Tag: Sensory Processing Disorder

Using Weighted Blankets for Sensory Processing Disorder: Sleep and Anxiety

Genevieve2 Comments

Table of Contents

  1. Weighted Blankets and Sleep
    1. What Scientific Research Says
    2. Are Weighted Blankets Safe?
    3. Should You Sleep with a Weighted Blanket for Sensory Processing Disorder?
  2. Calming Overstimulation and Anxiety with Weighted Blankets
    1. Deep Pressure for SPD
    2. Sensory Over-Responsivity, Sensory Defensiveness, and Anxiety
  3. How to Use a Weighted Blanket for Sensory Processing Disorder

For people with sensory processing disorder, weighted blankets can be valuable tools. I use mine for more than just sleeping; it helps me ground myself when my senses are overwhelmed, it helps me focus, and it helps me calm my anxiety. Many people report feelings of safety and relaxation when they use their weighted blankets for sensory processing disorder. In this post, I discuss the science of weighted blankets when it comes to sleep and relaxation, as well as my own experience using a weighted blanket for SPD.

Weighted Blankets and Sleep in SPD

Tools like weighted blankets and vests use deep pressure, which is thought to reduce the body’s level of arousal, leading to relaxation. They’re highly popular among kids and adults alike, and some people swear by them for alleviating insomnia. But when it comes to whether weighted blankets help you fall asleep, stay asleep, and enjoy better-quality sleep, the evidence is mixed.

Image by Victoria_rt from Pixabay

What Scientific Research Says

I found studies that offer evidence for and against the idea that weighted blankets can improve sleep in people with sensory processing difficulties, often defined by falling asleep faster, waking up less during the night, improved mood in the morning, and other measurements like sleep efficiency.

Surveys

Some research shows that weighted blankets are effective at improving sleep quality and sense of restfulness as well as shortening the time to fall asleep. Weighted blankets were shown to improve morning mood in this study, but the overall results were inconclusive. Most of the studies I looked at that concluded that weighted blankets can improve sleep used surveys to collect their data, which have their limitations.

Observational and Experimental Studies

While surveys offer valuable insights into subjective experiences, experiments can provide a more objective look at a question. In a study that used actigraphy (small accelerometers that measure movement), weighted blankets had no effect on the number of times participants moved in their sleep. In a different study on people without SPD, weighted blankets were associated with a significant 32% increase in salivary melatonin, but they didn’t affect cortisol, oxytocin, subjective sleepiness scores, or the duration of sleep.

On the other hand, another study that used a sleep sensor and surveys (funded by Gravity Blanket) found a significant 7% improvement in a measure called Wake After Sleep Onset and improvements of 2% or less in other sleep measures.

To me, the most interesting part of that last study is that participants’ subjective reports seemed to overshoot the measurements – by a lot. They thought they were sleeping 36% better without waking up in the night. Compare this to the 7% improvement in Wake After Sleep Onset, and this seems to match what we see from other surveys; people feel like they sleep better when they use a weighted blanket, even if the objective measurements don’t match.

More research is needed to understand the effects of weighted blankets on sleep in people with sensory processing disorder, but if you feel that they help you, why not use one?

Are Weighted Blankets Safe?

As far as I can tell, yes. The American Academy of Neuroscience says, “No serious adverse events with [weighted] blanket use” were found in its review of the literature on the topic. The main considerations involved in this weighted blanket competency training program are:

  • Do you have medical conditions that would be a concern?
  • Do you have claustrophobia?
  • Don’t walk around with it over your head.
  • Carry it in an ergonomic manner.
  • Do not use it as a restraint.

As far as weight recommendations, I had trouble finding an authority on the matter. A 30-lb weighted blanket was shown to be safe as measured by heart rate, blood pressure, and blood oxygenation. Manufacturers typically say their weighted blankets are safe only for adults, adolescents, and older children due to the risk of suffocation in young children. But overall, we can be confident that weighted blankets are safe when used appropriately.

Should You Sleep with a Weighted Blanket for Sensory Processing Disorder?

If using a weighted blanket to fall asleep feels good to you, I say go for it.

I get a little too hot when I sleep with a weighted blanket during the summer, so I tend to only use mine for that in the colder months. Part of why I find those studies so interesting is that they surprised me. Based on my own experience, I expected to find a consensus on their efficacy.

Turns out, I do the same thing those study participants did; I think of my sleep as being vastly improved by my weighted blanket. I even identify waking up fewer times a night as one of the most dramatic differences I notice!

Photo by Daniela Constantini on Pexels

Sleeping with a weighted blanket is a cozy, relaxing experience for many people. There’s something kind of special about using a weighted blanket. It’s like it elevates my sleeping experience from regular relaxing to extravagant relaxing.

Throughout the day, our senses are bombarded by stimuli. In my experience of sensory processing disorder, being tired makes my nervous system feel spring-loaded. My ability to handle sounds, lights, and movement declines as the day progresses. Making decisions gets harder, driving gets harder, and by the time I get to bedtime, it can be hard to decompress and fall asleep. Compounded by some of the medications I take and my tendency to think too much, my insomnia sometimes features a lot of restless tossing and turning. Fortunately, my weighted blanket is there to help me. Using a weighted blanket for sensory processing disorder can look like a lot of things, though — not just sleep.

