel good versus drained. Brick by brick, I built a more sustainable lifestyle that stirred dormant interests and lent itself to invaluable life lessons.
The whymeez puts us in a contracted state, and it’s actually helpful for a time. And then suddenly, it’s not. It’s important not to label these states as either good or bad because we need both for survival and wellbeing. It’s just that many of us resort to contracted states when they’re no longer needed, and staying there can prolong healing. There are many reasons for this, and chief among them is usually twofold; they’re habitual, and us humans tend to mistake comfort for safety.
The whymeez aren’t fun, but they’re important because they make way for introspection and emotional processing. They help us to better understand our needs. They increase our awareness of the environments, habits, and relationships that aren’t serving us, however much we wish they were. The trick is knowing when to let them go once they’ve served their purpose; knowing when the whymeez are a necessary stop on the healing train versus when they’ve overstayed their welcome is a skill we can hone, helping us navigate expanded and contracted states with greater ease.
There are several portals you can explore to help you move through the Whymeez and enter the realms of joy:
Curiosity: Helps us open up to our physical and emotional states without judging them, widening our perspective on how to cope with, move through, and manage hardships and stressors.
Courage: Helps us build resilience in the face of difficulty, leading to actions that decrease the inherent suffering that comes with resisting our circumstances.
Creativity: Provides us the opportunity to expand our view of what’s possible, leading to empowering solutions and coping skills to process pain.
Compassion: Helps us discover new ways to cope with the pain that accompanies being human, leading to greater acceptance and understanding of ourselves and humanity as a whole.
To learn more about qualities that can lead to expanded states, you can explore The 8 C’s of Self-leadership outlined by Richard Schwartz.
Pure, neurodivergent joy emerges when we stop questioning what’s wrong with us and begin asking what’s possible—not in spite of who we are, but because of it.
It takes practice, and it’s one I’m still honing. Just the other day I found myself thinking things like: Why can’t I keep up with social media? Why does socializing sometimes feel so draining? Why do I have to live with chronic symptoms? – The whymeez! Those sneaky little creatures.
I knew to pause, listen, and feel my disappointment. I gave the whymeez their spotlight until I felt clear on what they had to reveal. And with some practice under my belt, I knew it was time to pivot. I turned toward sensory needs and possibility to guide my way toward sensory regulation and even eventual joy. Currently, that looks like…
Reading and writing by candlelight with a cup of peppermint tea and cinnamon sticks simmering on my stovetop
Letting myself take an extra day off when I need rest and solitude
Watching reruns of Gilmore Girls in October in my Gilmore Girls sweatshirt and blanket. IYKYK, and if not, I’d be curious to hear what your GGs equivalent is.
This remembering led me to starting a book club, taking a writing course, and finishing the very newsletter you’re reading now—all things that are deeply meaningful to me, yet I had no room for during my days of forced habits, relationships, and social engagements–ones that were literally making me sick. Sometimes we might choose to rally and tolerate disagreeable sensory input for a greater cause. Whether it’s career driven, connected to a relationship that you value, or something else, we can derive a sense of fulfillment from stretching our window of tolerance for something that matters. Discernment and a healthy repertoire of sensory supports can help us find balance between competing values. Sometimes just knowing that you’ve got a sensory haven to return to after braving a sensory storm brings relief all on its own. Over time, we can derive pure joy from curating our very own sensory haven protocols for the various places and situations we find ourselves in.
Building Your Sensory Haven
Building your unique sensory haven can be fun! It’s like adjusting your home’s default settings so that they're in your favor.
It’s also helpful to have sensory emergency kits and protocols for when you’ve gone into sensory overwhelm, sort of like a sensory first aid kit.
In support of sensory haven creations, I’ve dropped some of my favorite tools and practices below. I hope you’ll discover something that makes your world feel more inviting!
Noise cancelling Earplugs Great for times where you need a substantial auditory buffer or are being kept awake by background noise– old school foam earplugs are great too and much more affordable. I keep a handful in my car just in case.
Heating Pad or Cool Compress: Great for individuals who feel soothed and calmed by heating or cooling sensations.
Loops Earbuds: Great for decreased auditory input when you still want to hear and talk to others
Needoh: My favorite noise-proof fidget when needing tactile release. Can come in handy when socializing or listening in on meetings, lectures, workshops, etc.
Magnesium and Baking Soda Baths: Great for gentle detoxifying and muscle relaxing benefits to help you unwind and get some sleep. Here’s my favorite epsom salt.
Intentional Quiet and Alone Time: Great for managing overwhelm when little to no input will help your nervous system recharge–an HSP must-have!
Eyemask: Helpful when bothered by light pollution during sleep or when you need minimal sensory input any time of day.
Intentionally Listening to Music of Choice: A proven way to lift or calm neurodivergent minds through intentional and uninterrupted listening. Dancing is encouraged if desired.
Mindfully Sipping Peppermint Tea: A soothing, non-caffeinated beverage that is calming when you need it to be calm and uplifting when you need it to be uplifting! Here’s my favorite.
Going for a Nature Walk: A gentle form of movement that can help us get physically and emotionally unstuck. Harvard says so.
A sensory toolkit: A personalized toolkit you can take with you to support your sensory needs whenever you’re away from home. It can include dozens of different items such as sunglasses, a cozy sweater, favorite fidgets, chewing gum, nail clippers, earplugs, etc.
Please feel free to report back on any of these items you find helpful, or share one of your favorite sensory haven gems not listed here!
Closing thoughts…
Maybe fall reminds us that letting go makes room for possibility, a particular kind of possibility that serves us more fully this time of year.
Just as fallen leaves provide the earth with rich compost, so too can letting go of thoughts, beliefs, and the whymeez that are no longer serving us. It’s one way to think about fertilizing our internal ground of possibility. And you might discover that a new possibility begins to stir an unexpected joy.
To finish, I’ll leave you with these questions to sit with as we move into these darker, more introspective months:
What belief or habit can you let go of in order to make more room for sensory joy?
What situation can you imagine where you unapologetically ask for what you need?
Leave a comment below with your thoughts!