Tag: sensory processing

  • Isolation Vs Exposure

    Isolation Vs Exposure

    An AuDHD look at working from home, office life, and what happens when your comfort zone becomes very comfortable indeed.

    One of the great promises of working from home is that you can finally escape all the unnecessary nonsense of the office.

    No commute. No fluorescent lighting. No mysterious person microwaving fish at 11:14 in the morning. No conversations happening three desks away while somebody else is on Teams without headphones and somebody behind you is apparently trying to destroy a keyboard using only their index fingers.

    For someone with autism, ADHD, or the increasingly common buy-one-get-one-free combination of AuDHD, this can feel less like a perk and more like the removal of several dozen small obstacles you previously assumed were simply part of having a job.

    I can work from home quite effectively.

    Increasingly, I do.

    And yet I’ve noticed something slightly inconvenient.

    If I work from home for a long stretch, the next time I go into the office I find it much harder.

    The noise seems noisier.

    The movement around me becomes more distracting.

    Conversations interrupt my train of thought more easily. People appear beside my desk unexpectedly, which is apparently a completely normal thing for humans to do to each other.

    By lunchtime I can feel as though I’ve already done a full day’s work, even if most of the morning was spent doing entirely ordinary office things.

    None of this is particularly surprising. What did surprise me was the contrast.

    I used to cope with it.

    Or at least I coped with it better.

    Which left me wondering whether removing stress from my working life had also reduced my ability to deal with stress when it returned.

    Had working from home made me softer?

    I dislike that wording, because it sounds like something said by my high school PE teacher (Ex Army PT instructor and bane of my youthful existence!) while making me run through freezing mud, but there is something in the question that I haven’t quite managed to dismiss.

    The appeal of the cave

    There are very good reasons to retreat from environments that exhaust us.

    For autistic people, an office can contain a remarkable number of things demanding attention at once.

    Phones ring. Doors open. People walk past. Conversations appear and disappear. Somebody has adjusted the heating to a temperature normally associated with commercial bread production.

    Then there are the social calculations.

    Should I say hello?

    Have I said hello already?

    Was that person talking to me?

    How long am I supposed to stand in the kitchen after making coffee?

    Is someone going to ask what I did at the weekend, and if they do, are they expecting the accurate answer or the approved two-sentence version?

    ADHD adds its own complications. An office can provide stimulation, which sometimes helps, but it can also provide far more stimulation than you actually ordered.

    Working from home gives you control over a surprising amount of this.

    You can choose the lighting.

    You can control the noise.

    You can decide when to speak to people.

    You can arrange your desk properly and leave it arranged properly, safe in the knowledge that nobody from Facilities will suddenly announce that everybody is moving three floors down on Thursday.

    You can sometimes work according to your natural rhythm rather than the rhythm produced by twenty other people existing nearby.

    That control has value.

    It can mean having more energy left at the end of the working day.

    It can mean concentrating for longer.

    It can mean fewer headaches, fewer shutdowns, less masking, and less time spent recovering from things that had almost nothing to do with the actual work.

    For some people, home working may simply allow them to do their job better.

    There is no prize for completing a spreadsheet or fixing a code bug while simultaneously tolerating a noisy air-conditioning unit.

    The problem with becoming too comfortable

    Comfort, unfortunately, is rather good.

    Once you have discovered that work can happen in a quiet room with your preferred lighting, your preferred chair, your own toilet, and access to coffee that costs considerably less than £3.80, voluntarily returning to the office can feel like an administrative error.

    The difficulty is that life rarely agrees to remain inside the environment we have carefully designed for it.

    There are meetings.

    Appointments.

    Family gatherings.

    Training days.

    Conferences.

    Restaurants.

    Public transport.

    People.

    Awful lot of people, actually.

    And my working theory, based entirely on observing myself rather than conducting anything remotely resembling respectable science, is that tolerance can change.

    Things I encounter regularly become familiar.

    Things I avoid can start feeling larger.

    When I was regularly in an office, I expected the noise. I had routines. I knew where I sat, when I took lunch, where I could disappear for five minutes, and which parts of the day were likely to be chaotic.

    After a long period at home, I lose some of that familiarity.

    Then I return and suddenly notice everything again.

    The office itself has not necessarily become worse.

    My baseline has moved.

    That leaves an awkward question, especially for neurodivergent people who have spent years being told to endure environments that were genuinely harmful.

    When does protecting yourself become avoiding something?

    And when does exposing yourself to something stop being useful and start being pointless suffering?

    I don’t think those questions have universal answers.

