HSPs and Noise: Sometimes You Just Can't Get Away!

A few months back, we noticed that the neighbors across the street seemed to be getting a new roof. 

Here in the rainy Pacific Northwest, that's a pretty normal thing during the summer: The roofers come in, rip the old tiles/shingles off, make a few repairs, lay down new paper, put on new roofing and all is well... usually in a matter of 3-4 days.

After a week or so, we noticed that they seemed to be doing a lot of work with that roof. We still didn't pay it a lot of mind because sometimes there are joists with dry rot that need to be replaced.

After a month or so of hammering and machinery, it became painfully (to our ears!) obvious that they were not getting just "a new roof," but an entirely new roofline. The sudden appearance of a large crane truck was the final giveaway...

We started paying a little more attention, and it turned out that they were not just getting a new roof and roofline, but the entire house was being gutted from the inside out, and was essentially being rebuilt, in place. Not remodeled, rebuilt. 

Side note: In case this sounds a bit odd, our local building codes are such that knocking down an old house and rebuilding is considered "new construction" and requires going through an elaborate permit process, while basically rebuilding a house with the original frame still standing is considered a "remodel" and is a much simpler permit process... even if you are basically spending $500,000 for a "new" house.

So what's my point, here? 

Our bedroom and creative spaces face the street and we wake up to 8:00 power saws, hammering, sudden bangs, sanders and goodness knows what else, day after day after day! What's worse, I think they have some sort of "on-time bonus" going, because sometimes they are also working on weekends. 

I suppose a lot of people might not be bothered because they would be "away at work" during the daytime hours, but both Sarah and I work from home, and we are both HSPs... and the non-stop noise feels exhausting!

Being an HSP and living with unwelcome noise you can't get away from — and which is also perfectly legal, so you can't complain about it — can be extremely stressful. In some ways, it just sucks all the joy out of life... like sitting on the back porch, enjoying our afternoon coffee? Not so much. Tending to the back yard area? Not so much. All we can really do is grin and bear it, and enjoy the few moments of peace and quiet we do get.

So how do you deal with such situations, as an HSP? The best (and possibly only) suggestion I have is to remind yourself that projects like this tend to have an ending, after which things will return to normal.

In the meantime, there are always earplugs and noise-canceling headphones... 

I hope you enjoyed your visit here! HSP Notes has been published continuously since 2002, and I do this entirely as a "labor of love." However, if you feel that this site is of value to you, please consider becoming a "supporter" of HSP Notes, via my Patreon Art Account. Or support my creative endeavors by purchasing one of my hand painted stones — links in the right-hand column!

I have created a special $2 support level, being mindful that most HSPs are on a budget. Your contributions allow me the TIME to continue writing, rather than being forced to abandon the blog and use my writing time to pursue an additional outside job. Your consideration is greatly appreciated, and — as the idealist that I am — I believe the best way we can create a better world for all of us is to support each other's creative endeavors!

A Life of Noise Sensitivity and Feeling Like I was BORN Overstimulated

Sometimes I have a feeling that I was actually born overwhelmed (or "overstimulated"), as it were. 

It seems like as far as back as I can remember I was always very hesitant to get involved in anything that made noise or in anything that had "flashy moving colors" or anything like that. At the same time, it seemed like I always wanted to do very "adult" things when I was a young kid... even though my mother was always "strongly encouraging" (read: "Forcing") me to get out there and do things that allegedly "healthy" kids were supposed to do. 

But I just didn't want to; it felt like having my head inside a garbage grinder or a drum that somebody was randomly beating on.

When I look back at many of my moments of great anxiety and terror, I can also clearly recall that most of them involved something that was very loud and in my face and made me feel like I just was going to explode if they continued. And it was on occasions like that represented pretty much the only times I remember the words "don't mind him, he's just too sensitive!" actually coming out of my mother's mouth.

If course, they were far more of a criticism and excuse than any kind of supportiveness of my sensitivity.

My maternal grandfather thought I would be interested in seeing the trains, so we'd walk down to the nearby rail line. I did love looking at the trains... as long as they were just parked. When they were actually passing by, I wanted to be several hundred yards away!

I just wanted things around me to be quiet; soft.

Of course, they never were... except when I'd ride my bicycle out into the nearby woods to be with myself and nature.

Ironically, I ended up working at my dad's bottle cap factory when I was in my teens... one of the noisiest environments you could possibly imagine. Think of the sound of a cascade of metal bottle caps raining onto a resonant hard surface, and you get the idea. I wore earplugs and gradually adjusted to the dull roar because about $8 an hour was a LOT of money in 1974, and when you were just a 14-year old kid!

Noise has an interesting effect on my system... it doesn't matter what the source is, it feels like it is slowly sucking the life force out of my very being. That can even be applied to ostensibly "enjoyable" noise like rock concerts, or even loud car stereos.

Needless to say, I never went through a "headbanger music" phase!

I still go to great lengths to avoid noisy situations, and turn down many invitations if I get the sense that they will be very loud. My preferred noise level is to sit somewhere with no human-made sounds, just listening to the sound of waves and wind rustling the leaves of the trees.

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I hope you enjoyed your visit here! HSP Notes has been published continuously since 2002, and I do this entirely as a "labor of love." However, if you feel that this site is of value to you, please consider becoming a "supporter" of HSP Notes, via my Patreon Art Account. Or support my creative endeavors by purchasing one of my hand painted stones — links in the right-hand column!