Calming Overstimulation and Anxiety with Weighted Blankets

Where the literature is iffy on weighted blankets for sleep, it solidly supports the claim that weighted blankets are effective at reducing anxiety. Occupational therapists have used weighted blankets for sensory processing disorder and associated anxiety for decades, and there’s a good reason for that.

Photo by Nathan DeFiesta on Unsplash

Deep Pressure for SPD

In 1992, Temple Grandin published a study on the effects of her groundbreaking “hug machine.” The machine is designed to deliver deep-pressure stimulation using a set of pads that squeeze the user’s body. Dr. Grandin’s hug machine was found to have a calming effect on people with ASD, college students, and animals. Deep pressure stimulation has been further explored as a therapy for those with sensory processing disorder, even leading to the development of inflatable smart vests, pneumatic compression garments, and shape memory alloy spring garments.

Weighted blankets provide the same kind of deep pressure touch that a compression vest, Dr. Grandin’s hug machine, or a real hug from someone you trust does. It’s this consistent, firm pressure that can settle your senses and put you back in the moment.

Sensory Over-Responsivity, Sensory Defensiveness, and Anxiety

If you have sensory over-responsivity (SOR) as part of your sensory processing disorder, you know how quickly you can go from cool to completely overwhelmed. When your nervous system is highly activated, you might have trouble functioning in the way you usually do, whether it’s focusing, planning actions, or keeping your emotions regulated. SOR is also associated with sensory defensiveness, which means that you have strong negative reactions to stimuli that aren’t dangerous.

It’s incredibly draining to live with sensory defensiveness. I’m fortunate to have gotten treatment when I was young, which improved my symptoms in that arena. I remember being so terrified of getting water in my eyes as a kid that I screamed and sobbed if one tiny droplet rolled down my forehead during a bath. These days, my sensory defensiveness is much better, especially when I’m well rested.

There’s a complicated interplay between SOR and anxiety. When you have bad experiences with stimuli that are too much for you, it’s easy to get anxious about encountering them unexpectedly. Being prone to anxiety can mean your guard is always up, which sensitizes you to your environment. SOR and anxiety can feed into one another, and teasing apart the causative mechanisms is an individual process.

In general, we know that sensory over-responsivity (SOR) and anxiety often co-occur, and deep-pressure interventions are commonly used by occupational therapists to reduce discomfort and sensitivity. One such intervention is a weighted blanket.

How to Use a Weighted Blanket for Sensory Processing Disorder

(According to me, your well-read layperson.)

Firstly, if you don’t yet have one, it’s important to get one that you like. The main function is, of course, the weight, but as this article is about sensory processing disorder, I imagine you have concerns about a blanket’s other sensory features as well. When sifting through the options online, think about:

  • Weight (Super heavy? Just a tad weighty?)
  • Material (Softness, durability, how to wash, etc.)
  • Dimensions (I love my bed-size blanket, but I used to have a lap pad that was great.)
  • What’s inside the blanket? (Consider the tactile and auditory aspects of beads vs. sand, for example.)

One way I like to use my weighted blanket is to get into a seated position and wrap the blanket around me like a cape so that it drapes over my shoulders. Then, I take a moment to arrange the extra material on top of my legs, grab the edges of the blanket in each hand, and pull it closed in front of me so that I basically just look like a floating head. A really relaxed floating head.

I don’t think there’s a wrong way to use a weighted blanket, as long as you’re being safe. Sleep with it, sit with it, put it on your lap — whichever way you choose to use it is right.

A person sitting with their knees bent and their arms around their legs with pillows in the background

Examples of Sensory Processing Disorder Symptoms From an Adult with SPD

Genevieve1 Comment

There are many resources online with examples of Sensory Processing Disorder, but what does it really feel like? As an adult who was diagnosed with SPD as a child, I finally have the language and perspective to be able to describe what Sensory Processing Disorder feels like to me. This article provides examples of Sensory Processing Disorder symptoms with accompanying descriptions of how I perceive things.

I am overresponsive to many stimuli, so this article doesn’t encompass every symptom or experience of SPD. A symptom checklist can be found at the end of this post.

Table of Contents

  1. What is Sensory Processing Disorder?
  2. Examples of Sensory Processing Disorder
    1. Visual Overstimulation
    2. Sound Sensitivity and Sensory Gating
    3. Tactile Over-Responsivity and Sensory Defensiveness
    4. Body Awareness
    5. Dyspraxia
  3. Allowing Myself Patience with SPD
  4. Resources

What is Sensory Processing Disorder?

Sensory Processing Disorder (or Sensory Integration Dysfunction) can be thought of as a “neurological traffic jam” that prevents information from the senses from being organized for use in an appropriate way. There are several subtypes and various forms the disorder can take, but the underlying issue lies in the nervous system’s ability to take in and deal with sensory stimuli.

Examples of Sensory Processing Disorder Symptoms

Visual Overstimulation

Red, blue, and yellow shapes overlapping with light shining through
Photo by Chris F on Pexels

I can’t seem to filter visual “noise” in the same way that other people do. It feels like an onslaught of lights and images that I have no natural defense against. I reach my limit quickly.

