I have always known I emotionally shut down, but perhaps withdrawal feels more accurate. I withdraw when sensory input becomes too much, where there is too much negativity, too many decisions to deal with and too little time to process it all. I've been doing it since I was a child.

Sometimes I hear Nothing 

With cerebral palsy and autism, withdrawal is inevitable. My mind shifts, grows quieter – and I hear nothing, not out of choice. When conversation becomes too difficult to follow, formulate, or respond, my brain automatically disconnects. Physically, I’m present, but I’m no longer consciously engaging. As I detach, I feel calm. Chaos could surround me, yet I would remain still.

As a child, shutting down was how I coped. Even now, understanding what’s happening doesn’t mean I can stop it. The environment I grew up in made withdrawal an easy response. Autism triggers it. I don’t like the idea of struggling to take control, but the answers often lie in recognising what happens before the withdrawal begins.

My Struggles with Change

Although it’s not easy for me to anticipate or deal with change, I am getting better at reading the signs. Change itself is difficult because there are so many elements that I have to deal with before I can handle anything new. I try to embrace the unfamiliar, it's fair to say the unfamiliar catches me out.

Environmental Sensory Overload

It's easy for environmental sensory overload to blow up into something bigger and those cause me to shut down. It is inevitable, but I must learn to compartmentalise my anxieties so that I can manage those.