Hey everyone, welcome back to My Weird Prompts. I am Corn, and I am joined as always by my brother.
Herman Poppleberry here. And Corn, I have to say, today’s prompt from Daniel really hits home. He sent this in from Jerusalem, and you can hear the weight of the situation in his voice. It is February twenty-eighth, twenty twenty-six, and as we all know from the headlines, the region is going through an incredibly volatile period. Daniel is currently in a shelter, dealing with that specific, high-intensity stress that comes with prolonged conflict, and it has him thinking about sensory overload and how we manage our internal states when the external world is just… a lot.
It is a heavy one, but so relevant to the world we are living in right now. Daniel is sitting in an underground car park that has been converted into a reinforced shelter. He is there with his wife Hannah and their young son Ezra. He is describing these harsh, surgical-style white lights and the constant cycle of news updates playing on a loop. It is a perfect, if difficult, example of what he calls a constant assault on the senses. He is asking us to look at the interconnectedness of lighting, noise, and technology, and how that cumulative load affects our stress levels, especially for those who are naturally more sensory challenged.
Right. And for our regular listeners, you know we have touched on pieces of this before. We talked about the color paradox back in episode eight hundred fifty, and we dived into tech for sensory overload in episode four hundred thirty-five. But Daniel is pushing us to look at the synergy of these things. It is not just the light, and it is not just the noise. It is the way they pile on top of each other until your system just hits a breaking point. It is the compounding interest of stress.
He mentioned that moment where he felt like he was going to lose his mind before he was able to calm down. That is a very real physiological response. So, Herman, let us start there. When we talk about cumulative sensory input, what is actually happening in the brain? Why does a bright light feel more aggressive when you are also hearing a siren or reading stressful news?
That is the heart of it, Corn. It comes down to something called allostatic load. Think of your brain as having a certain amount of bandwidth for processing information. In a normal environment, your brain is great at something called sensory gating. This is the process where the brain filters out redundant or unnecessary stimuli. It is handled largely by the thalamus, which acts as a gatekeeper. It is why you do not constantly feel the sensation of your socks on your feet or hear the hum of your refrigerator. Your brain gates that information out so you can focus on what matters.
But when stress levels spike, that gating mechanism starts to fail, right? It is like the gatekeeper gets overwhelmed and just lets everyone into the party at once.
Precisely. When you are in a high-stress environment, like Daniel is, your sympathetic nervous system is on high alert. Your body is flooded with cortisol and adrenaline. In that state, the brain’s ability to gate becomes compromised because the amygdala—the emotional processing center—is screaming that everything might be a threat. Suddenly, everything feels like a priority. The harsh blue-rich light from those LED panels is not just a background element anymore; it is being processed as a high-priority stimulus. Then you add the sound of a baby crying, like little Ezra, or the repetitive cycle of news analysis, and the brain simply cannot keep up with the filtering. You get what we call sensory flooding. It is like trying to drink from a fire hose.
And Daniel mentioned he is in that population of people who are more sensory challenged. We have talked about sensory processing sensitivity before. For some people, the threshold for that flooding is much lower. Their nervous systems are essentially more finely tuned. In the right environment, that makes them highly empathetic and observant, which can be a superpower. But in a shelter with surgical lighting and concrete walls, it is a recipe for total exhaustion.
It really is. And specifically regarding that lighting Daniel mentioned, he is spot on about the surgical feel. Most industrial or emergency lighting is high-color-temperature LED. We are talking five thousand to six thousand Kelvin. This light is very heavy in the blue spectrum. As we discussed in episode seven hundred thirty-six, blue light suppresses melatonin production and stimulates the production of melanopsin in the eyes. Melanopsin is a photopigment in the retinal ganglion cells that communicates directly with the suprachiasmatic nucleus, the part of the brain that controls your circadian rhythm. It signals the brain to stay awake and alert. In a high-stress situation, you are already hyper-alert. Adding blue-rich light is like pouring gasoline on a fire. It keeps your heart rate elevated and prevents your nervous system from shifting back into the parasympathetic, or rest and digest, mode.
It is fascinating because Daniel also mentioned the cool marble floor and the air conditioning as things that actually helped him. He found comfort in the tactile and thermal sensations. That seems like a clue for how we can manage this. If the visual and auditory channels are overloaded, can we use the other senses to ground ourselves?