Examples

  • 30 minutes of fluorescent lights make me feel like I’ve been out on a bright, snowy slope for a day without sunglasses.
  • Chaotic movement, like that in busy stores and restaurants is hard for me to follow. It just becomes a sharp scene of color and light that disorients me.
  • Flashing lights are highly distracting. My brain can’t tune them out, so they constantly vie for my attention.
  • I prefer an uncluttered living space because it requires less visual work to navigate. Clutter feels suffocating, and the constant stimulation of so many items around me feels draining.
  • I don’t always wear my glasses because the blurry distance is calming. It removes some of the sharpness of my visual field and lets me lower my defenses a little.
  • Digital screens can cause nausea for me, especially if I have to do a lot of scrolling up and down.

Sound Sensitivity and Sensory Gating

For some people with SPD, repeated stimuli don’t get filtered out like they do in people without sensory symptoms. This function is called “sensory gating.” The electrical response your brain has to an initial stimulus typically becomes smaller with subsequent stimuli as your brain adjusts to it and decides it doesn’t need your full attention. With SPD, however, this process is not as efficient.

A 3D render of a gray/blue material spraying outward against a black background
Photo by Petar Petkovski on Unsplash

Say you encounter a barking dog. Everyone is startled by the first bark. We get a boost of adrenaline, our hearts start beating faster, and we start imperceptibly (or perceptibly) sweating. Some people can quickly return to normal even as the dog continues to bark, but for people with SPD, every bark can feel just as jarring as the first one.

Sensory gating is not limited to auditory stimuli, but here are some examples of how sensitivity to sounds and sensory gating deficits affect me.

Examples

  • Stiff plastic wrappers hurt my ears and make my eyes water. Opening a granola bar feels like someone is aggressively crumpling 3 wrappers directly next to each of my ears. I don’t understand the acoustics of this phenomenon, but it is mighty unpleasant.
  • Loud toilets are a sudden thunderous roar to me. I used to refuse to go to the bathroom if I knew the toilet was one of those automatic, rapid flush ones. The noise would throw me into a panic and I’d burst out of the stall with my heart pounding. Thankfully, I have since mastered toilets.
  • I like wearing headphones even without anything playing because they soften the sounds around me.
  • Much like the barking dog example, some noises don’t get adjusted in my brain and therefore sound deafening the entire time they’re happening. I have to psych myself up to trigger or use loud household items, like:
    • blender
    • garbage disposal – my family knows to warn me before turning it on.
    • closing the microwave
    • electric toothbrush – I switch off between electric and regular when I feel I can’t handle the noise and vibration of the electric one.
    • garage door
    • coffee grinder
    • vacuum
    • lawn mower – if I don’t take enough breaks, I end up leaving the mower in the middle of the yard and then crying and hyperventilating on the floor. It feels like running the lawn mower while in a metal box, sound flying all around me at intolerable volume.

I have a technique for pouring dry dog food into a stainless steel bowl with minimal noise, I like to close doors quietly, and I prefer not to wear shoes indoors because my own footsteps are too loud.

Tactile Over-Responsivity and Sensory Defensiveness

A right hand touching a pine tree
Photo by Petr Macháček on Unsplash

Sensory defensiveness means that a person has an aversive, out-of-proportion reaction to a stimulus that is not considered dangerous or harmful by others. It doesn’t have to be tactile, but as I’ve always been sensitive to touch (tactile over-responsivity), these are some of the most challenging examples of Sensory Processing Disorder in this regard for me.

Examples

  • Unexpected hugs (especially from behind). Touch sometimes startles me even when I know it’s coming, so being suddenly grabbed is scary. Agreed-upon hugs are usually good in my book, though.
  • The feeling of tearing paper towels without the perforation is one of the most viscerally horrible sensations I’ve ever felt, and I can’t even explain why. It makes me want to throw up and then crumple into a little ball on the floor.
  • Lotion. I have a love/hate relationship with it due to its revolting sliminess and soothing itch relief.
  • Splashing in pools is a surefire way to make sure I get out. This is partly visual, as I’m sensitive to movement near my face, and partly that I seem to feel every individual drop. I interpret it as danger and react in the way someone would if a spray of pebbles were kicked up near their face.
  • Clothes Shopping with Sensory Processing Disorder is difficult in part because I eliminate at least half of the available choices without even trying them. Lace, elastic, velvet, corduroy, wool, sequins, stiff fabric, and prominent seams are all out automatically. Certain textures and designs create constant aversive sensory input, like if your clothing were made of sandpaper.
  • Bunched-up and constrictive clothing. Everything has to be arranged perfectly, especially my shirt sleeves inside my coat sleeves. If not, it creates uneven contact with my skin and I am hopelessly distracted.

I’ve found that my experience of unpleasant tactile stimuli is terrible not only because the feeling itself is bad, but because it lingers.

The paper towels, for instance, leave something like an echo of the sensation. I keep feeling it as if it were still happening, with decreasing intensity over time. I tend to deal with this by frantically looking for something hard and smooth to touch to replace the tactile horrors of improperly torn paper towels.

