Sensory Loading Strategies When you can’t Influence the Setting

Pastor Don: His poor eyesight does not take away from his clear vision

I have recently emerged from several weeks of low energy. I say emerge because it has been like emerging from a tunnel, into a narrow canyon and then on to… a gradual awareness of a bigger and vibrant world.

With my increased level of energy I can count on a greater number of activities to go well without putting me into sensory overload or what I also refer to as entering the ‘red’ zone.

When I woke up I was reasonably assured that the day would flow well.

This being Sunday morning I was looking forward to a time of worship. I had done the needed tasks before heading into town. I had opened up the chicken coop, filled the feeder and collected a few eggs. Before going in for breakfast I cleared the 15 cm of snow that had fallen on the driveway and walkway overnight. (One day too early to call it an April Fool’s snowfall)

The worship service began with the usual announcements and introductions followed by an opening song. Following the official greeting congregants are invited to greet each other (with a holy kiss?). People left their chairs and extend greetings to each other into what quickly became a chaos of chatter and people mingling. A clear contrast to the meditative tone just moments earlier.

Today I managed the greeting chaos surprisingly well given that I usually exit the sanctuary just before this part of the liturgy. I do best to avoid the randomness, the ‘messiness ‘ of the moment, the quick greeting of a half dozen or more people. Having half a dozen social encounters compressed into a 30 to 60 second block of time usually triggers neurologically fatigue. That invariably results in a significant drain on my energy level.

Today, after the chaotic greetings two people entered and eventually managed to be suitably seated in front of me. The handicapped person was being helped by a PSW (personal support worker). I couldn’t help but notice the challenge of getting the person seated aided by the gentle patience and care shown by the PSW.

During the next hymn I found myself experiencing sensory overload. The emotion centre of my brain could not handle the combination of three sensory events in close succession. The loss evident with the handicapped person and the heartfelt care being given by the PSW. The chaotic greetings with its social demands. The music and the lyrics of the song chosen to fit the the lenten season.

By themselves anyone of these elements might have been manageable. When the different sensory events occur in rapid succession the compounding effect put me into sensory overload.

While my recovery from these activities could be relatively quick, having the events happen back to back left me no opportunity for even a brief respite before the next sensory event.

When this happens I am in the habit of leaving the area and going for a short walk. I am usually able to join in again within 5 to 10 minutes.

Can it be different?

I heard recently of a grocery store that offers customers a low sensory shopping experience. The low sensory hour of grocery shopping includes adjustments such as low lighting, no PA announcements, no music and no shopping cart returns.

Could one make worship a low sensory experience? Where would one begin?

One would not want to exclude handicapped people. Being able bodied should not be a prerequisite for being a part of the community. While seeing the loss of potential opportunity in a disabled person is emotionally taxing, seeing the heartfelt care being shown is also emotionally taxing, albeit a positive emotional experience… nevertheless adding significantly to my sensory loading.

While live music and the accompanying lyrics can contribute to emotional loading its untenable to have that eliminated from the liturgy. I find the lenten lyrics along with the music in minor key a combination that hits a bit harder. However, imagine a worship service with the lyrics redacted and no music or singing. That would take the soul out of worship.

Situations and actions which touch the heart has a way of overloading my emotional center.

It is clear that the sensory experiences are an integral part of a worship liturgy. My ongoing challenge is to develop strategies for navigating that hour and a half each Sunday morning.

Strategies:

1. Arrive refreshed. If possible void sensory loading activities the day before.
2. Be mindful of which parts of the liturgy present challenges.
3. Participate in the difficult parts of the liturgy briefly. Over time increase the length of participation. Total avoidance can increase the risk of developing ‘super sensitivity’.
4. Choose seating that lessens the sensory impact. Choose seating that allows for an inconspicuous exit.
5. Find space to move around as restlessness is an early signal that I’m approaching sensory overload.

Changes would be unreasonable

At one time I thought it was reasonable for me to request a change. If the worship community would agree to remove the chaotic activity of people doing the 30 to 60 seconds of greeting that would eliminate one problem area for me. Well, one morning a guest minister missed that part of the liturgy. I was relieved while many people were annoyed.

The worship liturgy follows its own course. It’s not reasonable for me to request changes in the liturgy to meet my needs.

Over time I hope my strategies will minimize my sensory loading. I need to accept my own accommodations to properly manage my sensory loading. That will likely mean choosing to limit my participation at times.

