Sensory Overload: A Glimpse Into My Daughter's World

Even typing the word styrofoam makes me shudder. There’s something about it—the texture, the squeaky sound—that sets my teeth on edge and makes me want to flee the room. My mom shares this peculiar sensory aversion, so we’ve joked that “Styrophobia” runs in the family. It’s irrational, sure, but it’s real.

Now imagine that feeling—your personal nails-on-a-chalkboard—but multiplied across countless experiences every single day. That’s my teenager’s reality. For her, it’s not just styrofoam. It’s the touch of shoes against her heels, making every new pair a battle. It’s the sound of a pencil on paper, making math homework unbearable. It’s the piercing wail of a crying baby, which no one can predict or prevent.

For me, styrofoam is a rare encounter. But for my daughter, the world is filled with sensory landmines. It’s not just unpleasant—it’s overwhelming and inescapable. When I think about how frustrating my one sensory trigger can be, I’m humbled by the strength it must take her to face so many every day.

If you’ve ever been paralyzed by fear of heights or recoiled at the sound of a fork scraping a plate, imagine experiencing that over and over, with no relief. That’s what it must feel like for her. It’s a reminder for all of us to offer patience and understanding—not just to her, but to everyone navigating a world that doesn’t always accommodate their sensory needs.