Body Awareness with Sensory Processing Disorder

A moving, illuminated ferris wheel at night
Photo by Shahzin Shajid on Unsplash

Sensory Processing Disorder can make it difficult to discern where your body is in space, a sense called “proprioception.” Together with the vestibular sense, these systems help us balance, understand where our limbs are, and generally keep track of which way is up.

Examples

  • Vertigo and dizziness when I don’t sleep enough and when I’ve been in a car for a long time.
  • Rollercoasters? I’ve been on one. Absolutely never again.
  • Using touch controls on wireless earbuds. A challenge for me because I can’t touch the earbud without looking in a mirror. I don’t always know where my arms are in relation to my ears.
  • I’m highly prone to motion sickness.
  • Dental exam chairs. I feel genuinely confused about the angle at which I’m reclined. For years, I really thought that they were putting me slightly more than 90 degrees back and that I was actually tilted upsidedown. Knowing the earthshattering truth doesn’t change how it feels, but at least I know now that my body is lying to me.
  • Slightly fast elevators are exhilarating.
  • Motion sickness. Did I say that already? So much motion sickness.

Dyspraxia in Sensory Processing Disorder

A wooden chess board with assorted wooden chess pieces mid-game
Photo by Jani Kaasinen on Unsplash

Praxis is the process of planning and carrying out sequences of movements. This can be as simple as the automatic steps you take to get dressed, or it can be as complex as planning long-term goals. Impaired praxis is referred to as “dyspraxia.” Dyspraxia falls under the sensory-based motor disorder subtype of Sensory Processing Disorder.

Not everyone with Sensory Processing Disorder also has dyspraxia. I have symptoms of it that only tend to become a problem when I’m tired or overstimulated. It’s like something short-circuits in my brain and I suddenly can no longer comprehend how to do things.

Examples

  • “Simple” household tasks. I recently had two forks and two knives jumbled in one hand while setting the table, and all I had to do was divide them among two plates. For a solid 5 seconds, I could not figure out what I was supposed to do first. I had to walk myself through it step by step. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that, but it illustrates how dyspraxia can affect functioning at every level.
  • Making decisions. When I’m tired or overstimulated, my decision-making abilities tank. Just choosing what to eat at a loud restaurant can be difficult. When my brain is trying to cope with the sensory information that’s flooding in, there’s not much bandwidth left to handle decisions. It feels like I’m trying to juggle several raw eggs while comparing the 25+ menu items.
  • Copying movements. I learn concepts best through visual means, but translating actions I see someone doing, like in an exercise video, into coherent directions for my own body doesn’t come naturally to me.
  • Driving. I’ve improved immensely, but it took me a long time to get comfortable with it.
  • Getting on escalators. Planning the movement and timing it correctly is not an automatic task for me.

Allowing Myself Patience with SPD

A blue sign with yellow block letters reading "Be kind. Unwind."
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Over the years (and for multiple reasons), I’ve become an expert at hiding my emotions and powering through. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone and I don’t want to stand out. I can do anything that someone without SPD can do. But it takes a toll, and sometimes, it’s not worth it. Learning to listen to myself is still a work in progress, but it’s a valuable goal.

On the plus side, I don’t need to pay for horror movie tickets or haunted houses. I get my thrills by flushing toilets and riding elevators.

I hope that these examples of Sensory Processing Disorder are helpful. They are only my own experience, and they don’t encompass every SPD symptom. For more information specifically about Sensory Processing Disorder in adults, I suggest checking out the resources below.

Sensory Processing Disorder Symptoms Checklist (scroll down for the adult checklist)

Find SPD Treatment (be sure to check “works with adults” on the specialty menu)

Sensory Blogs I Follow:

http://comingtosenses.blogspot.com/

https://eatingoffplastic.com/

https://sensorycoach.org/blog/

An open laptop with the screen angled down and a bright swirl of colors being displayed against a dark background

How Sensory Processing Disorder Can Make Screens Unbearable

Genevieve10 Comments

Twice this week, I surpassed my daily limit of 5 consecutive hours of high-focus screen time. This limit is one imposed by Sensory Processing Disorder, and if I carry on without adjusting my environment and practices, there are unpleasant consequences. These include nausea, vertigo, and intense anxiety bordering on sudden panic.

Visual Stimuli and Sensory Processing Disorder

My job as an editor is done entirely on the computer, and it’s very detail-oriented work. I have to focus intently on the screen in order to catch typos and fix grammar and punctuation mistakes. I also have to do a lot of tab switching and scrolling up and down as I add words and change headers. Some sensory stimuli, like bright lights and visual movement, bother me more than they might bother someone who doesn’t have Sensory Processing Disorder. Taking breaks helps stave off the effects of digital screens, but when I spend too much uninterrupted or eventually, cumulative time looking at my laptop or phone without taking steps to reduce my level of stimulation, something gets mixed up in my brain. As a non-expert, I don’t know the precise details of what happens, but I do know that it feels TERRIBLE.