    Annoying, really. A five-point solution would make this article much easier for me to finish.

    Exposure is not automatically good

    There is a dangerous version of this argument that says we should deliberately make ourselves uncomfortable because discomfort builds resilience.

    Don’t get me wrong, sometimes it does.

    Mostly it just makes Tuesday horrible.

    There is a difference between gradually maintaining familiarity with an environment and repeatedly forcing yourself through something that leaves you exhausted for days.

    If spending one day in the office costs you the following evening and half of Wednesday, that belongs in the calculation.

    If home working means you can concentrate properly, communicate more clearly, and finish the day with enough energy to cook dinner rather than staring into a cupboard for six minutes, that matters too.

    Avoiding unnecessary stress is not cheating.

    We have air conditioning because being too hot is unpleasant and sweating buckets into your laptop isn’t a useful skill to learn. We wear glasses because it transpires that squinting at everything builds character and increases resilience remarkably slowly.

    The fact that just because you can tolerate something does not mean you actually need to maximise your exposure to it.

    Isolation has a cost as well

    At the same time, I know what happens when my own world gets too small.

    Things become easier.

    Then easier becomes normal.

    Then normal becomes necessary.

    A trip into the office starts feeling like a major event.

    Going somewhere after work becomes less appealing because I have become accustomed to finishing the day already at home.

    I have a tendency to become a virtual hermit in my own home on self imposed house arrest. I look out the window and “THE OUTSIDE” in the same manner as Gollum reacts to the Elvish rope he’s tethered to. “IT BURNS US !!”

    Casual conversations disappear.

    I miss information that never makes it into formal meetings.

    I lose those peculiar little workplace interactions that are mostly pointless but occasionally lead to something useful.

    There is also the social equivalent of getting slightly rusty.

    If I spend several days mostly communicating through text and scheduled calls, spontaneous conversation can feel harder when it returns. Not impossible. Just less automatic.

    There is a strange contradiction here.

    Removing friction can give me more capacity.

    Removing too much friction can sometimes reduce what I feel capable of doing.

    I’m still trying to work out where that line is.

    The office is not one thing

    Part of the problem with conversations about remote working is that we talk about “the office” as though everybody is attending the same one.

    They aren’t.

    One person’s office is a quiet room with eight colleagues and decent lighting.

    Another person’s office is an open-plan aircraft hangar containing ninety-seven people, six sales teams, a coffee grinder, and a man called Steve who conducts all telephone conversations at the volume normally reserved for emergency evacuations.

    Likewise, home is not automatically peaceful.

    Some people live alone and have a dedicated office.

    Some work from a kitchen table.

    Some have children, partners, neighbours renovating a bathroom, poor internet, nowhere comfortable to sit, a dog who has appointed itself Director of Incoming Deliveries, or a cat that thinks your laptop keyboard is the most comfortable cat bed ever!

    Some people get energy from being around colleagues.

    Others spend energy being around colleagues.

    Some ADHD brains work better when other people are present because the activity creates momentum and accountability.

    Others experience every passing conversation as a new browser tab opening in their head.

    Autism varies just as much.

    What is calming routine for one person can become claustrophobic repetition for another.

    A universal recommendation starts falling apart quite quickly.

    So what are you actually trying to optimise?

    This may be a more useful question than asking whether home or office working is better.

    Better for what?

    Productivity?

    Energy?

    Concentration?

    Career visibility?

    Social connection?

    Learning from colleagues?

    Mental health?

    Family life?

    Tolerance of busy environments?

    The answer might change depending on what you are doing.

    If I need several uninterrupted hours to write, analyse something complicated, or disappear into a problem, home has obvious advantages.

    If I need informal conversations, quick feedback, or a sense of what everyone else is doing, the office can be better.

    There are also days when I simply benefit from leaving the house.

    I resent this because it means all those people who say “you’ll feel better if you get out for a bit” occasionally have evidence.

    Finding your own mixture

    I suspect the useful compromise begins by treating this less like a question of identity.

    You do not have to be A Remote Worker or An Office Person.

    You can treat location as another part of how you manage your workload.

    A few things might be worth watching.

    What does the day actually cost you?

    Not just whether you survived it.

    Notice what happens afterwards.

    If an office day is productive but you need the entire evening to recover, that is part of its cost.

    If a home day feels comfortable but you achieve very little because the washing machine, fridge, internet, and sudden urge to reorganise a drawer have formed an alliance against you, that belongs in the calculation too.

    What happens after several days of either environment?

    One day tells you something.

    A pattern tells you more.

    Does a week at home leave you refreshed?