How about you?

I would love to hear what strategies others use to manage their sensory loading whether it’s at a structured event or in a casual setting.

Life Happens

 

Not an Unholy worship place, though Hit & Miss for me

Sunday

Had an invitation to visit a friend for his birthday recently. Since it was Sunday morning I thought it would make sense to make the 45 minute drive and attend his church.

The church, not being a typical protestant church, meets in New Stages Theatre.  Rather than the usual parking lot with an obvious front entrance this worship space was in the downtown area. After making two U-turns I located the correct building. Then I made sure it was actually free parking on Sunday. I made my way to a somewhat obscure entrance. I say obscure because there was no signage and the entrance was on a different street than the official address.

On entering the building I had a choice of climbing the long stairway or riding the elevator to reach the main floor.

I exited the elevator as it opened into a reception area. There were a few people helping themselves to some coffee and a snack. I noted that the bar at the far end of the reception area was closed. (wrong day I guess.)

I walked around, checking out the layout of the space and briefly acknowledged a few people who greeted me. I didn’t have the energy to engage in conversation but knew how to be brief but reasonably polite. I wandered into the worship area with its subdued lighting and sparse setup. There were a few microphones, a music stand with a laptop and a screen that read “Eschatology”. I assumed that was the topic for the day. There were a few parishioners who had already made themselves comfortable in the cushioned seats.

I walked back to the reception area to help myself to a cup of tea and a snack. As my friend was ready to enter the worship area I decided to follow. As I approached the seating area I became acutely aware that my sensory loading had been building. In the ten minutes since entering the building my ability to function had gone into a quiet but steady downward spiral. I stepped out for a few minutes. When I returned I sat off to the side in the shadows and out of sight.

My attempt to be inconspicuous was briefly interrupted when the pastor walked over to me and welcomed me to the service. I nodded a polite acknowledgement.

In the next 15 minutes my sensory overload settled down enough that I could take in some of what was happening. After focusing on the worship service and participating in the singing, things seemed to be going better. The small group of  people and the single guitar made the singing have a settling effect on me.

Shortly after the singing was done I wasn’t able to take in anymore. My earplugs which are meant to tone down sounds had a cocooning affect. I ended up napping for about 20 minutes. (Did I mention the seating was comfortable?)

As the worship time ended I knew I was in no condition to socialize with anyone. I quickly made my way down the long flight of stairs and waited at the bottom till my friend was ready to head home.

On Reflection

The worship experience totally blindsided me. The week before was the first time in almost three years that I had actually made it through the whole worship service. It was a real accomplishment which left me with a stronger sense of inclusion. The singing last week had not pushed me to a point of sensory overload. I had been able to focus on the different parts of the liturgy. I had come away from there with sense of achievement.

So why had today’s experience put me into sensory overload? Yes, and most of it happened before the worship time even started? It wasn’t simply a matter of making it only part way through the service before I needed a break. Needless to say, the experience was a disappointing setback.

I have been advised to consider the broader context when I experience a set back. Sensory overload doesn’t just happen. There are certain experiences that will bring on sensory overload gradually. There are other experiences that will suddenly trigger sensory overload. I should point out that the 45 minute drive to the church did not meet either condition for bringing on sensory overload.

The broader context would be to look at what was happening in the days leading up to the Sunday. What did I do Thursday? Did Friday’s activities contribute? Did Saturday’s activities exacerbate my sensory loading? Had there been time to reduce some of the neural fatigue the accompanies sensory overload?

In hindsight I had been processing two emotionally charged events that added significantly to my emotional sensory loading.

Saturday

WW I and WW II Cenotaph

On Saturday I attended the November 11 Remembrance Day ceremony. The last two years I had attended the ceremonies in the city. Last year I had fared better during the hour long ceremony than I had the year before. (I’m seeing gradual progress.) This year I attended the ceremony in our hamlet. The cenotaph is around the corner, less than a kilometer from home. Being a small hamlet the Remembrance Day ceremony ran much shorter than in the city.

Despite the shorter ceremony, the remembrance of lives lost and the loss experienced by so many families set me back more than I expected. The local cenotaph is more personal. I counted over 300 names inscribed on the monument, representing soldiers who died in World War I and II. The names are soldiers from our township who served. While the current population is 18,000, it would have been less than a quarter of that at the end of WWII.

