Managing Sensory Input in an Overstimulating Profession
Overstimulation is a constant undercurrent in this industry, something I’ve had to learn to manage over the years. When your job involves constant physical contact, emotional labour, and an array of sensory inputs, it can be a lot to handle—especially when you’re Autistic and have ADHD, like myself. These aspects of myself are things I don’t always talk about, but they’re fundamental to how I experience the world and, in turn, how I approach my work.
Having both Autism and ADHD isn’t just a part of me; it’s the lens through which I perceive everything around me. My sensory experiences are dialled up to eleven: sounds, smells, textures, they all hit me like a tidal wave. And in this line of work, where you’re surrounded by a constant barrage of stimuli, it’s not something you can just choose to ignore.
Understanding
When I was first diagnosed it was like a light bulb went off. Suddenly, all the things I’d struggled with for so long made sense. The way I could never quite tune out background noise, how certain smells or touches would make my skin crawl, and the difficulty I had in maintaining focus amidst chaos. But it also meant coming to terms with the fact that the world wasn’t going to get any quieter or softer just because I now had a label for my experiences.
ADHD means that my brain is constantly in overdrive. I’m always thinking, always processing, always trying to keep up with the rapid-fire thoughts bouncing around in my head. This can occasionally be a blessing in disguise, because when I’m in the zone I can hyperfocus and give my clients an incredible level of attention. But it can also be a curse. Too much stimuli, and I feel like I’m being pulled in a dozen different directions at once, struggling to keep my feet on the ground.
On top of that, my Autism makes me particularly sensitive to certain sensory inputs. What might be a faint whiff of cologne to someone else feels like being smothered by a cloud of chemicals to me. A client’s light, casual touch can feel like an electric shock if I’m not prepared for it. And don’t even get me started on the sounds; the hum of the air conditioning, the creak of the massage table, the distant chatter of people in the next room. It’s all amplified, all the time.
So, when I say that overstimulation is a challenge, I mean it’s an ever-present reality of my work. But it’s also something I’ve learned to navigate and manage. It’s taken time, patience, and a lot of trial and error, but I’ve found ways to create an environment where I can thrive, despite constant sensory input.
Scents:
When I first started out, I never anticipated how much the simple act of breathing could overwhelm me. Scents are a big part of the sensory landscape of this job—colognes, perfumes, even someone’s natural body odour. It’s not just the smell itself but how it lingers, how it clings to the air, to fabrics, and to skin. I’ve had clients whose cologne was so strong that it left me feeling disoriented and nauseous. It’s not something you can easily control, either. People don’t often think about how their chosen scent will affect others, especially in a setting where close proximity is the norm.
I’ve learned to gently guide clients towards more neutral scents if I know I’ll be sensitive that day. Sometimes, it’s as simple as offering them a complimentary unscented lotion or spray when they arrive. I phrase it like an upgrade—a way to enhance their experience—when really, it’s to preserve my own sanity.
But there are days when it’s unavoidable. Someone walks in with a heavy musk and I have to mentally prepare myself to work through it. On those days, I focus on my breathing, keeping it slow and steady, and I make sure to step out into the fresh air between sessions. It’s about finding little ways to cope, to make sure I can still be present for my clients, even when my senses are screaming at me to flee.
Touch:
Physical touch is, of course, the cornerstone of my work… but it’s also one of the most challenging aspects. Being touched, especially unexpectedly, can send shockwaves through my system. It’s not that I don’t like being touched—quite the opposite—but it has to be on my terms, in a way that feels safe and controlled.
I’ve had clients who, in their eagerness, will reach out to touch my face or hip during a session. It’s meant to be a gesture of connection, but for me it can feel like an intrusion, an unexpected jolt that throws me off balance. I’ve had to learn to navigate these moments delicately and gently redirect their hands or explain that I need to keep the bulk of touch one-sided for their experience to remain uninterrupted. It’s a balancing act, ensuring they feel connected and cared for without compromising my own comfort.
I’ve also become more attuned to how I touch others. My sensitivity means I’m hyper-aware of pressure, texture, and temperature, and I use that awareness to gauge how my clients might be feeling. I can tell when someone tenses up or relaxes under my hands, and I adjust accordingly. It’s a subtle dance of give and take, of reading the unspoken language of touch.
Sounds:
The background noise of a session can be another source of overstimulation. It’s not just about the obvious sounds, like music or conversation, but the ambient noise that fills the space—the hum of the air conditioning, the creak of the massage table, the distant chatter from other rooms. For someone with heightened sensory perception, these sounds can become overwhelming, like the buzzing of a persistent mosquito you can never quite shoo.
There are certainly times when even the best-laid plans fall short. A loud bang from outside or an unexpected noise can pull me out of the moment, and I have to work extra hard to refocus. In those instances, I’ve developed little tricks to bring myself back into the present. Sometimes it’s as simple as counting my breaths or focusing on the rhythm of my movements. Other times, I’ll mentally repeat a calming mantra or visualisation to centre myself. It’s about finding ways to stay grounded, even when the world around me feels like it’s spinning out of control. And if I have time between clients, my noise-cancelling headphones are my best friend to get myself back to my best self for my next appointment.
Visuals:
I’m a very visual person, and that extends to how I experience my environment. Colours, patterns, and lighting can all have a profound effect on my mood and energy levels. A room that’s too bright or filled with clashing colours can make me feel scattered and disoriented, while a softly lit and harmoniously decorated space can help me feel calm and focused.
Over the years, I’ve curated my workspace to be a visual sanctuary. Soft, neutral tones, dim lighting, and minimal décor help keep me centered. But when I step outside that bubble, it’s a different story. The bright lights of a store or the chaotic visuals of a busy street can be overwhelming, and I find myself yearning for the calm of my controlled environment.
I’ve learned to scan the space for any potential triggers—bright lights, clutter, or anything that might throw me off balance—and make adjustments where I can. If I can’t change the environment, I focus on creating a visual focal point, something simple and calming that I can return to when I start to feel overwhelmed.
Mistakes:
Despite my best efforts, there are times when overstimulation gets the best of me. I remember one session in particular where everything that could go wrong did. The client arrived wearing an overpowering cologne, the massage table was squeaking loudly with every movement, and the room was too bright. I felt like I was being assaulted on all fronts, and it was all I could do to hold it together.
I tried to push through, but I wasn’t at my best. My movements were rushed, my focus scattered, and I could tell the client was picking up on my discomfort. It was a harsh reminder that, no matter how much I’ve learned to manage my sensory sensitivities, I’m still human. I still have limits, and sometimes, those limits are reached.
After the session, I took a moment to collect myself and reflect on what had happened. I realized that I needed to be more proactive in setting the stage for a session, to be clear about my needs as well as the client’s. It was a humbling experience, but one that taught me the importance of self-care and boundary-setting in this line of work.
Conclusion
Managing overstimulation in my work requires a delicate balance of self-awareness, adaptation, and proactive strategies. My experiences with sensory sensitivities—shaped by my Autism and ADHD—have led me to develop effective techniques for navigating the complexities of my job. From handling overpowering scents to managing physical touch and visual stimuli, I’ve learned to create a work environment that supports both my well-being and the quality of service I provide. While challenges remain, my journey has equipped me with the tools to balance my sensory needs with my professional responsibilities, ensuring that each client receives the attentive, high-quality experience they deserve.