That is a brilliant observation, and it is actually a core technique in sensory regulation. When one or two sensory channels are overwhelmed, you can use a different, more neutral or pleasant channel to anchor the nervous system. This is often called sensory grounding. The cool sensation of the floor provides a strong, steady tactile input that does not require much cognitive processing. It is just… cold. It is a physical fact that the brain can latch onto. It provides a contrast to the chaotic auditory and visual inputs. It is a way of telling the brain, look, here is something stable. Here is something real and unchanging.
So, for someone like Daniel, or anyone listening who feels that rising tide of sensory overwhelm, what are the first steps? If you cannot change the lights and you cannot stop the news from happening, how do you manage that budget?
I love the term sensory budget. You have to start by identifying which inputs are optional. Daniel mentioned he was glued to the news updates. In a crisis, information feels like safety. We have this evolutionary drive to gather data to protect ourselves. But there is a point of diminishing returns. The repetitive analysis he talked about, the talking heads saying the same thing over and over, that is a massive sensory drain with very little information gain. One of the most pragmatic things you can do is move from passive consumption to active, scheduled checks. Instead of a constant stream, you decide to check for five minutes every hour. That gives your brain a chance to reset that auditory and cognitive load. You are essentially closing a few tabs in your mental browser.
Right, and then there are the physical tools. Daniel mentioned loop earplugs, which we have talked about before. They are great because they do not block everything out, but they take the edge off. They reduce the decibel level without making you feel isolated, which is important when you need to be aware of your surroundings for safety reasons.
And even something as simple as a hat with a brim or a pair of lightly tinted glasses can help with those harsh overhead lights. If you can reduce the amount of blue light entering your eyes, you are literally telling your brain it is okay to dial down the alertness just a notch. It is about small, cumulative reductions to match the cumulative load. If you can reduce the noise by twenty percent and the light intensity by fifteen percent, you might just stay below that flooding threshold.
It makes me think about the environment Daniel described. It is so clinical. We did an episode on neuro-design, episode six hundred thirty-eight, where we talked about how our brains react to the geometry and textures of our surroundings. Hard surfaces, sharp angles, and uniform white light all signal a lack of safety to the primitive parts of our brain. They are unnatural. Soft textures, varied lighting, and natural materials do the opposite. When you are stuck in a hard-surfaced environment like a parking garage, you have to find ways to introduce those soft elements. Even just holding a soft piece of fabric or, as Daniel did, focusing on the temperature of the floor, can break that clinical spell.
It really is about hacking the environment you are given. But let us talk about the news cycle specifically. Daniel mentioned the live maps and the constant updates. There is a psychological phenomenon called the availability heuristic, where our brains judge the probability of an event based on how easily we can recall examples. When you are immersed in a constant feed of crisis, your brain begins to perceive the entire world as that crisis. There is no mental space for anything else. This creates a feedback loop of stress. Breaking that loop requires a conscious effort to disconnect, even if it is just for a few minutes. You have to remind your brain that there is a world outside the screen.
Which leads us to Daniel’s question about sensory holidays. He mentioned the concept of Shabbat in Jerusalem. Even for someone who is not strictly religious, that cultural rhythm of disconnecting once a week is a powerful model for homeostasis. It is like a scheduled maintenance window for the human spirit.
It really is a masterpiece of social and sensory engineering. The idea of a sanctuary in time, as Abraham Joshua Heschel called it. For twenty-four hours, you remove the pings, the screens, the harsh artificial demands of the modern world. You move toward candlelight, which is low in blue light and high in warm, calming frequencies. You move toward shared meals and conversation, which are more natural auditory inputs. It is a total shift in the sensory environment. It allows the allostatic load to drain.
But Daniel made a great point. Is once a week enough? In the world we live in now, especially in twenty-six, where the information flow is faster than ever and the technology is even more integrated into our lives, do we need more frequent sensory holidays?
I think we do. I think we need to move toward a model of sensory micro-holidays. Instead of waiting for Saturday, we need to find those five-minute windows throughout the day where we intentionally zero out our inputs. This could be as simple as sitting in a dark room with your eyes closed, or doing a quick breathing exercise. The goal is to give the nervous system a break from the constant need to process and categorize. We need to build in these little islands of silence.
