There’s a moment—a split second—when everything gets too much. The lights are too bright. The noise is too loud. The tags in my shirt feel like sandpaper. The conversation feels like it’s spinning too fast to follow. And then it happens: a shutdown, a meltdown, or an unexpected snap that others call “overreacting.”
But here’s the thing: I’m not overreacting.
I’m overstimulated.
What Is Overstimulation?
Overstimulation happens when sensory input—sound, light, touch, smell, emotion, even internal sensations—piles up past what our nervous system can comfortably manage. For neurodivergent folks, especially those with autism, ADHD, sensory processing disorder, or anxiety, the threshold is often lower and the effects more intense.
It’s not just discomfort. It’s a full-body hijacking. Our systems go into survival mode, not because we’re fragile, but because our brains are working overtime to process a world that wasn’t designed with us in mind.
What It Looks Like
It might look like someone “losing it” over something small.
It might look like avoidance, snapping, shutting down, or walking away.
It might look like someone suddenly needing silence, darkness, space, or solitude.
To others, it can seem dramatic. To us, it’s a last-ditch effort to hold ourselves together in a world that won’t slow down.
Why This Gets Misunderstood
We’ve been trained to view emotional regulation as a moral virtue. “Stay calm.” “Don’t make a scene.” “Control yourself.”
So when someone gets overwhelmed, they’re labeled as dramatic, difficult, or sensitive.
But emotional dysregulation isn’t a character flaw—it’s often the result of sensory and cognitive overload. When someone is overstimulated, they’re doing their best with a body that’s just trying to cope.
The Impact of Dismissing Overstimulation
Telling someone they’re overreacting can be deeply invalidating. It erases their experience and creates shame around their very real sensory needs.
It teaches people to mask. To suppress. To pretend they’re fine—until they aren’t. And the longer they mask, the harder the crash when it finally comes.
What Support Actually Looks Like
Support doesn’t mean fixing someone or forcing them to “toughen up.” It means noticing the signs, offering gentleness, and making accommodations when possible. Things like:
- Lowering the lights or offering sunglasses
- Allowing noise-canceling headphones
- Reducing background noise during conversations
- Respecting when someone needs a break or a quiet space
- Avoiding surprise touch
- Asking, “What do you need right now?”
Most of all, it means believing someone when they say they’re overstimulated—even if you wouldn’t be in the same situation.
A Note to Fellow Neurodivergent Folks
You’re not overreacting. You’re not too much. You’re responding to a world that can be relentless and overwhelming. Your nervous system isn’t broken—it’s responding the way it was built to.
Self-regulation isn’t about silencing your needs—it’s about understanding them. And when others don’t get it? That doesn’t mean you’re wrong. It just means they haven’t had to live in your skin.
Let’s Shift the Narrative
Instead of asking, “Why are they freaking out?”
Let’s ask, “What are they feeling, and what might be overwhelming them?”
Instead of “Calm down,”
Let’s try “I’m here. How can I support you?”
Because the truth is, the world could use a little less judgment and a lot more understanding.
