Getting Home and Meltdowns

Why getting home from school so frequently coincides with meltdowns.

*Note: this only discusses being overstimulated, not understimulated as that is an entirely different conversation which I will share at a later time.

Let me first explain what a meltdown is if you don’t already know. This specific definition of meltdown is only applied to neurodivergent people (NDs). A meltdown is when an ND is emotionally/sensorily triggered to the point of being extremely overwhelmed and uncontrollably expressing this outwardly. This can, for example, sound like crying or shouting, and can look like rocking back and forth or the fetal position in bed. There is a very wide range of what exactly a meltdown is like, and they are usually misinterpreted by neurotypicals (NTs) as anxiety attacks, moody teens, “random emotional outbursts,” anger issues, etc. Furthermore, some people can suppress meltdowns for several hours, while other times they may occur in an instant with absolutely no warning. If you are to know one thing about meltdowns, it needs to be this: there is very good reason.

Meltdowns are frequently caused by overstimulation, so I’m going to explain how this happens. It has been scientifically proven that autistic people have heightened senses. We hear a wider range of pitch, see much better in the dark, etc. On top of that, our brains are designed to send pain signals when it receives unpleasant sensory inputs. We are also at a way higher chance of having visceral hypersensitivity—feeling your internal organs when you shouldn’t be able to. Finally, autistic brains are incapable of sensory gating. This is when your brain filters out unimportant stimuli; we are neurologically incapable of “ignoring it.” Thus, we have processing “delays” and sensory issues: because we sense so much more, it causes pain, and we can’t make it stop. This means that we can become sensorily overwhelmed in situations which NTs never would. For example, when I am outside in the rain, I feel every rain drop individually and much more heavily. The sensation doesn’t wear off for hours. How would you react if you felt hundreds of hands constantly poking you for hours? You’d probably freak out, right? That is how many autistic people experience this ableist, inaccessible world: a near continuous sensory hell. Clothing tags that feel like needles and seams that feel like tourniquets. Your hair touching your forehead causing a blanket of pain. You just trimmed your fingernails and now they feel just so wrong. And… now your intestines are sending really bad pain signals because they’re simply digesting your food?!

NDs are also neurologically designed in a way that makes transitions difficult for us. It’s a big part of why it’s hard for us to do chores but also why we can hyperfocus so well. It takes us a little longer to switch from one task to another. Big transitions like going from work/school to home can take a lot longer. I frequently need about an hour to gather myself when I get home at the end of the day, two if I had a particularly overwhelming day. This involves decompressing from the last task and organising for the next task—bottom up thinking. This means that during transition periods, NDs tend to be mentally processing more: going through check lists to make sure we completed everything from the last task, then going through more check lists to make sure we’re even able to begin the next. Did I lock the door when I got home? Do I need to buy groceries before I can make dinner?

All of this means that getting home at the end of the day is a drastic increase in how much we are processing—both in regard to senses and the transition. Thus, for many of us, it is the most stressful and emotional aspect of our lives that we experience on daily basis.

Now, what happens when you get home is dependent on one thing: how safe home is. If home is a safe place, then you are able to just have the meltdown. If home isn’t a safe place, then having the meltdown, or even showing signs that you might, frequently results in reactions from others that further trigger said meltdown. When I say home isn’t a safe place, I don’t strictly mean the kind of unsafe where you’re getting beaten every day. I simply mean any home environment which is antipathetic towards your autistic traits. This could be as slight as a passive aggressive to you speaking in your autistic tone. An unsafe home environment means it’s more likely to trigger a meltdown and make you feel bad for “acting that way.” It’s cyclical. Overwhelming day > overwhelming transition home > emotional > emotional abuse for being emotional > being emotional makes you feel bad > more emotional.

Now for my personal experience (TW for child abuse in the remainder of this article).

Getting home was by far the worst part of my day, which really says a lot considering I was a disabled ND with chronic pain who everyone assumed was lesbian at a high school in a far-right town. (It was the kind of far-right town where you kinda just assume that at least one student has a gun in their car on any given day).

I have many congenital disabilities causing extremely severe chronic pain, and I developed several more such disabilities due to near-fatal child abuse/neglect. By high school I was having several dislocations every day and was refused medical care by my parents (upper-middle class with top-notch insurance). I also got quite bad headaches and migraines multiple days a week. Because the dislocations at this point were all in my legs, it would get to the point that I wouldn’t be able to walk from one class to another. However, I wasn’t permitted any mobility aids by my parents, and the school refused to let me use the elevator—which students with acute injuries were allowed to use. By the time I got home from school, I was in utter agony. My own body was enough to cause meltdowns.