Nausea

When I’m tired and not paying attention to my sensory state, I start feeling some vague nausea around hour 4 of mostly continuous work. It spikes when I switch tabs or close windows- the little “whoosh” of a window disappearing into one corner is not something I notice at other times, but when I’m getting overstimulated, it makes my stomach turn. The light of my screen is physically painful to look at, so I turn it progressively lower as I go on.

Panic

Scrolling is the worst; short vs. long makes a big difference, but they’re both bad. A long scroll makes the nausea much more severe and gives me an indescribably strange pulling sensation in my sternum. It’s something like how I imagine having a long, wet string pulled slowly up and out of your chest would feel. It creates an intense feeling of horror and high anxiety distilled down into the 1.5 seconds it takes to scroll from the top of a page to the bottom. Short-term panic. Something about the movement on my screen is powerfully repelling. The longer I push on past my limit, the more the panic sensation bleeds into the time around the scrolling.

Sensory Strategies for Managing Overstimulation

For a little while, turning the brightness down low and wearing sunglasses helps, but eventually, even that doesn’t work. I take short breaks to press my feet into the floor and look at something stationary in the middle distance. I often close my eyes while scrolling, but this just prolongs the experience because I never scroll to exactly the right spot. If I’m typing anything, I look away from the screen. As the anxiety gets worse, I take deep breaths and pause to look elsewhere. My 5 to 10-minute breaks become time for me to lie on my back on the floor and squeeze my knees to my chest – trying to ground my frazzled nervous system.

A glowing blue laptop screen over a backlit black keyboard
Photo by Markus Petritz, @petritz on Unsplash

It became the worst it’s ever been this week when I carried on to about 7 hours of editing. The two hours leading up to the end were miserable. I was doing everything I could to make it through my remaining work, to the complete detriment of my body. I found myself involuntarily rocking back and forth after particularly awful scrolls, just trying to keep it together while my nervous system went haywire. I should have stopped, but I’m perfectionistic and had decided that it was my un-shirkable responsibility to finish all of it myself. When I did finally finish it, I barely held down vomit after booking it to the bathroom.

Problem-Solving Sensory Processing Disorder Triggers

I wonder if it has to do with the blue light (I plan on trying some blue-light-blocking glasses) or the frame rate of my screen. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, and I suspect that my sensitivity is heightened when I’m not well rested. Sensory Processing Disorder does weird things to my ability to handle multiple types of stimuli at once, and being tired just exacerbates it. In the same way that an escalator on its own is fine but an escalator after a busy day in an airport filled with noise and movement gives me vertigo, being tired makes handling the imperceptibly flickering light and movement of a laptop screen way harder.

There’s something different about this exact setup and workflow that makes things worse. I haven’t pinpointed what that is, but I suspect it has to do with the amount of scrolling. The platform on which I edit requires me to span entire pages numerous times within a very short timeframe.

In contrast, I often work on my blog for hours at a time, just as I worked on my computer for long periods of time on schoolwork or on other jobs I’ve held. Those activities have never had the kind of effect I’ve been experiencing recently, despite being quite similar.

Acceptance of SPD Symptoms

I spent many years not paying attention at all to the way my Sensory Processing Disorder impacts me. I knew I had it, but I told myself that I should be able to do all of the things that other people can do. So I minimized it in my mind. Despite having learned more about Sensory Processing Disorder and having gotten some treatment in the form of occupational therapy in the recent past, acceptance is something I still need to work on.

When simply looking at my laptop screen for too long has such debilitating results, SPD is something I should be considering more carefully. Pushing myself to the point of throwing up was extremely unwise and points to a general disregard for my own wellbeing. I didn’t want to inconvenience other people by being late with my work or shuffling it off onto someone else. And ultimately, I just did not want to admit defeat when it came to something as innocuous as looking at a screen.

I think I’ll try to reframe “admitting defeat” as “taking a really big hint from my body.” If it means living in a way that doesn’t leave me green with nausea and crying, that seems more like winning to me.

nighttime time lapse of mountain road curving and car lights driving around pine tree

Sensory Processing Disorder and Driving

Genevieve2 Comments

Table of Contents

  1. Proprioception in Cars
    1. a. Peripersonal Space
  2. Visual Challenges
  3. Driving with Dyspraxia
  4. Practice, Practice, Practice

Ah, driving. The ultimate achievement of teenage freedom (in the US, at least). For anyone learning to drive, teenage or adult, the convenience and independence of a license is powerful motivation. I’ve been driving for years, now, but it wasn’t an easy process to get my license. At the time, I wasn’t as cognizant of my symptoms, but looking back, I can see why I struggled so much with having Sensory Processing Disorder and driving.

Proprioception in Cars

Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) makes it hard for me to interpret sensory stimuli, including proprioceptive information. Proprioception is the sense that tells you where your body is located in space. I struggle with motion sickness on buses, boats, even escalators, because the movement doesn’t match my brain’s sense of where my body should be. Initially, this made driving a car incredibly stressful; relative to your body, the car is not moving, but relative to the ground, it’s moving a LOT. Coordinating the movements of driving with the interpretation of how the car responds took a while to become natural. Once it did, though, it made my motion sickness in cars much better, as long as I’m the one driving.