    Or do you become increasingly reluctant to leave?

    Does several days in the office help you settle into a rhythm?

    Or does fatigue accumulate until Friday becomes a matter of staring at Outlook and hoping nobody notices?

    Which tasks work where?

    You may not need one rule for every working day.

    Deep concentration might belong at home.

    Collaborative work might be easier in person.

    Routine admin might work anywhere.

    There is nothing particularly noble about doing a task in the environment least suited to it.

    Are you avoiding discomfort or avoiding damage?

    I find this one difficult.

    Some discomfort gets easier with familiarity.

    Some does not.

    If something feels difficult at first but becomes manageable once you settle in, occasional exposure may be useful.

    If repeated exposure consistently leaves you overloaded, exhausted, or unable to function properly afterwards, simply doing more of it may not achieve much beyond proving that you can suffer repeatedly.

    How much recovery do you need?

    Recovery time is easy to ignore because it happens outside the official working day.

    An arrangement can look perfectly sustainable between nine and five while quietly consuming everything between five and nine.

    That seems like fairly important accounting.

    What are you losing by staying home?

    This will vary enormously.

    Maybe nothing.

    Maybe informal learning.

    Maybe friendships.

    Maybe visibility.

    Maybe confidence in dealing with unpredictable situations.

    Maybe just the strange comfort of complaining about the same printer with another human being.

    It is worth knowing.

    What are you gaining?

    The same applies in reverse.

    Better concentration.

    More control.

    Less sensory overload.

    More sleep.

    No commute.

    More time with family.

    The ability to construct a working environment around how your brain actually behaves rather than how office furniture companies imagine it behaves.

    Those gains count.

    An experiment rather than a verdict

    One thing I am considering for myself is treating office attendance less as an all-or-nothing decision and more as an ongoing experiment.

    Maybe I need regular exposure to the office without needing maximum exposure to it.

    One or two days might maintain familiarity.

    Five days might drain me.

    Zero days for several months might make returning unnecessarily difficult.

    That is only my version.

    Someone else might discover that four office days and one quiet home day works beautifully.

    Someone else might realise the office contributes almost nothing useful to their job and that forcing themselves to attend because they ought to be “more resilient” is just a complicated way of becoming tired.

    Another person might discover that working from home slowly turns them into a slightly feral creature who considers answering the door an unreasonable social demand.

    All valid data.

    The useful part is noticing what happens rather than deciding in advance what ought to happen.

    Keep track for a few weeks.

    Where did you work?

    How productive were you?

    How tired were you afterwards?

    How much did you dread the next day?

    Did you speak to anyone?

    Did you concentrate?

    Did you recover?

    Did you enjoy any of it?

    That last question deserves to be in there somewhere.

    Then change the mixture.

    One more office day.

    One fewer.

    Half-days, if they are possible.

    Office days for meetings and home days for concentrated work.

    Avoid consecutive office days.

    Or deliberately use consecutive days because the first day is always the difficult one and the second is easier.

    There are a lot of combinations between permanently hiding in your house and enthusiastically hot-desking five days a week.

    I’m fairly sure my own answer sits somewhere in that untidy middle.

    I like working from home. I am better at some things there.

    I also suspect I need to keep putting myself into the world often enough that the world does not start feeling impossibly loud whenever I encounter it.

    How often that needs to happen is something I am still working out.

  • A Little Of Nothing. Emphasis on the Nothing.

    A Little Of Nothing. Emphasis on the Nothing.

    Burnout is a funny word for something that feels so completely unfunny when you’re in it.

    At the moment, even putting pen to paper, or more accurately fingers to keyboard, feels harder than it should. Creativity has wandered off somewhere, motivation seems to have gone with it, and most things feel more like chores than choices. The mood is low, joy is proving annoyingly difficult to locate, and there isn’t much spare energy left for turning any of that into something clever, witty, or worth reading.

    So that’s why things are a little quiet here right now. I could probably force myself to write something, but I’m not sure that would help. For the moment, I’m trying to accept that sometimes there just isn’t much in the tank. Hopefully that changes. Until then, this is about as much as I’ve got.

  • Smell Is Basically a Superpower

    Smell Is Basically a Superpower

    People often ask me what it’s like not being able to smell.

    The honest answer is:

    I haven’t the faintest idea.

    If that sounds odd, then consider this: I’ve never experienced life with a sense of smell, so how can I possibly say what life is like without it?

    To me, smell occupies roughly the same category as telepathy, X-ray vision, and flying.

    I understand the theory.

    I simply have no frame of reference for the experience.

