ADHD Emotion Storms

Torsten Dederichs on Unsplash

People streamed in and out of the brewery. The noise, the chaos, the volume of the crowd— it was sensory overload, the kind of environment that demanded you either dive in or retreat entirely.

I was there for an acquaintance’s birthday party. Though I didn’t know her very well, I’d hoped to connect with her and maybe meet a few new people.

So far, though, I couldn’t locate her group. Instead, I found myself adrift, scanning the crowded space and feeling out of place. My stomach tightened, that all-too-familiar knot of anxiety setting in.

I pulled out my phone and shot off a text. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed without a response. Each face blurred into the next while my mind began to spiral. Irrational thoughts rolled in.

I’m being ignored. They don’t want me here.

The longer I stayed in the overstimulating space, the more they gained momentum. My body reacted before I could stop it — my heart raced, and my palms felt clammy.

After half an hour of futile searching, I decided to leave. My mind continued spinning as I walked home.

As soon as I stepped into the quiet of my apartment, the storm began to settle. Rational thoughts replaced the flood of negative feelings.

It isn’t personal. I’ll catch up with her some other time.

The Weight of Anxiety: A Neurodiverse Perspective

As someone with ADHD, my emotional reactions can feel more intense and harder to control, especially when I’m overstimulated or anxious.

“Emotional storms” is a term used to describe the overwhelming internal responses that neurodiverse people with ADHD experience under certain conditions. They come on suddenly and feel difficult to manage.

When the anxiety hits, it can feel like a chain reaction of negative thoughts and feelings. One feeds into the next.

In those moments, it’s hard to shift gears. It’s hard to slow down and find a rational perspective. And when I try to explain it, people don’t always understand. Since the response is often disproportionate to the event or trigger, it can feel like I’m overreacting. This leads to feelings of shame.

The Physical Pain of Emotional Storms

At this point in my life, I can fully recognize when my thoughts are irrational and exaggerated, but that doesn’t stop them. At least not until I’m out of the situation. A thought may be exaggerated, but the reality that my nervous system is on high alert is very real.

It’s a bit like having a migraine or food poisoning. The thoughts slicing through your brain feel like the mental equivalent of stomach cramps. By that point, they’re a biological response. They’re a physical pain that demands your attention.

You’re experiencing them. They’re hurting you. But you can’t talk them away. You can’t reason them out of existence. Biological responses don’t work that way.

When I was younger, I didn’t understand why I’d feel so deeply unsettled or why I couldn’t shake the intense feelings. The more I tried to push through them, the more they spiraled.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that while I can’t stop the storms from happening, I can control how I respond to them.

What Works, What Doesn’t

I’ve since adopted tools that help me weather the storms.

What I’ve come to believe is that we don’t outgrow them. We learn to prepare ourselves for them. We learn to manage them better.

Identifying personal triggers is one way I cope. Loud environments and crowded spaces are a big one for me. So, if I know an event will be crowded or stressful, I prepare myself mentally.

Sometimes, that means bringing a close friend who understands my needs. Other times it means setting limits for how long I’ll stay.

I’ve realized it’s okay to remove myself from situations that cause unnecessary stress. I don’t have to “suck it up” or power through just because everyone else seems fine.

Shifting the Narrative

Another strategy I’ve developed is shifting the narrative once the emotional storm has passed.

In the past, I would cling to whatever negative story my brain had written. If someone didn’t respond to my text while in an overstimulating environment, my mind would spin a tale of rejection. Convinced they were ignoring me, I’d hold onto this story — even after the situation had passed.

The old story would’ve washed ashore. I’d have carried it around with me. I would’ve clung to it as if I’d never seen a book before, then used it as my personal Bible or survival manual, entitled How to Not Get F**** Over in the Future.

I did this because I didn’t understand my brain. I didn’t understand why it was doing this or even that it was doing this.

But now, I recognize those narratives for what they are – emotional reactions, not facts. Once the storm subsides and I’m in a calmer space, I’m able to reflect with more clarity.

She was probably just enjoying the moment. The crowd was so big, no wonder I couldn’t find them.

She doesn’t look at her phone much when she’s present with the people she’s spending time with.

There are hundreds of people here. I don’t know what any of her friends look like, so no wonder I didn’t find them.

I can breathe again.

In the calm that followed, I was able to discard the story my brain had been telling me. I flicked it back out to sea.

I remained at the shore thinking: I hope she had a good birthday. We’ll link up some other time.

And we did! A week later, in fact.

Moving Forward: Acceptance and Compassion

I’m still prone to anxiety and still vulnerable to overwhelm in crowded spaces. However, I know now that I can handle these internal reactions with more grace and self-compassion.

I’ve also come to realize that recognizing the cause of my distress — and learning to either avoid it or prepare for it — is a vital form of self-care.

Being neurodiverse means that my brain doesn’t always react ideally. It doesn’t always react the way I might want it to.

But I’ve learned that’s okay. I’ll keep adjusting, keep learning, and keep showing myself compassion as I navigate through the challenges. It’s all a part of the process.