And then there was the abuse. This was largely at the hands of my chaotically alcoholic father. I never knew how drunk he would be, what mood he would be in—I never knew where was safe. Not only is that extremely destructive for a developing child, but unpredictability is a major trigger for autistic people. This chaos was very stressful and a consistent trigger for meltdowns. Furthermore, my father started to become hard of hearing when I was about ten due to his job (firefighter/paramedic). He had a lot of internalised ableism about this and refused to use hearing aids or headphones while watching tv despite my mother (also ND) and I asking him to at least five days a week. The noise alone caused me to lose at least one hour of sleep every night for many years, and it triggered or contributed to countless meltdowns.

Not to mention the fighting.

Though, one of the biggest things about the act of getting home was my mother not respecting boundaries. From a very young age, I began asking her to not bombard me with questions immediately after I got home. At the time I described the feeling when she did this as “really stressful” or that it “really freaks me out.” Now I know it was a meltdown. I don’t exaggerate when I say I must have asked her hundreds of times over the years, if not thousands. It would cause a meltdown every, single time, but she never, once respected my boundary (you can imagine how many other boundaries she didn’t respect either).

So this is what my day looked like, and why I had a meltdown every day for years without fail.

Alarm. Overstimulation: clothes; dogs barking. Pain. Unpredictability: is dad making me breakfast or a lunch? Is he on a bender today? Transition: drive to school. Pain. Transition: arrive at school. Pain. Overstimulation: every, single light bulb; hundreds of students in the cafeteria; every individual voice. Transition: class. Pain. Social chaos: my friends refuse to walk to class with me today because I’m walking “too slow.” I got to class in time. Social chaos: the students are only decent because the teacher is ND, so they don’t dare bully students for traits he shares with them. Transition: next class. Pain. Overstimulation: very bright lights in this room. Social chaos: students and teacher. Transition: home room. Pain. Overstimulation: this is basically a free period, so it’s always loud with lots of people coming and going. Social chaos: both the students and the teacher hated me. Transition: class. Extra pain, stairs. Stimulation: this class is actually quiet with dimmer lights; I can recharge about 5%. Social chaos: most of the bullies are in this class, but this teacher is ND too so I’m uncomfortable but safe for now. Unpredictability: do I have first or second lunch this trimester? Transition: class. Pain. Social chaos: students, and this teacher really hates me because I know more than him despite sleeping through class. Overstimulation: it’s a language class so we spend the whole time playing games and singing; it doesn’t get worse than this. Transition: lunch. Agony. I have to stick it out today because there’s an important test. Overstimulation: hundreds of students hanging out in the cafeteria; every voice; every light; every scent; great, my dad intentionally packed a lunch that I can’t stomach. Unpredictability: how long is the microwave line? What about the bathrooms? What about the bullies? Transition: class. I’m late because I can barely stand. Overstimulation: this is the “cool” teacher, so everyone is loud; we watch extremely loud videos; he never turns the lights off; I’m stuck trying to find the balance between the fetal position and not being noticed. Social chaos: students, and this teacher thinks I cheat on every assignment because I’m a social outcast with 50% attendance and just aced the test in less than half the given time (I’d do even better if it was an accessible class). Transition: going home. Overstimulation: hundreds of loud students in the halls; I can’t hear a single person speaking to me because every voice is the same volume. Driving hurts too. Unpredictability: what will home be like? Will he be passed out drunk? Will he be blaring the tv? Am I allowed to have dinner tonight? Are they going to fight? How can I make myself safe? My insides are vibrating. My muscles are twitching, it feels like they’re bubbling. I can’t look in the same direction for more than a second. I’m dry heaving. Dinner is being made. Overstimulation: it smells good, but I hear every single crackle that makes up the sizzle; the tv is on the max volume; it’s dark outside so every light is on. Fuck, she’s home early. I’m panicking, she’s hugging me. Overstimulation: her perfume and hair spray, I can’t breathe; I hate these clothes; I still have my 50lb backpack on. I cry, “Get off!” in every sense of the phrase, shaking in terror from the stimuli. She won’t let go. “Don’t talk to me until I settle in.” Apparently, I’m the problem. “You never listen to me!” Apparently, this means there’s something wrong with me. “You never listen to me!!!!” Apparently, I’m selfish. “YOU’RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!” Apparently, she’s just trying to show that she loves me. I limp to my room tearing up from both physical and emotional anguish, my entire body feeling bubbly and tense and my face feels just so sad and everything hurts and suddenly I have to pee really bad and--. Apparently, loving me means yelling at me again.