After the ceremony I drove home and did some yard work for a couple of hours. Cleaning up and getting things put away is a physical activity with low cognitive demands. Along with being outside that should have helped reduce the sensory loading somewhat.

Friday

On Friday I had lunch with some former colleagues. These occasional lunches are enjoyable and an opportunity to catch up on what people are doing. The setting is relaxed, with no one in a hurry to leave.

A significant part of Friday’s lunch was being a support for a colleague who had recently buried her spouse. Sharing in her loss and that of her young sons meant I would need some time to let some of my sensory loading dissipate.  Biking home after the lunch helped bring some immediate relief. But I should realize by now that I need more than a rhythmic physical activity like a 50 km bike ride to properly recover.

Planning and Scheduling

In hindsight, it was obvious to me that I had scheduled too many activities on consecutive days that contributed to my sensory loading. If I were to do it over, I would schedule at least one recovery day between each event. That’s how it would work in an ideal world.

In reality I did not know what to expect at the Friday lunch.  I did anticipate the sharing of loss at the Friday lunch, but that definitely wasn’t a reason to stay away.

However, I have been reminded of the need to plan for the worst case scenario. Well, that’s fine, but the next day, Saturday, was Remembrance Day. I thought it would be a dishonour to the families of the fallen soldiers to not attend. Besides I had modified my attendance by going to a shorter ceremony. In that way I had made accommodation hopefully reduce a worst case outcome. I realized afterwards that shorter doesn’t necessarily reduce the emotional impact.

Even though I had two emotional events in two days I didn’t realize what impact it was having on me. I had done outdoor physical activities in between. That has always been helpful in reducing  my sensory loading. So, how could I have anticipated that my worship time would expose my sensory overload? My best guess it to realize the accumulative effect of back to back emotionally charged experiences. Why is learning new things so hard to put into practice?

Nevertheless, I decided to visit my friend anyway. I wasn’t just a casual visit, it was a birthday, not something you can take a rain check on.

The visit required some significant accommodations. I managed to find a quiet place. I managed to nap for close to an hour. After my nap I chose a room where there were only a couple of people.

At first I participated by simply nodding and acknowledging the conversations. Gradually I was able to participate and initiate conversation.

Appreciation

I was able to enjoy the visit because my friend understands my needs. No one was insulted that I needed a nap. No one pushed themselves on me to engage in the conversations.

In the end I was glad I not abandoned the idea of visiting. It would have been lonely and disappointing to have gone home rather than visit. It’s not always an easy call to make. It helps when I am with people who know me and have shown understanding in the past.

My reminder

It’s not a matter of “hit and miss”. The recent experience was a clear reminder that I need to pace my self and monitor my sensory loading. Most significant is the cumulative effect of back to back experiences. Even if my body didn’t give me signals, previous experience should have alerted me. But then there is always the somewhat unreasonable hope that my ability to handle sensory loading has significantly improved.

You can’t rush recovery, just like “you can’t rush good wine.”*

* Ringo Garza (musician)

Life in the Bicycle Lane

Bison Transport, a company with the most courteous drivers on the road.

More than a Routine

One could try to summarize the Sea to Sea ride as a simple routine of ‘Eat, Sleep, Bike’ though not necessarily in that order or at the same time. One couldn’t be more mistaken.

It has become very clear to me that life in the bicycle lane has a daily routine that is designed with a similar template. However, it’s the content that goes into each day that is as varied or rather more varied than I would sometime like it to be.

Reading My Gauge

I have learned to read my overall well-being according to how well I am able to carry out the numerous early morning routines. Once I have gone through the routines of breaking camp, getting breakfast, making lunch, doing the personal details of sunscreen and having the bike ready to roll, I measure my well-being based on how many details I missed.

I’ve decided that a score of ten is tops. For every item I forget I lose one point. If I score less than 6 I know I need to make focusing on the ride a priority. That means, minimal conversation while riding, focus on riding steady, and focus on the traffic from behind. A score of 1 or 2 probably means I shouldn’t ride that day.

A difficult visit

Earlier this week I had the opportunity to visit a friend and former colleague that took me back to my teaching time in Alberta. As the tour approached Picture Butte I made inquiries and was able to have a wonderful and meaningful visit.

