Writing in a Loud World

It’s been a while since I wrote anything on this blog. I’ve been busy finishing my first novel, and working through my internal resistance to social media, oh! And I bought a house and moved to upstate New York. It has been a busy couple of months.

All of this internal and external work has made me think a lot about transitions and how they affect my ability to write. During those first few weeks in my new home, I was on deadline to submit the final draft of my novel, What if…I Love You (available April 20th!) to my editor.

As the deadline loomed, I found it impossible to write. Surrounded by boxes, frustrated from growing decision fatigue, talking to contractors, and figuring out through trial and error the maintenance needs of my new home.

Then there were new sensory challenges. This is always the hardest part of any major life transition for me. Everywhere I’ve ever lived has been too loud.

When I first notice the noise—usually at the height of overstimulation—I’m convinced that I’ve chosen the wrong living space yet again.

In the past, when I lived in apartments, it was the sound of neighbors entertaining in the backyard next door, the rumble of the elevator next to my unit, or the HVAC above my ceiling. I once had a neighbor who would belt out pop songs terribly at full volume late at night.

There was always something.

There has never been a place that wasn’t too loud for me. In my new house, it’s noise from the street in front of my house and the sound of the older boiler kicking on throughout the day.

It took me years to realize that no matter where I lived, there would always be noise. That is the nature of sharing this world with other people. Short of living in a soundproof dome there was no way I could escape it.

It baffled me that my friends and family weren’t as overwhelmed by the noise. They never understood why I couldn’t adapt to it. They seemed to just brush it off as if it wasn’t that big of a deal.

While they could adapt, I would become overstimulated and extremely angry at the evasive noises of life that interrupted my ability to concentrate, feel calm, or sleep at night.

It wasn’t until after I learned I was autistic that I understood my inability to adapt to the unavoidable noises of everyday life resulting from sensory processing challenges.

The world may be louder than I would like it to be, but I have ways of turning down the volume when I need to. I needed that reminder when I moved into my house two months ago. The reminder that if I want to write, then I need to take care of my sensory needs first.

These days, I have lots of tools to mitigate sensory input.

I have my Loop earplugs, noise-canceling headphones, air pods, and Happy ear plugs for sleeping. I have sunglasses I keep in the car and in my coat pocket.

Instead of feeling powerless to do anything to improve my sensory experience moving through the world, I use the tools I’ve found that work for me, the moment I begin to feel any physical signals of stress.

It took a few weeks of settling into my new home before I got back to writing. Unfortunately, that meant missing my deadline and pushing back my release date.

But transition takes time, creating a space that accommodates my needs takes time, and in a busy, loud world I sometimes need to slow down and find a way to turn down the volume before I can get back to work.

What are some tools that you’ve found to address your sensory needs? Share your strategies in the comments.