I have created a special $2 support level, being mindful that most HSPs are on a budget. Your contributions allow me the TIME to continue writing, rather than being forced to abandon the blog and use my writing time to pursue an additional outside job. Your consideration is greatly appreciated, and — as the idealist that I am — I believe the best way we can create a better world for all of us is to support each other's creative endeavors!

Looking Back: Life Always Seemed "Louder" Than Me

Do you ever stop and look backwards, trying to spot "early points" in your life at which it became obvious that you were an HSP?

Much of the early "evidence" from my own life is largely anecdotal: I was supposedly a quiet kid; I was supposedly not interested in "establishing territory" with other kids; my mother would tell other people that I was "very sensitive;" as a baby I'd evidently sit quietly in my playpen and "observe" quietly. But these are not my memories... they are "stories."

My own first memories that hint at my being a highly sensitive child arise from the sense I quickly developed that everything in the world; in my surroundings seemed "more" than me: People, activities, places... the WORLD... felt bigger, louder, rougher, more violent than I... just more "everything."

It felt so strange... and scary, at the same time.

Why did adults need to YELL so much? Maybe they weren't exactly yelling, but their voices were so often raised, even when they were communicating with someone (including me) who was right next to them. It didn't make sense.

Why were kids-- the kids in the neighborhood I was sent out to play with-- so LOUD? Sometimes it felt like they just wanted to "make noise, for noise's sake." Whether it was that obnoxious kid down the street who was forever blowing his English policeman's whistle, or "that dangerous boy" in first grade who would use almost any excuse to set off firecrackers... why all the NOISE? And some would just sit there and scream, like they just wanted to hear the sound of their own voice. It hurt my ears...

Why did the other boys always want to FIGHT? Simply "playing" seemed to be sustainable for only a few minutes before someone felt the need to "have a fight." I do remember soon getting labeled a "sissy" because I didn't want to fight with people. My lack of "fighting spirit" was immediately labeled as "being afraid." Nobody seemed able to grasp that I simply didn't want to.

I was probably somewhere in the range of six to eight years old when I first became aware that it seemed like people had a certain "energy" around them. At the time, I couldn't really associate anything "intelligent" with feeling the energies and moods of others... so I thought of them in terms of shapes and everyday objects.

Most kids... well, at least most boys... felt either like "chainsaws" or "jackhammers" to me: they were scarily LOUD, and "unpredictably dangerous and destructive." Girls were generally "softer" and not so scary (which is why I generally preferred their company)... they felt more like "bee hives;" typically a soft pleasant buzz, but they could become "screaming and deadly," sometimes at a moment's notice.

Adults were a little different. Most men were like tractors or heavy trucks: noisy, often to the point of drowning out all other sound; powerful... and occasionally stinky. Some (like my father) felt more like "thunderstorms;" much of the time they were impressive clouds drifting around... but they could "explode" into something truly scary and deafening, when I least expected it. Adult women were-- on the whole-- the least scary and overwhelming persons in my life... many seemed "soft" and fairly "quiet" so I felt less "on edge" in their company and less like I just wanted to go hide somewhere. The thing that mostly scared me a little was that there were some who seemed like... like they were trying to "pull the life out of me" so (I presume) they could make it their own. Of course, as a child had had no concept of such things as "energy vampires" or people trying to get unconditional love from others "by proxy."

As I felt all these "energies" around me... I gradually "learned" that my best strategy to avoid getting buffeted and hurt by them was to practice the fine art of Not Being Noticed. It's evidently something I became quite good at, because even as a 50-something, 6'4" adult male, I still seem able to move through space (the house, outdoors, whatever) in such a way that people don't even notice that I am there... and it actually scares the hell out them that I seem able to suddenly "appear" (or DIS-appear) next to them, without a sound.

As a kid, I learned how to intuit when something "bad" was about to happen, because the "energy" would be changing (building up), so I would either "leave the scene" or learn to change what I was doing in such a way that whatever seemed to be "boiling up" would simmer down again... and the impending "explosion of loudness" would be avoided.

When I look back on those days-- now with 45 years of hindsight-- I can see that it was here I started to lose my sense of self, because I put so much effort into "adapting myself" in whatever way I could, so as to avoid "loud explosions," that anything I personally wanted to do or say was pushed into the background.

As an adult HSP, noise sensitivity remains on of my primary sensitivities. I just don't do LOUD well. I am personally not loud, and I don't like loud things... from jet engines and chain saws to high volume stereos and night clubs. LOUD makes me feel like someone is actively beating the side of my head with a wooden board, taking particular "care" to hit my eardrums every time.

People sometimes ask me if my noise sensitivity has gotten less with age... and the answer is "no." What has gotten better is my ability to understand and manage my exposure to noise, and the overwhelming effect it has. What has also gotten better is my ability to accept "being in discomfort" for measured and finite periods of time.

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Talk Back! What are some of YOUR early memories hinting at you being highly sensitive? What do YOU remember (as opposed to what you've "been told") about your early life as an HSP? It doesn't have to be "noise" of course-- I just happen to most strongly remember that the world was LOUD. Please leave a comment and share your experience!

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