There’s a saying I often return to: two things can be true at the same time.
I love my family. I love the boisterous laughter, the overlapping conversations, the warmth of being surrounded by people who have known me since childhood. My large Italian family gatherings are a chorus of joy, connection, and tradition. And yet, after hours in this beautiful chaos, I find myself craving silence. I need to retreat, to find a quiet space where I can breathe, collect my thoughts, and recover from the sensory overload.
For a long time, I struggled with the guilt of this duality. How could I love something so deeply while also feeling exhausted by it? The answer, I’ve come to realize, lies in understanding my own neurodivergence and in embracing the complexity of human experience.
The Science Behind Overstimulation and Social Connection
Research on neurodivergence, particularly in autistic adults, highlights that while many of us deeply value relationships, we also experience sensory and social processing differently from neurotypical individuals (Sosnowy et al., 2019). Studies show that autistic individuals often prefer socializing in ways that feel more structured or predictable, and they tend to form more comfortable connections with others who understand their unique social rhythms (Morrison et al., 2020; Crompton et al., 2020).
Moreover, neurodivergent individuals may struggle with environments that are overly stimulating due to atypical sensory processing (Gilliespie-Lynch et al., 2017). The constant stream of voices, the clinking of silverware, and the varying scents at a large family gathering can lead to sensory overload. This doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy socializing; rather, it means we may need intentional strategies to maintain our well-being during and after these events.
The Dance Between Connection and Solitude
Learning to navigate these seemingly opposing needs has been a journey. Here’s what has helped me:
- Planning for Breaks Without Guilt – I’ve started incorporating small, quiet breaks into social gatherings. Whether it’s stepping outside for fresh air, finding a quiet room, or taking a walk, I remind myself that my need for solitude isn’t a rejection of my family; it’s an act of self-care.
- Communicating My Needs – It was difficult at first, but I’ve learned to share with my family that I may need short moments of solitude to reset. Many of them, especially those who know me well, understand and respect this need.
- Finding the Right Sensory Tools – Sometimes, wearing noise-canceling earbuds for a few minutes or engaging in deep breathing helps me regulate my sensory input without fully stepping away from the group.
- Setting Boundaries with Love – I remind myself that saying “I need a little quiet time” isn’t pushing people away; it’s ensuring I can engage meaningfully when I am present.
Embracing the Beauty of Duality
What I’ve come to realize is that love and overstimulation are not mutually exclusive. I can be the person who laughs too loudly, talks animatedly, and cherishes the vibrant energy of my family while also being the person who needs to step away and embrace the quiet.
I’ve stopped feeling like I have to choose between connection and solitude. Instead, I embrace the balance. I honor the part of me that thrives in the lively warmth of family and the part of me that flourishes in stillness. In doing so, I’ve found a way to love my family—and myself—more fully.
Two things can be true at the same time, and that’s okay.
Sending Love & Light,
Jamie Vollmoeller, LCSW