Peripersonal Space

When you’re driving a car, your “body” sense expands to include the dimensions of the vehicle. This is called “peripersonal space”- the sense that expands and contracts to include the objects in our immediate surroundings. In The Body Has a Mind of its Own, authors Sandra and Matthew Blakesley explain,

“When you drive a car, your peripersonal space expands to include it, from fender to fender, from fender to door, and from tire to roof. As you enter a parking garage with a low ceiling, you can “feel” the nearness of your car’s roof to the height barrier as if it were your own scalp. This is why you instinctively duck when you pass under the barrier.”

Learning how to manage Sensory Processing Disorder and driving took me a while, in part because it was a challenge for me to get a sense of the dimensions of a car. Now that my brain has established it as effectively a part of my body, driving with SPD is much simpler. However, there are additional layers of difficulty that, no matter how much I learn, might always be challenging.

car side mirror with city and other cars in reflection
Photo by Onaivi Dania on Unsplash

Visual Challenges

The visual tasks involved in driving can quickly become overwhelming. Monitoring the movement of cars around you, watching for signals, brake lights, and obstacles in the road is already a lot to handle. Add to that the stress of driving in an unfamiliar area and attempting to read street signs and highway exit signs while managing the rest of your visual tasks, and you have a veritable mountain of sensory stimuli to deal with.

Driving with Dyspraxia

I think that the processing power I dedicate to handling visual stimuli while driving leaves little for planning complex movements, known as praxis. I have symptoms of dyspraxia, meaning I have trouble following sequences of actions and, even more so, planning the steps involved in getting from A to B by myself. If I can prepare ahead of time, I’m fine, but I really struggle to make decisions in the moment because I feel like I can’t process all of the information fast enough to take the right action.

Driving with dyspraxia makes me an anxious planner. If I’m going somewhere new, I study Google Maps obsessively, considering the factors I do or don’t like in each route. Is there a highway involved? Can I take a route with fewer lanes? If I miss a turn, how easy would it be to fix? How early should I leave to account for any mistakes? As I’ve become more comfortable with the other aspects of driving- the sensitivity of the pedals and the steering wheel, the dimensions of the car, predicting what other drivers are going to do- I can dedicate more mental energy to handling praxis. I still plan my routes in new places, but I’m more confident in my ability to get back on track if I get lost.

Sensory Processing Disorder and Driving Takes Practice, Practice, Practice

If you’re struggling with Sensory Processing Disorder symptoms and driving, an occupational therapist can help you identify your particular difficulties and come up with ways to make them easier. Whether you work with an occupational therapist or not, the best way to get comfortable with driving is to practice. When you have sensory overstimulation in the car, the last thing you feel like doing is getting back in the driver’s seat, I know. Trust me, I rolled my eyes so hard at everyone who told me that practicing would make it feel more natural; I felt like I just wasn’t made for driving and no amount of practice would change that. I admit- I was wrong. Practice does help, and I find that now that I’m adept at each aspect of driving and can better regulate my nervous system, my sensitivities probably make me a more mindful, safer driver than I would be otherwise.

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scrabble tiles reading Mental Health with sprig of greenery on side

What’s in a Diagnosis? MDD and SPD

GenevieveLeave a comment

This post first appeared on Mental Health @Home in Ashleyleia’s Emerging Blogger series.

Many thanks to Ashley for hosting me!

Diagnoses are a contentious topic. Logistically, they’re important for clinicians and insurance companies who need proof of your conditions. But for the individual, they come with pros and cons. I carry the well-known diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder and the less well-known diagnosis of Sensory Processing Disorder. The effects of the diagnoses themselves feel very different to me, and I’ve spent some time reflecting on why.

Well-Known vs Little-Known

A diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder made me feel much less alone in my suffering. Depression is astoundingly common and increasingly talked about. Stigma remains, to be sure, but awareness surrounding depression is thankfully improving. I can be pretty sure that when I tell someone that I have depression, they’ll know what I’m talking about. The same cannot be said for Sensory Processing Disorder.

Insecurity in a Diagnosis

Having a diagnosis of MDD, maybe more than making me feel less alone, makes me feel understood. Simply saying the word “depression” makes most people, I think, picture the same constellation of symptoms: low mood, lethargy, loss of interest, etc.. This is not to say that I haven’t encountered stigma or innocent ignorance- I have. But when I tell someone that I have depression and they tell me that their brother or friend or significant other has depression, too, it connects us for a moment, and I know that on some level, they know what I’m going through.

This is not generally the case for my diagnosis of Sensory Processing Disorder, at least in my own lived experience. A person with SPD has difficulty processing the information that comes in through their senses, including the usual five (touch, sight, sound, smell, taste) as well as the less well-known senses of proprioception (where your body is in space) and interoception (internal body sensations like hunger). SPD can make you over-sensitive or under-sensitive to these stimuli. I’m over-sensitive to most, just plain bad at proprioception, and relatively unaffected when it comes to taste. Sensory Processing Disorder is overwhelmingly common among people who have Autism Spectrum Disorder, but you don’t have to have ASD to have SPD. They are separate disorders that have a TON of overlap. Despite the growing body of literature from occupational therapists, scientists, and doctors, SPD is not included in the DSM V.  It is, however, its own diagnosis in the ICD 10. This discrepancy is what throws me off. I know that SPD is real. And yet, when I try to explain to someone what it is and how it affects me, I flounder. It’s challenging to describe how I’m affected by a diagnosis that not everyone agrees upon. It leaves me feeling vaguely defensive, or like I’m grasping at straws to explain my symptoms. In this sense, the label of SPD does not make me feel secure in my experience of the disorder.

