My sensory processing disorder is different than some others. It mostly manifests in eating, sound, and touch. I cannot handle anyone touching me around my shoulders or hips; it hurts too badly. Sounds are difficult to tolerate. My least favorite sounds are screaming, cursing, the fire alarm, thunder, fireworks, and balloons (to name a few). I am a picky eater, but shrimp, eggs, and marshmallows are foods I cannot stand the texture of, and most meats except for chicken and turkey.
The problem with sensory processing disorder is that it can make it hard to tolerate the world. Our world today revolves around sound. Thunder, talking, car engines, etc. are all part of our world today. Food is an important part of both family life and the world, too. My parents are endlessly patient, but because the textures of some foods are hard for me, it is hard for them to parent a picky eater (and understandably so).
In my experience, a lot of people think that sensory processing disorder is made up, but it is so very, very real. They say, “Oh, you’re being too sensitive” or “it’s just anxiety.” I am diagnosed with anxiety and am an HSP (highly sensitive person), but my struggles with sound, touch, and texture are because of SPD. Because touch bothers me so much, I got misdiagnosed with fibromyalgia when I was 9 years old. A lot of people aren’t aware of sensory processing disorder.
This problem presents itself at school, too. Never mind the fact that at theatre rehearsal, when the intercom came on over my head, I clutched my ears and rocked back and forth until the announcement stopped. Never mind that I can’t focus during a fire drill because I have to hold my ears closed.
It all came to a head one day in choir. (I love music when it isn’t too loud—so, no rock music for me.) But I am the dorky musical theatre kid. I was unlucky enough to be seated by an extremely hyper and inconsiderate kid who was screaming across the classroom to his friends. I don’t think he has ADHD; he’s the kind of kid who talks just to hear his own voice — the problem is that he does it loudly.
After cradling my ear into my shoulder for a few minutes, I really couldn’t take it anymore. I had tried to be patient, but I just couldn’t do it.
”Um…” I said hesitantly, “can you please stop screaming? It hurts my ears.”
The boy looked at me incredulously. “I’m hurting your ears,” he repeated in that way that tells you when someone a) either doesn’t believe you or b) doesn’t care. He started talking loudly again just to spite me, screaming over to the girls in the corner, and I held my ears closed.
“Please,” I said again. “I’m sorry to have to ask this, but can you please be quiet? I have sensory processing disorder.”
The boy wrinkled his nose at me, looking like he’d just smelled something bad. “Sensory what?” he said.
“Sensory issues,” I said finally, knowing he wouldn’t understand the term sensory processing disorder. A lot of people don’t. “It means that loud noises hurt my ears.”
The boy looked interested now. “So that means it hurts when I do this?” he asked, leaning over. He came really close to me and screamed directly in my ear. I jerked away, holding my ear, a lump in my throat. I had been through bullying and teasing before due to my cerebral palsy, but this was plain mean-spirited about my sensory processing disorder.
The boy started pointing and laughing at me while I blinked back tears, trying to recover from the assault on my ears.
My goal here is that we need people to understand what sensory processing disorder is. It is real, it is important, and it is not the fault of the people who have it.
We need to raise awareness. Are you ready? I am.