I have a confession to make—although I am a fully functioning individual who manages to hold down a full-time job, maintain a family home, nurture my relationships (most of the time), and fulfil all the other roles society expects of me as an employee, a mother, a sister, a woman, or whatever label I or others choose to define me by, there is one thing I truly struggle with, especially at Christmas: the overwhelming space that is the supermarket shop.
This is a relatively new development for me. I used to manage the supermarket shop for years on my own with two young kids, often attributing my sense of overwhelm to those two energetic little beings. However, as I’ve entered the perimenopausal stage of life and become more aware of my neurodivergent traits, the supermarket has somehow transformed into a place my body and mind simply cannot tolerate. For this reason, my husband has taken over the weekly shop for the past two years or so.
This isn’t due to anxiety, at least not in the traditional sense. I’ve realised that while I, like anyone else, experience moments of anxiety, this isn’t the issue here. For years, I was told, “You’re socially anxious!”—but I now understand this isn’t the case. What I experience in the supermarket is a sensory and energetic overload, which is why I’m writing this post and I know there are others out there who have the same difficulties, particularly at this time of year.
For some reason, I always convince myself that it would be a good idea to accompany my husband to the supermarket for the "Christmas" food shop. I tell myself it’s better if I come along, knowing he’ll only want to buy the basics whilst I would prefer the house brimming with the delights of the delicatessen to add to the festivities!
So here I was today, standing at the entrance of a well-known UK supermarket, having already reminded my husband (as if he didn’t know!) how overwhelmed my brain gets in this environment: juggling the shopping list, watching what he’s scanning and placing in the basket, thinking about what I’m looking at, navigating my way around people without bumping into them, and dealing with those less considerate who repeatedly bump into me. Then there are the trolleys colliding, the bright lights—oh, the bright lights!
The bright lights are a major issue for me. This time, I came prepared with sunglasses, but I took them off almost immediately, feeling like a complete numpty wearing them indoors in December. Halfway down the third aisle, though, I put them back on, no longer caring what anyone thought as the overwhelm started to take hold. By the end of the shop, they proved invaluable, helping to hide my tear-filled eyes, which I’d managed to keep at bay—until then.
We made it to the checkout before the tears came, which, in my mind, was progress. Still, I was deeply disappointed that they appeared at all. The breaking point? Realising we’d have to rescan the entire trolley’s contents because I’d forgotten to scan the cinnamon sticks. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but through my dark sunglasses, I could see the frustration in my husband’s eyes as he said, “This hasn’t happened since the last time you came!” Normally patient, even he was reaching his limit.
The supermarket is never a stress-free experience at this time of year, but for those with sensory overload, it’s a whole other level of chaos.
I escaped to the toilet to reset and remove myself from the crowds. Negative thoughts began to flood my mind: “For f**k’s sake, Charlotte, you can’t even do a bloody supermarket shop! What’s wrong with you? You’ve failed again! Even with the sunglasses and the list, and everything you know about anxiety management as a health coach, here you are crying in the toilet!”
After 30 seconds, I caught myself. I knew this negative self-talk wasn’t helping, so I tried to flip the narrative: “Look, you’ve not had a full-blown argument. You haven’t walked out like you have in the past. Just breathe and get through this last hurdle. You’ve actually done really well. The sunglasses helped—use them again next time. And next year, don’t put yourself or your husband through this. Shop at independent stores for fruit, veg, and meat—you’ll be supporting the local economy too! For everything else, make a smaller list and go to a quieter supermarket at a less busy time.”
Once home, after unpacking everything, we sat down with a cuppa. I asked, “Are we still friends?” He smiled and nodded. This was a different space for both of us. We didn’t let the stress of the supermarket’s sensory warfare linger at home. We accepted it for what it was—a s**t show! All we can do now is learn from it and make similar adjustments moving forward.
The same applies to life, I suppose.
Wishing you all a calm and sensory-friendly festive season, wherever you beautiful people choose to shop!
For more on energy sensitivity and sensory overload please take a look at my book: Solar Plexus Nation: An Energy Story of Burning Out and Waking Up in Healthcare: Amazon.co.uk: Brady-Jones, Charlotte: 9781739490010: Books
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