Feeling Alone with SPD

While it is incredibly validating and relieving to have an explanation for symptoms that aren’t frequently talked about, the very fact that it’s not often discussed makes for an isolating diagnosis. I feel much more uncomfortable when I have to explain SPD than I do while explaining MDD. Once you grow up and leave behind the allowances of childhood, you’re expected to conform to a lot of social and institutional rules. I think this is why kids who have SPD grow up to be adults who hide their symptoms with willpower. They put themselves into situations that cause them distress because it seems like they “should” be able to. The problem here is not that you might push yourself to do uncomfortable things – that’s how we grow. The problem is that people with SPD often hide their discomfort and end up feeling alone and wrong for feeling how they do. It also leads to overstimulation and meltdowns, chronic anxiety, and exhaustion. Ultimately, I am so glad that I know about my SPD, not just because it explains all those sensory symptoms that make me think “why can’t I be like other people?”, but because it offers me room to advocate for others who feel alone in this diagnosis, too.

How a Diagnosis Can Hurt

For me, whether the diagnosis is well-known or not, simply having a name for what I’m going through is incredibly helpful, and I believe outweighs the downsides of having a label. That said, there are some potential dangers of diagnoses.

Mental Health and Identity

I’ve heard lots of discourse about the risk that you might allow diagnoses to seep into your identity until there’s no room for anything else. I enjoy writing about mental health, and at the moment, a lot of my focus is placed on managing my depression. Our experiences shape us, so it’s natural that I find parts of my identity rooted in depression and Sensory Processing Disorder, but I know that I am a whole person without them.

Is a Diagnosis Confining?

The risk that I don’t hear much about when discussing diagnoses is the ease with which a label can trap you in a definition. It’s subtle sometimes, but having a diagnosis of depression can make you perceive even mundane things as attributable to your disorder. For instance, I recently read a book for the first time in a long time, a hobby I abandoned when depression settled in again. The book was humorous, but I didn’t laugh out loud or even pause to appreciate the jokes. At first, I thought it must be because I’m still depressed. I didn’t even consider the possibility that maybe the book just wasn’t that funny. Feeling confined within my diagnosis, the sub-par experience of reading that book became a product of my depression.

A new diagnosis can, understandably, push you to look for information online. Reading case studies and statistics, while informative, might be discouraging. I think it’s very easy to slip into a set of criteria and forecasted outcomes because a diagnosis feels official. It’s easy to forget that a diagnosis is an explanation of symptoms, not a set of imposed rules. Not only is this likely to feel suffocating- like a diagnosis of depression means that any end to an episode will inevitably be followed by another episode (something I struggle with all the time)- but it makes any attempt to counteract it feel futile. I constantly need to remind myself that a diagnosis does not confiscate my agency over my life.

There is Always a Choice

Even within a diagnosis with symptoms outside of your control, there is always a choice. You can always take action, be it reaching out for help or making the choice to take your medications. I take solace in the fact that I’m not alone in my diagnoses, even if it sometimes feels that I am. At the same time, I work to recognize that I am an individual with my own course through life and my own opportunities to fight.

photo of desert ground with interlocking cracks and dry plants

I’m a (Self)-Control Freak

GenevieveLeave a comment

I’ve trained myself to be restrained whenever possible. I hold myself back when I don’t like something, and even my enthusiasm is tempered. People find me hard to read, and I don’t open up immediately, a little later, or even a bit after that. It takes a while.

Some of this is surely a product of my Sensory Processing Disorder. The world is abrasive to my nervous system; it’s loud, fast, bright, and unpredictable. So, to avoid standing out, I bury my reactions. I’ve developed excellent self-control. Of course, this has repercussions for me when I go home in a haze and need to do a lot of nothing for a while. Hiding how I feel about outside stimuli often protects me from two of the things I dislike the most: interrupting people and being the center of attention. Sometimes, enduring the feeling of people crowding around me is more bearable than attracting attention by elbowing my way to the door on legs that don’t feel like mine.

I have a fear of not being in control of myself. I find nearly every environment to be full of stimuli that are “too much” for me. Even my internal body sensations are problematic. My brain doesn’t always know exactly where in space my body is located or how things are moving around me. All of this feels very much out of my control, so I cling to my self-control for safety. However, I think my self-control has expanded past its allotted jurisdiction, and it’s time to address it.

My need to be in control of my reactions has seeped into my sense of what is my responsibility and what is not. It’s easy for us to think we’re responsible for others; we come to think that their feelings, their setbacks, and their decisions are on our shoulders. What any good friend would tell is you that you aren’t. You’re not responsible for how other people move through the world. We make our own choices, manage our own feelings, and deal with change on our own terms.

small black sign with white letters reading make today tolerable with succulent in wooden container next to sign

My particular misplaced sense of responsibility lies in how I think about my depression. I have always had a nagging (or roaring) sense that my depression is my fault. If I could just do more, or try harder, maybe I could fix myself. I’ve recently been faced with a treatment option that forces me to confront the fact that I have treatment-resistant depression, and that it’s not my fault. Seeing my severe depression as an illness that is out of my direct control is terrifying. It’s simply more comfortable for me to think that I’m just not doing a very good job at solving a problem that can be solved with enough effort.

