Hello there, lovely readers. So glad you’ve decided to join me today for what is sure to be another winding journey through my thoughts. I promise, as always, there’s a method to my madness—just stick with me. Whether you’re here out of curiosity, camaraderie, or because you, too, find yourself battling the mysterious forces that dictate when and how our brains decide to take a break, you’re in the right place. Let’s dive in together.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the connections between energy, focus, and rest—how we balance these in a world that rarely slows down. For me, this isn’t just a casual reflection; it’s something my brain forces me to confront every single day. One moment, I’m on a roll, diving into a task with enthusiasm, and the next, I’m crashing, unable to resist the gravitational pull of a nap. It’s puzzling, exhausting, and sometimes enlightening. It is as always amusing to see how one simple comment in another post can create a whole new topic.

What causes these sudden crashes? Is it sensory overload? My ADHD? The quirks of living on the spectrum? All of the above? The answers feel elusive, but one thing I’ve started to pay attention to is how I fuel my brain—specifically, my relationship with coffee. And oh, what a relationship it is.

Speaking of overload, let’s talk about coffee for a second. I wrote about this recently—preground vs. fresh ground. And let me tell you, fresh ground wins every time. Not just because it tastes better (which it does), but because of how it affects my ADHD. I’ve noticed something surprising: preground coffee makes me feel jittery, hyper, and even anxious, while fresh-ground coffee leaves me feeling more balanced and focused. Why is that? Well, it might come down to freshness.

Preground coffee loses some of its key compounds as it sits over time, which can change the way caffeine interacts with the brain. For someone with ADHD, this is important. Caffeine can help regulate dopamine levels—a neurotransmitter that influences focus and attention—making coffee a useful tool for managing ADHD symptoms. But if the chemical profile of the coffee changes, like it does with preground coffee, its effects can become unpredictable. That might explain why preground coffee feels overstimulating and chaotic to me, whereas fresh-ground coffee delivers a steadier, more effective boost for my brain.

Now, here’s the kicker: I drink my freshly ground, small-batch, flavored coffee every morning. I take my ADHD meds, my vitamins, the whole shebang. Technically, I should be bouncing off the walls with energy. And yet, by mid-afternoon, I’m ready to crash. Why? Even on lazy days when I’m just reading or writing, the need for a nap hits me like a freight train. It’s not just tiredness—it’s that same overwhelming shutdown feeling I get during a meltdown.

Here’s the thing: I need naps. Not the “oh, I’m a bit sleepy, let me rest my eyes” kind of naps. No, I mean need naps, like my body demands them with the same urgency as a toddler in a candy aisle. And honestly? It feels a lot like my ASD meltdowns. Except, instead of the stereotypical image of a meltdown (you know, the one where people think we’re throwing tantrums), my meltdowns have always been more… nap-like. It’s like my brain hits the “off” switch, and there’s no negotiating with it.

These naps are particularly fascinating in how they compare to full meltdown recovery sleep. During a meltdown, the shutdown is so complete that waking up feels nearly impossible, as if my brain has gone into deep hibernation to heal. These naps, while deeply restorative, aren’t quite as impenetrable. It’s definitely harder to wake me from one of these naps compared to a regular night’s sleep, but not to the same extreme as a full meltdown recovery. It’s almost as if my brain has hit the pause button instead of the full power-down, which might explain why they feel so essential yet different.

Now, here’s where it gets interesting. I was diagnosed with ASD later in life, and it’s given me plenty of time to reflect on how these things evolve. Meltdowns, for me, have always been about sensory overload—too much noise, too many lights, too much of everything. But as I’ve grown older, they’ve shifted. Instead of the dramatic shutdowns I remember from my younger years, they’ve morphed into this overwhelming need to sleep. It’s like my brain declares, “Alright, we’re done here. Goodnight.” And honestly, I think this is pretty common for adults on the spectrum. Our bodies adapt, and the way we process overload changes. For me, that change looks a lot like an inevitable, non-negotiable nap.

I’ve tried to fight it. I’ve tried music (usually something with a good bass or beat), I’ve tried my AirPods (which are a lifesaver during actual meltdowns), but nothing works. When the nap calls, I answer. The only time I can resist is when I’m driving, but the second I’m done? Nap time.

But here’s the million-dollar question: why do I need these naps so much? Am I getting overloaded every day without realizing it? Is it the constant noise from living near two schools, a daycare, an LRT station, and a major traffic artery? Or is it the powerlines? Yes, the powerlines. Did you know some autistic people can hear the hum of powerlines? It’s a real thing. Our sensory systems are so finely tuned that we pick up on things most people don’t even notice. And let me tell you, living near a series of powerlines is like having a constant, low-grade hum in the background of my life.

I think all of these factors play a part, but it’s hard to pinpoint exactly how much each one contributes. Sensory overload isn’t always obvious—it can creep up in subtle ways. For example, the constant hum of traffic outside might not register as overwhelming in the moment, but over the course of the day, it can accumulate as background stress. Think of it like filling a bucket with drops of water; eventually, the bucket overflows. The same goes for the sounds of kids playing or the daycare groups walking past—it’s not a single loud event, but rather the relentless frequency that creates a baseline of overstimulation.

Even things that seem static, like the powerlines, might be playing a role. The hum of electricity is faint, but for someone with heightened sensory sensitivity, it could act as a persistent irritation that’s always present but just below conscious awareness. Add this to the noise of urban living, and you have a recipe for sensory fatigue that builds even on so-called “lazy” days. It’s almost like my brain is in a constant state of low-level vigilance, trying to filter and manage all these inputs. Over time, that kind of effort can wear you down, leading to the sudden crash that demands a nap.

To mitigate this, I could start by experimenting with my immediate surroundings. Using noise-canceling headphones or white noise machines could help drown out some of the external stimuli, like traffic and children playing. Rearranging my living space to create a sensory-friendly environment—perhaps with softer lighting, calming colors, or even indoor plants—might reduce some of the visual and auditory load. Establishing regular “quiet hours” during the day could give my brain a chance to recharge, especially if I use that time for activities like meditation or mindfulness.

For the powerlines, while I can’t do much to change their presence, I could explore grounding techniques to counterbalance their effects. Simple practices like walking barefoot on grass or engaging in yoga might help regulate my body’s response to external energies. It’s worth a try to see if these small changes have a noticeable impact.

And that’s where I am now—figuring out what works, what doesn’t, and what still needs answers. Since that one comment in another post sparked this line of thought, I’ve learned so much about myself and the way my brain works. If any of this resonates with you or sparks a thought, I’d love to hear it. Let’s keep the conversation going!

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