🌬️ Breathing and mindfulness helped me with sensory overload
By Real Ray C on
There are days when the world feels like it’s turned up to maximum volume. The lights in my room glare like spotlights, every sound seems to echo and overlap, and even the seams of my shirt feel like sandpaper against my skin. When sensory overload hits, it’s as if my whole body is buzzing with static. My mind wants to run, but my body just freezes.
For a long time, I thought my only option was to grit my teeth and wait for it to pass. I’d sit there, tense and overwhelmed, hoping no one would notice how hard I was struggling. But slowly, I started to collect little tools things that made the edges of the world a bit softer.
One of the first things I learned was deep breathing. I’d close my eyes and count: in through my nose for four seconds, hold for four, out through my mouth for four, pause for four. The rhythm became a lifeline, something steady to hold onto when everything else felt chaotic. It didn’t make the overload disappear, but it helped slow down the racing thoughts and panic.
Then I discovered grounding exercises. When my senses were spinning, I’d quietly name five things I could see, four I could touch, three I could hear, two I could smell, and one I could taste. It was like dropping an anchor in the present moment, reminding myself that I was safe, right here and now.
Weighted pressure became another comfort. Sometimes I’d press my feet firmly into the floor, feeling the solid ground beneath me. Other times, I’d wrap myself in my weighted blanket, letting the gentle pressure remind my body that it was okay to relax. It was a quiet reassurance: “You’re here, you’re okay.”
And maybe most importantly, I started practicing self-kindness. When the shame or frustration crept in, I’d remind myself, “You’re not broken. You’re just overwhelmed. This will pass.” Being gentle with myself made it easier to ride out the storm, instead of fighting against it.
None of these things are magic. They don’t erase the overload completely. But they do make it softer, less like drowning, more like floating until the wave calms down.
If you’re autistic and know this feeling, you’re not alone. I’d love to hear what helps you, too.