It is about finding that baseline again. When you are constantly at a level eight or nine of stress, you forget what a level two feels like. Your body starts to accept the high stress as the new normal, which is where long-term health issues start to creep in. We talked about this in episode four hundred fifty-three, about the psychological toll of long-term crisis. You have to find ways to dip back down into that lower stress state, even if only for a moment, to remind your body that it is possible. It is like recalibrating a scale.
And I want to touch on the sensory deprivation chambers Daniel mentioned. They are fantastic for a total reset, but like he said, not everyone can just jump into one during a crisis. However, you can recreate some of those effects. A heavy blanket can provide proprioceptive input—that is the sense of where your body is in space—which calms the nervous system. A warm bath in a dark room can mimic that sensory isolation. These are ways to tell your brain, the world is quiet right now, you can rest.
I think it is also important to acknowledge the role of technology in this. Daniel is a tech guy, he works in AI and automation. He knows the power of these tools, but he also sees the cost. We have built a world that is optimized for engagement, which often means being optimized for sensory stimulation. Our phones are designed to grab our attention with bright colors and specific frequencies of sound. When you are already overwhelmed, your phone is basically a sensory weapon. It is designed to bypass your filters.
It really is. The term sensory grounding is so apt here. When you are grounded, you are connected to the physical reality of your immediate surroundings. Technology, by its nature, ungrounds us. It pulls our attention away from the room we are in and into a digital space that is often chaotic and stressful. Part of a sensory holiday has to be a digital holiday. You have to put the phone in another room. You have to break that tether.
You know, I was just thinking about something my mum said the other day about… wait, speaking of phones, I think I’m getting a call. Hold on, let me just…
Dorothy: Corn? Corn, sweetheart? Is that you?
Mum? Mum, I’m on the show right now. We’re recording the podcast.
Dorothy: Oh, hello dear! I didn’t mean to interrupt your little radio program. I just wanted to ask, have you seen my gardening shears? I thought I left them by the back door, but the postman said he saw a squirrel dragging something shiny into the hedge.
Mum, I really don't know about the shears. I'm in the middle of a discussion with Herman about sensory overload.
Hi Dorothy! We’re actually talking about staying grounded right now!
Dorothy: Oh, hello Herman! Grounded? Is Corn in trouble again? I told him he needs to spend less time with those computers and more time in the fresh air. And Corn, dear, remember to eat something green today. Not just those dry crackers you like.
I will, Mum. I promise. I have to go now, we’re live. Love you, bye.
She’s not wrong, you know. More green, less crackers.
Thanks, Herman. Truly. Anyway, sorry about that, everyone. My mother has a knack for perfect timing. But actually, her point about fresh air and getting away from computers is exactly what we were talking about. It is the most basic form of a sensory holiday.
It really is. Nature is the ultimate sensory regulator. The sounds of nature, what we call pink noise, have a mathematical structure that our brains find incredibly soothing. Unlike the erratic, high-pitched sounds of a city or a newsroom, the rustling of leaves or the sound of water follows a predictable but non-repetitive pattern that allows our nervous system to relax. It is what our brains evolved to process.
And Daniel’s situation is so stark because he is underground. He is literally disconnected from the natural world. In that case, you have to be even more intentional about creating those internal shifts. If you can’t go to nature, you have to bring the principles of nature to you. Lower the lights, find a soft texture, focus on slow, rhythmic breathing. You have to create an internal landscape that is safe.
I want to go back to Daniel's mention of his son Ezra. There is something very grounding about caring for someone else, but it is also a huge sensory demand. A crying baby is designed by evolution to be impossible to ignore. It is a high-priority survival signal. When you are already at your limit, that sound can feel physically painful. It is important for parents in these situations to know that it is okay to feel overwhelmed. It is not a failure of character; it is a physiological reality. Your brain is trying to process a high-priority alarm while it is already on fire.
Right, and sometimes the best way to handle that is to share the load. If Hannah is there, or other family members, taking turns being the primary responder can give each person a chance to step back and reset their sensory budget. Even ten minutes of silence can make the next hour of parenting much more manageable. It is about tactical withdrawal to ensure long-term resilience.