My friend had a stroke a few months ago and so I knew that with my lack of sensory filters that the visit would take it’s toll on me. It was a short and focused visit. During our visit we had some tearful moments, but for the most part I was able to hold it together. We both understood from experience the difficulty of dealing with loss.

We laughed about things that I didn’t realize she remembered from when I worked with her. She thanked me for visiting. It would have been harder to ride by without stopping to visit. It really was my honour to visit her.

Once I left the building, the full impact of the visit hit me. I was in tears. I was unable to talk. It felt good to be riding, but the tears kept coming. As I turned the corner to get back onto the route I heard someone call my name. I saw a crowd of riders getting treats, and in that crowd was my riding buddy.

Caring support

I had prepped my riding buddy about the visit and so she wasn’t surprised by my condition. I walked past the group of riders to a quiet spot a couple store fronts further away. My riding buddy came over and sat with me. She explained to some others who didn’t know why I was upset that I had just had a difficult visit and needed some quiet time. Our tour chaplain while respecting my need for a quiet space came over and prayed for me.

In the next two hours as I rode I once more gradually became aware of the southern Alberta scenery around me. My riding buddy was able to give me a balance of time alone and offer occasional diversions. Over the next 50 kilometers I was gradually feeling more at peace.

Moving ahead

The next morning I knew I was still dealing with some significant emotional sensory loading of the previous day. The shorter ride mapped out for the day was a bonus.

Not thirty kilometers into the ride a passing truck driver intended to give a friendly honk. What came out was an ill-timed blast of the horn just as the truck was beside me. While my riding buddy noticeably jumped in her saddle, I was overwhelmed by the blast. I was instantly into sensory overload. I was in tears off and on for the next hour. The blast set my recovery back a half day.

The emotional sensory loading from the previous day was still at a high and sensitive level. The emotions reside in the Temporal lobe of the brain which is near the ears. The assault on the ears will suddenly put a person back into a recent emotional event. It’s like suddenly and unexpectedly being dropped right back into the event.

Despite this additional setback, when it comes to ‘cost / benefit’ I had no regret making the visit the day before. I was fine dealing with the setback and letting the rhythm of the ride gradually bring me into a better space. The routine of looking ahead, checking my rear view mirror for traffic and scanning the countryside was helping to dissipate the acuteness of the sensory loading.

The need to be aware

Not fifty kilometer further the healing affect of the cycling abruptly ended. I noticed an oncoming transport truck suddenly swerve towards me. The driver having noticed too late some debris in his lane. As he focused on straightening out his rig, I noticed the second trailer was out of control and swaying wildly as it moved towards our lane.

My riding recalls me saying, “What’s going on.” Then, “Whoa!!!”

I was trying to get her attention because she was about 3 or 4 car lengths closer to the impending disaster. I was concerned about her not having enough time to get out of the way.

My riding buddy was concerned about me. From her position she saw she was out of the trajectory of the second trailer. She pictured me being right in the path if the swaying trailer.

The driver was able to regain full control. We tried not to think about the further complication had a car been coming up behind us.

It took me about ten minutes to recover from the immediate effect of the close call. I decided I would carry on. Can’t change was had just happened. I reasoned that should a third incident happen that day I would call for SAG support and call it a day.

Coming into camp

As we approached the end of the 150 km ride my riding buddy was ware that I was still struggling with the sensory loading of the previous day, compounded by the two incidents this day.

As we rolled into camp she immediately summoned help. She had one person take the bike off my hands. She sent someone else for my tent and sleeping bag. She herself got my recovery drink ready and made sure that I lay down and begin the recovery protocol. Slept for almost two hours before supper time.

After a good night of rest, the next day was a great ride. It was a long day with 165 km to cover. Thankful for a shorter ride the day before, and ready for a long ride that day.

Why do what’s hard?

I am beginning to understand people who are able to be passionate and enjoy an activity despite dealing with suffering and difficult experiences in the process.

It’s not that I would go out of my way to do something that causes pain. So why continue with one major set back each week of the first three weeks. Somehow, with this group of riders, the greater the need, the great sense of community that one experiences.

Also, this ride which I hoped would help my rehabilitation is giving me new insight into living with ABI (acquired brain injury). This new insight is based on my own ‘detective’ work and then reinforced by a scientific analysis of the different responses my riding buddy observes. (She told me that I was providing her with a very interesting case study.)

The harder the learning, the more exciting the outcomes. It is definitely rewarding.