I never fit in—not really. 

As a child, I was the “weird one” in the family. The one who refused certain clothes because they felt unbearable. Labels at the neck of my shirts? Absolutely not. Anything itchy? No chance. It wasn’t stubbornness—it was discomfort so intense it made me feel trapped in my own skin. 

I was afraid of heights—not just because they were intimidating, but because my body struggled to gauge depth and distance. 

Climbing stairs, I had to hold onto the railing, otherwise I felt like I might trip over myself. Ladders? Bridges without railings? Forget it. Every step above the ground felt unsteady, as if the world beneath me had lost its predictability. 

And then there was school. 

While other kids took notes effortlessly, I couldn’t. If I focused on writing, I missed what the teacher was saying. My brain couldn’t coordinate listening and writing at the same time—it was as if I had to choose one or the other. So I struggled. And I didn’t know why. 

Nobody knew why. 

There was no label, no explanation—just the quiet frustration of feeling different, the exhaustion of masking those differences, the confusion of wondering why simple things felt so hard. 

Sensory Overload & the Autonomic Nervous System 

It wasn’t just about textures, sounds, or coordination. It was about how those sensations affected my entire body. 

When sensory input became overwhelming, it wasn’t just uncomfortable—it triggered a deeper response in my autonomic nervous system. The fight-or-flight signals kicked in over things that shouldn’t have been threatening. My body braced itself against harmless stimuli—a noisy room, a scratchy sweater, a flickering fluorescent light. 

And that kind of stress isn’t just mental—it’s physical. Sensory overload can lead to: 

- Dizziness or nausea from too much input. 

- Fatigue or shutdown when the nervous system can’t keep up. 

- Anxiety or irritability without knowing why. 

It wasn’t that I was overreacting—it was that my nervous system was reacting as if the world was dangerous, even when it wasn’t. And that’s something no one understood. 

What is Sensory Processing Disorder? 

Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) is a neurological condition where the brain struggles to process sensory information correctly. Some people feel sensations too intensely (hypersensitivity), while others barely register them (hyposensitivity). It can affect any of the senses: 

- Touch: Clothes feel scratchy, tags unbearable, hugs overwhelming. 

- Sound: Everyday noises—traffic, chewing, buzzing lights—feel painfully loud. 

- Sight: Bright lights or fast-moving images create discomfort or even dizziness. 

- Balance: Struggles with coordination, motion sickness, or feeling off-balance. 

- Taste & Smell: Extreme pickiness with food textures or overpowering reactions to smells. 

SPD isn’t just about sensory discomfort—it impacts behavior, emotions, and daily life in ways that are hard to explain to others. 

Living with SPD When No One Knows You Have It 

When you don’t know why you react differently, you start to question yourself. 

You wonder if you’re just being overdramatic. You feel guilt when people roll their eyes at your reactions. You push through situations that feel unbearable because you don’t want to be a burden. 

And when people don’t understand, they give labels. Too sensitive. Too picky. Overreacting. Dramatic. 

But in reality, your nervous system is just wired differently. You’re not broken. You’re not difficult. You’re not imagining it. 

Finding Understanding & Healing 

It took me years to finally recognize that I wasn’t weird—I had Sensory Processing Disorder. And understanding that changed everything.  

When you finally name it, you stop blaming yourself. You learn ways to manage overstimulation. You build a life that respects your body’s needs, rather than forcing yourself to fit into a world that isn’t built for you. 

If you’ve ever felt too sensitive, too reactive, too different—if the world has ever felt overwhelming in ways you can’t quite explain—maybe your body is just processing things differently. Maybe, like me, you have SPD, too. 

And maybe, like me, you’re finally ready to understand it.