    What Exactly Is Congenital Anosmia?

    Put simply, anosmia is the lack of a sense of smell.

    Anosmia is to smell what blindness is to sight, or deafness is to hearing.

    Congenital means I was born this way.

    I didn’t lose my sense of smell later in life.

    I never had it in the first place.

    Technically, anosmia is the complete absence of smell. There is actually a spectrum of smell-related conditions, of which anosmia is just one.

    Anosmia

    The complete absence of any sense of smell.

    Hyposmia

    A reduced sense of smell. Think of it as turning the detection volume down.

    Phantosmia

    Smelling things that aren’t there.

    I hear this one can be pretty awful for sufferers.

    My brain obviously never generates imaginary smells. It has enough trouble detecting real ones.

    Parosmia

    Distorted smells.

    Coffee may smell like burning rubber. Perfume may smell acrid or unpleasant.

    Unfortunately, following COVID, cases of parosmia, hyposmia, and anosmia all became significantly more common.

    So now you know what the various smell disorders are.

    How is congenital anosmia different?

    You Can’t Miss What You Never Had

    Well, I’ve never had a sense of smell.

    Never experienced what smell is.

    To me, the sense of smell is effectively a fictional experience.

    Someone who acquires anosmia later in life, through illness, infection, head trauma, tumours, or simply old age, experiences a genuine sense of loss.

    They remember smell.

    They miss smell.

    They know what coffee smelled like.

    Freshly baked bread.

    Cut grass.

    Rain.

    Those memories remain even after the sense itself has gone.

    In some ways, being born without a sense of smell is easier.

    That may sound strange, but it really doesn’t bother me.

    That’s not to say it isn’t serious.

    Depression among people who lose their sense of smell later in life is sadly quite common.

    I do not envy them their memories.

    People often ask whether I feel I’ve missed out.

    It’s a bit like asking how I cope with losing £100 billion on the stock market.

    I haven’t lost £100 billion on the stock market.

    I never had £100 billion on the stock market.

    I’m aware that both smell and £100 billion exist.

    My emotional relationship with either is somewhat limited by their complete absence from my life.

    Smell as a Superpower

    I’ll tell someone I’m anosmic and can’t smell, and invariably I get variations of the same conversation.

    “What? You can’t smell coffee?”

    “No.”

    “What about burnt toast?”

    “No.”

    “What about aftershave?”

    “No.”

    At this point the conversation starts descending into that famous scene from BBC’s Red Dwarf.

    “Everybody’s dead, Dave.”

    “What, Captain Hollister?”

    “Everybody’s dead, Dave.”

    “What, Peterson?”

    “Everybody’s dead, Dave.”

    No.

    I can’t smell coffee.

    I can’t smell toast.

    I can’t smell aftershave.

    I can’t smell anything.

    Funny as it is, it becomes a little tiring after the hundredth repetition.

    These days, when someone asks:

    “So you can’t smell roses?”

    I sometimes reply:

    “Can you see through walls?”

    Both questions are equally unhelpful to understanding.

    I then explain that I know smell exists and I know Superman can see through walls.

    I understand the theory.

    I simply don’t, and never will, understand the experience itself.

    I understand smell intellectually in much the same way I understand quantum mechanics.

    I accept that it exists.

    I can even comprehend some of the details of the process.

    Beyond that, things become rather fuzzy.

    Things People Forget Smell Does

    Once people understand that I can’t smell, I occasionally get this sort of response:

    “Ooh, lucky you. You’ll never have to experience a hot, sweaty Tube train.”

    I usually have rather less patience with this one.

    My response is generally something along the lines of:

    “And blind people never have to experience what passes for modern art these days.”

    Smell is an important sense.

    Not only is it heavily linked to flavour, but it also contributes significantly to memory and environmental awareness.

    Taste itself is largely handled by the tongue and remains unaffected. We can detect sweet, sour, salty, bitter and umami flavours, as well as sensations like the cooling effect of menthol and the burning sensation of capsaicin.

    Smell, however, contributes enormously to the richness and complexity of flavour.

    It’s also closely connected to memory.

    The olfactory bulb has direct connections to parts of the brain involved in emotion and memory, particularly the amygdala and hippocampus.

    There’s a reason certain smells can instantly transport people back to childhood and why senses are important in laying down new memories.

    My memories simply use different triggers.

    Smell also provides environmental awareness.

    It helps detect danger.

    It warns of fires, gas leaks, spoiled food and other hazards.

    I’ve had so many cases of food poisoning over my lifetime that I’ve genuinely lost count.