And let us talk about the pragmatics of staying sensorily grounded when you are in the thick of it. There is a technique called the five four three two one grounding exercise. You name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. This forces your brain to move out of the abstract, stressful future or past and into the concrete present. It re-engages those sensory gating mechanisms by giving them a specific, manageable task. It is like rebooting a frozen computer.
I’ve used that one myself, and it really works. It’s like a manual override for a looping brain. And Daniel mentioned the cool floor again. That is such a powerful tactile anchor. If you are listening and you feel that rise of panic or overwhelm, find something cold. Hold an ice cube, splash cold water on your face, or like Daniel, find a cool floor. That sudden thermal shift is a very strong signal to the vagus nerve to slow down the heart rate and calm the system.
That is the mammalian dive reflex. When you expose your face or body to cold water, your heart rate slows down and your blood shifts toward your brain and heart. It is a built-in emergency brake for stress. It is one of the fastest ways to achieve a temporary state of homeostasis when the environment is working against you. It is a biological hack that bypasses the cognitive brain entirely.
So, we have talked about the budget, the tools, and the grounding. What about the long-term view? Daniel is asking about the value of these sensory holidays for finding homeostasis. How do we build this into a lifestyle, especially for those of us who are tech-heavy and live in noisy cities?
I think it starts with a sensory audit. Spend a day just noticing what inputs make you feel tense. Is it the notification sound on your phone? Is it the hum of the air conditioner? Is it the specific way your office is lit? Once you identify the stressors, you can start to mitigate them. Swap the notification sound for something softer. Use a white noise machine to mask the air conditioner. Get a desk lamp with a warm bulb instead of using the overhead fluorescents. It is about taking control of the small things.
It’s about intentionality. We often just accept our sensory environment as a given, but we have more control than we think. And for the sensory holidays, I think we need to be protective of them. If you decide that Sunday afternoon is your time to disconnect, treat it like a vital medical appointment. Because in many ways, it is. It is preventative medicine for your nervous system. You are protecting your future capacity to handle stress.
I agree. And I would add that we should look for sensory-rich, low-stress activities. Gardening, cooking, woodworking, even just walking without headphones. These are activities that engage our senses in a productive, grounding way. They provide a high-quality sensory experience that doesn't overwhelm the system. It’s the difference between eating a nutritious meal and eating a bag of sugar. High-intensity digital input is the sugar; natural, tactile experiences are the nutrition. Our brains are starving for real-world input.
That is a great analogy. And I think it applies to how we consume information too. Daniel mentioned the live maps. They are amazing tools, but they are very high-intensity. Sometimes, reading a long-form article or a book about a situation provides more depth and less stress than watching a live feed. It allows you to process the information at your own pace rather than being driven by the pace of the media cycle. You are reclaiming the speed of your own thoughts.
It’s about reclaiming your autonomy over your attention. When you are in a sensory assault, your attention is being hijacked. Grounding is the process of taking it back. Whether that is through a cool floor, a pair of earplugs, or a twenty-four-hour break from tech, you are asserting that you are in control of your internal state, regardless of what is happening externally. It is the ultimate form of self-care in a chaotic world.
I think that is a powerful place to end. Daniel, we are thinking of you and Hannah and little Ezra. Thank you for sending this in, even in the midst of everything you are dealing with. It’s a reminder to all of us to check in with our own sensory budgets and find those moments of grounding. Your perspective from the shelter gives us all a reason to be more mindful of the environments we create for ourselves.
Stay safe, Daniel. And for everyone else, if this conversation sparked something for you, we would love to hear about it. You can reach us at show at myweirdprompts dot com or through the contact form on our website. We want to know how you manage your sensory budget.
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Well, Corn, I think I’m going to go find a cool floor to lie on for a few minutes. That actually sounds like a great idea right now. I need to reset my own gating mechanisms.
I might join you. After I check on Mum's gardening shears, of course. I have a feeling that squirrel is up to no good.
Good luck with the squirrel. They can be very persistent.
Thanks. This has been My Weird Prompts. We will be back soon with another prompt from Daniel.
Until next time, stay grounded.
Goodbye, everyone.
