Part 3 — Sensory overwhelm: The volume knob the world keeps cranking to eleven

A strengths-based exploration by 🟠 the neurovision group

Introduction

This article is Part 3 of a 12-part series exploring neurodivergent lived experience through a strengths and skills lens.

Sensory overwhelm is one of the most defining and least understood realities of autism, ADHD and related neurodivergent profiles.
People often assume it means being “fussy”, “sensitive”, or “overly reactive”.

But sensory overwhelm isn’t personality.
It isn’t preference. It isn’t mood.

It is neurology.

And once you understand the neuroscience behind it, you begin to see something extraordinary: The same sensory wiring that overwhelms us is the wiring that fuels our greatest strengths.

It’s not “being fussy.” It’s living in 4K while everyone else is streaming on a potato.

Lights don’t just shine; they strobe straight into the back of your skull.
Sounds don’t queue politely; they charge in like Black Friday shoppers.
A single strong perfume can redecorate the entire room in nausea.
And sock seams? Tiny medieval torture devices.

From the inside it feels like someone slipped the world a triple espresso and forgot to tell you.

Your skin buzzes, your chest tightens, words get stuck in the departure lounge and suddenly lying on the cool floor feels like a five-star life choice.

And the chorus from well-meaning humans? “Just ignore it.”

Thank you, I’d love to.
My nervous system simply didn’t get the memo.

We don’t have thin boundaries. We have spectacular reception.

Most brains come with a polite sensory bouncer at the door.
Ours hired an intern who waves everyone through with a sticker and a smile.

Result: everything arrives undimmed, unfiltered, full volume, Dolby Atmos, director’s cut.

It’s exhausting. Honestly, it truly is, 

It’s also the reason we notice the wobble in someone’s voice before they do, spot the pattern hiding in plain sight, and feel the room shift three minutes before argument o’clock.

We’re not broken radios.
We’re picking up stations no one else knew existed.

Treat the instrument; don’t try to smash it quieter.

Everything changed when I stopped apologising for my aerials and started caring for them.

Noise-cancelling headphones became emotional support headphones.
Sunglasses indoors became fashion, not eccentricity. (Think bono 😎)
Leaving early became self-respect. The Irish goodbye is a tool I use unapologetically now)
Soft clothes became non-negotiable.
And saying “these lights are hurting me” out loud became… oddly liberating. Although, the first time I did this, unfortunately the response was 'What do you want me to do about it?' I do hope this person has reflected since and deepened their compassion and understanding. It was a moment that revealed more about the culture than my sensitivity. And a masterclass from leadership in how not to handle a sensory request.

The less static I allow in, the clearer the signal gets.
Turns out brilliance runs best on a regulated nervous system and decent lighting.

One day the world will learn to turn the brightness down (until then, we carry dimmer switches in our souls).

Imagine knowing from childhood that your sensitivity is a unique feature, not a flaw.
Imagine offices lit by lamps instead of interrogation florescent bulbs.
Imagine friends who text “quiet table booked” without needing a backstory.
Imagine never pretending you’re fine when the air-con sounds like a jet engine.

We’re getting there.
One soft hoodie, one understanding glance, one “I’ll move seats” at a time.

A gentle salute to the absurdity

Some of us can identify a fluorescent flicker from the next county.
We know the supermarket aisle that plays the soundtrack of the underworld.
We have considered writing strongly worded letters about the crime that is itchy labels.

Meanwhile neurotypical humans stroll through life as if they’re wearing noise-cancelling everything… and we’re over here receiving the extended remix.

It’s ridiculous.
And it’s also rather magnificent.

Come where the lights are low and the understanding is high

If you’ve ever hidden in a loo to let your nervous system reboot…
If you’ve apologised for something your body was simply telling the truth about…
If you’ve ever thought “I’m too much” when you were just in the wrong room…

You’re our people.

In the All Kinds of Minds community we keep the volume gentle, the lighting kind and the judgement nonexistent.
We swap survival tips, celebrate the gifts and occasionally compare notes on which shops qualify as the ninth circle of hell.

No bright graphics.
No forced cheer.
Just humans who get it, breathing the same soft air.

Come sit with us.
We’ve already turned the big light off.

🟠 All Kinds of Minds™ — the calmest corner of the internet where your nervous system can finally exhale.

Up next Part 4 — The disconnect between intellect and executive function (and why it’s never been a character flaw)