    So yes, there are disadvantages.

    Detecting spoiled food.

    Detecting smoke.

    Detecting gas leaks.

    These are all things I have to think about differently.

    That said, there are advantages too.

    I grew up on a dairy farm.

    Without going into too much detail, I’m sure you can imagine at least some of them.

    Summing Up

    Do I wish I could smell?

    Of course.

    Curiosity alone would make it worthwhile.

    I’d love to know what coffee smells like.

    Or petrichor after rain.

    Or my wife’s perfume.

    Or whether everybody has been telling the truth about bacon all these years.

    But congenital anosmia isn’t really a story about loss.

    You can’t lose something you never had.

    It’s simply a different way of experiencing the world.

    Besides, the only thing I know for certain that stinks is my sense of humour.

  • The Difference Between Sound and Noise.

    The Difference Between Sound and Noise.

    I’m a bit of a contradiction when it comes to my autistic sensibilities.

    I cannot tolerate noise.

    Office chatter, traffic noise, dripping taps, ticking clocks, snoring, eating sounds (misophonia), or other people’s phone calls and conversations in general.

    This would lead you to think I am sensory avoidant and, to some extent, I am.

    However, My autistic noise sensitivity has an exception, I adore music.

    Music is one of my great pleasures in life.

    My noise-cancelling headphones are rarely off my head. I wear them as soon as I leave the house or office and listen to music constantly.

    My musical tastes can best be described as:

    “Yes.”

    On any given day I might listen to progressive rock, punk, heavy metal, opera, film soundtracks, musical theatre, dad rock, classical music, or, on particularly unusual afternoons, Mongolian throat singing.

    Spotify’s recommendation algorithm has long since given up trying to profile me and now simply appears to be selecting tracks using a random number generator and mild panic.

    In the world of sound there is a profound difference between music and noise.

    Music is controlled, predictable, and chosen.

    Noise is intrusive, random, unwarranted and, in most cases, unavoidable.

    I live in London.

    It’s hardly a haven of peace, calm and quiet serenity and not a place for someone with autistic noise sensitivity!

    Well, bits of it can be. More on that later.

    But the city isn’t designed to be noisy. It’s not even designed to be quiet. Noise is simply an unavoidable side effect of being a large, bustling metropolis.

    London is a loud place.

    Then again, it’s not always about volume.

    It’s about the inescapable wall of sound and its chaotic, unpredictable nature.

    Noise Fatigue

    Being constantly immersed in a sea of sound is draining.

    Much like Chinese water torture, it slowly chips away at my calm and increases my cognitive overload. External noise increases my internal static and makes my stammer worse.

    This results in difficulty concentrating, feeling worn out, exhaustion and an increased likelihood of meltdown.

    Death by a thousand auditory paper cuts.

    The Survival Equipment

    In order to get through the day with minimal fuss, I have an everyday carry survival kit.

    • My noise-cancelling headphones (a battered pair of Sony WH-1000XM3s held together with duct tape)
    • Loop Quiet earplugs
    • A spare set of fallback Bluetooth earbuds (some cheap brand, as I keep losing them)

    My morning routine as I leave the house is:

    Headphones.

    Keys.

    Wallet.

    Usually in that order.

    I’d rather discover I’d forgotten my wallet or my keys than my headphones, which probably says something quite worrying about me.

    More worrying, perhaps, is that I’ve frequently forgotten the latter, but as long as I have my headphones I’m fine.

    I may not be able to get back into the house.

    I may not be able to buy lunch.

    But hey, at least I’m not exposed to noise.

    Havens of Calm in the Chaos

    As mentioned above, not all of London is a hellish soundscape.

    For all its flaws, London has an astounding number of parks, museums, churches and galleries.

    When I’m in the middle of London I can often find much-needed respite by nipping into one of the many parks and listening to birdsong, or by popping into a museum or gallery to calm my inner turmoil.

    And although I’m not a religious person, I do love the peaceful calm of a church or cathedral.

    I can understand why those of a more spiritual nature feel something in such places.

    The peace is almost palpable.

    Like a comforting presence.

    Closing Thoughts

    So yes, I love sound.

    At least, I love music and the sounds of nature.

    I love birdsong, babbling brooks, complex harmonies, soaring orchestras, distorted guitars, operatic voices and whatever noise Mongolian throat singers have somehow persuaded their anatomy to produce.

    What I don’t love is my brain trying to process every single noise in the environment simultaneously.

    The difference between music and noise isn’t volume.

    It’s consent.

    One I invited in.

    The other kicked the door down and started defecating on the furniture.