And that’s how I realized that I’m a (self)-control freak.

I actually would rather believe that I’m a failure than that I drew the short mental health straw. At the same time, it’s freeing to view my depression as something that has happened to me rather than something I caused. It takes some of the burden off of me, but it also takes some of the control away from me. Brains are weird, and sometimes they have a mind (har har) of their own. Sudden relapses, triggers, and even seemingly spontaneous ends to episodes are not entirely understood. It’s scary to think that after all of this- the numerous medications, the hospitalization, the group therapy, the individual therapy, the occupational therapy– my brain has stubbornly remained depressed.

If I’m going to get better, I need to stop blaming myself. I need to accept that some things are out of my control and that I don’t need to hold myself entirely accountable for my symptoms. I’ve learned a lot about healthy coping mechanisms in my years of therapy, and although right now I feel too debilitated to put them into useful practice, I hope that a new approach might relieve my symptoms enough to let me begin to heal on my own, the way I like to do it: with hard work.

The term “control freak” has plenty of negative connotations, and it can be hurtful to people who struggle to trust others or to let go of perceptions about the “right” way to do something. This post is in no way a jab at others, only at myself. The title is meant to be humorous, to poke fun at a coping mechanism that holds me back. I’m a self-described self-control freak, and as the term does not bother me, I hope that it doesn’t come across as insensitive.

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Traveling with Sensory Processing Disorder

Genevieve2 Comments

I’ve been traveling a lot lately, and I’m worn out. While waiting to board my latest flight home, I pretty much sat at the gate in a sensory stupor while the gate agents droned on the speaker about checking your carry-on bag. Because I have Sensory Processing Disorder, I needed an afternoon (or more) to reset my nervous system and return to the real world as a functioning human being. Unfortunately, airports have very few places in which to hide from the noise, movement, and general chaos of airport activity. (But for help finding those rare spots, check out sleepinginairports.net)

Dyspraxia, SPD, and Airports

And, it’s not just the crowds of people that are overstimulating- it’s also the tasks you have to do in order to get onto your flight. These tasks fall under the concept of praxis. In the context of Sensory Processing Disorder, dyspraxia refers to difficulty with planning complex movements and tasks. It falls under the Sensory-Based Motor Disorder subtype of Sensory Processing Disorder.

Tackling Motor Planning Challenges

I have symptoms of dyspraxia, so encountering uncertain situations can be stressful and draining for me. Standing in lines is okay for me; it’s ordered, it’s neat, and the most difficult part for me is identifying which kiosk just opened up (might take me a little longer, but I’ll get it eventually). Security is a mess. People crossing from the main line to a security line across the room, the choices involved in preparing your things to go through the imaging machine (should I take off my shoes first? What about my belt?), and then all of a sudden the line has moved ahead and I’m the dam holding back a flood of grumpy people trying to catch their flights. At least, that’s what I always worry will happen. In reality, it usually goes more smoothly than I expect, and I imagine we look more like ants, focused on our own tasks with occasional hiccups but somehow hurrying around one another to reach our destinations without incident.

Airports Have All the Sensory Stimuli

Airports are visually busy, and with loudspeaker announcements, children crying, businessmen talking shop on their cell phones; it’s a barrage of auditory assaults for people with sensitive nervous systems. Not to mention the vestibular hurdles- the moving walkways clogged with people, the escalator that somehow jostles you up and down while also transporting you diagonally to the next floor. Too much of this, and I begin to get vertigo, letting me know that I’m nearing my limit.

Tips for Traveling with Sensory Processing Disorder

Airports are challenging places to navigate for people with Sensory Processing Disorder. Luckily, there are strategies you can use to make your airport experience less stressful.

  • Get organized the night before to set yourself up for success.
    • Print your ticket.
    • Organize your belongings so that essential items are easy to grab.
    • Double check your arrangements for transportation. Have parking, shuttle busses, or your ride from a friend figured out in advance.
    • Consider writing down important information in one easily accessible place. Having your terminal, gate, airline, flight times and numbers, and your itinerary at the ready can help you feel prepared.
    • Wear clothing that makes getting through security simple.
  • Bring things that ground you.
    • Mints, hard candy, gum.
    • Strong smells such as in diffuser jewelry or a travel deodorant.
    • Weighted lap pad, compression socks, hats, and other clothing that calms you.
    • Headphones and a supply of music or your favorite content.
  • Give yourself time to recover after your flight.
  • Be patient with yourself and others.
  • Take care of the needs you can control.
    • Food and water.
    • Wear layers.
    • Bring travel toiletries.
    • Try to be rested before your adventure!

Traveling with Sensory Processing Disorder may take a little more planning and some extra self-care, but with any luck, you’ll get to your destination as cool and self-regulated as possible.