Sensory Joy as a Late-Diagnosed Autistic Person

I need to start with a bold statement: being autistic is not all doom and gloom. 

My late diagnosis of autism led to a totally unexpected discovery in how I, and other autistic people, experience the world: autistic sensory joy. Immersive, raw, transformative, and immensely powerful, this phenomenon is something I never knew was a thing until I understood the autistic condition and its nuances. For instance, few things delight me as much as the sound of deep, distant, sporadic rumbling thunder paired with waves of gentle, rhythmic rain. And it dawned on me that sensory seeking, yielding a deep autistic joy, is a gift that neurotypical people may never fully comprehend. Let me explain.

Through my beloved noise-cancelling headphones, I play carefully chosen soundscapes. Hitting a sweet spot envelops me, a playlist that's just right, offers me a grounding like no other method can. They draw me in and allow me to fall into a space that is mine. External stimuli (very quickly) recede, leaving me with a quiet and settled mind. Few sensations bring me that level of calm and refuge, even from the peak of overwhelm.

‘Ah,’ one might say, ‘so, you just like the sound?’ Well, no. Not really. Or is it? It's hard to convey, tbh.

There's a rhythm to rain (especially in my carefully chosen soundscape playlist); gentle, familiar, beautiful, safe, timeless. And then there's the addition of deep, distant thunder. It's a paradox: ferocious but reassuring, far off but enveloping. For me, low, rolling vibrations can be indescribably beautiful. They are a physical sensation. They resonate, keeping me in the present moment, should my mind wander too far. It anchors me, steadying a restless mind like a cosy weighted blanket draped around my body. It's brings a kind of freedom I've only ever found in the intimacy of these soundscapes.

After a short time, I'm myself: no drain, no mask, no pretences, no need to explain or justify. Back in the room. Dysregulated emotions and feelings of overwhelm overcome. It’s an anchor, a gift in and of itself.

A reflection of this joy became clear during my autism assessment. I didn’t know how unique this was, a textbook case of autistic sensory-seeking. As I attempted to describe what I experience, my spoken words paled into insignificance: simply describing it, my body reacted. I felt like I wasn't doing this joy any justice. However, as I (badly) described my rain and thunder playlist to my assessor, I raised both arms to show her the dense goosebumps covering them, hairs standing rigidly to attention. In truth, my whole body was covered in goosebumps and I felt waves of what can only be described as... electricity(?) flowing head to toe.

This indescribable autistic joy is sensory alchemy.

Whether I’m working, reflecting, or simply existing, happy, distressed, frustrated, or calm, these sounds amplify my focus, soothe my senses, and settle my entire state of being. It feels, somewhat, like a cheat code.

A vivid thread in the rich tapestry of one beautiful side of what it means to be autistic. Yes, we have a hard time with a lot of things. Yet, neurodivergent brains can bring incredible gifts as well as the many challenges so ubiquitous across our entire lives.

Autistic joy, from something as simple and profound as the sound of rain and thunder soundscapes... a beautiful gift indeed.

Header photo by chutipon Pattanatitinon on Unsplash