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Learning My Meltdowns: Regulation vs Emotional Overload and Catching the Threshold Sooner

  • Writer: Jennifer DeSha
    Jennifer DeSha
  • 2 days ago
  • 4 min read
Welcome to my Unmasking Autism series. This is where I share what I’m learning as I begin to understand my autistic experience and gently come home to myself. These posts are personal, honest, and written with tenderness for the parts of me that have spent years surviving.
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For most of my life, I thought a meltdown was simply “losing it.” Like a failure. Like proof that I wasn’t strong enough, mature enough, regulated enough, healed enough. I lumped every version of overwhelm into the same category and then punished myself for it.

But as I learn more about autism and nervous system regulation, I’m starting to understand something that feels both validating and complicated.


Some of my meltdowns are about regulation. And some of my meltdowns are emotional overload.


I’m learning that not all meltdowns are the same.


For most of my life, I thought a meltdown was simply “losing it.” Like a failure. Like proof that I wasn’t strong enough, mature enough, regulated enough, healed enough. I lumped every version of overwhelm into the same category and then punished myself for it.


But as I learn more about autism and nervous system regulation, I’m starting to understand something that feels both validating and complicated.


Some of my meltdowns are about regulation. And some of my meltdowns are emotional overload.


And I’m still learning how to tell the difference.




What makes this hard for me

One of my biggest struggles is that I often don’t recognize I’m approaching my threshold until it’s too late.


I don’t always notice the slow build.


Sometimes I’m functioning and smiling and talking and “doing fine,” and then I hit a wall so fast it feels like a switch flipped. Suddenly, I’m flooded. My words get scrambled. My body feels urgent. My chest gets tight. My patience disappears. My nervous system goes into emergency mode.


And by then, it’s not about “choosing a coping skill.”


It’s about surviving the moment.


That’s been hard to admit, because I used to believe I should be able to control it if I just tried harder. But autism has been teaching me that meltdowns aren’t a character flaw.


They’re a nervous system response.


Two kinds of meltdowns I’m noticing in myself


1) Regulation meltdowns

These are the meltdowns that happen when my system is overstimulated and needs a release. It feels physical first. Like my body is too full.


These are often connected to things like:

  • too much noise

  • too many people

  • too much social interaction

  • too many decisions

  • too much sensory input

  • too much demand with not enough recovery


Sometimes these meltdowns look like crying that comes out of nowhere. Sometimes they look like irritation that turns into rage. Sometimes they look like pacing, shutdown, or needing to get away immediately.


The main feeling is: my body needs an outlet.


It’s like the meltdown is my nervous system trying to dump pressure.


2) Emotional overload meltdowns

These feel different. These are the meltdowns that happen when my emotions themselves become too much to hold, usually because I’ve been holding them in for too long or because something hit a tender place.


These can be connected to:

  • conflict or misunderstandings

  • rejection sensitivity

  • grief

  • trauma triggers

  • feeling unseen or unsafe

  • shame spirals

  • bottled up emotions finally overflowing


These meltdowns feel more heart-centered. Like I’m flooded with feeling, not just sensory input. I might cry hard, feel devastated, feel panicked, feel like I can’t communicate what I need, or feel like everything is collapsing at once.


The main feeling is: my heart and brain are overloaded.


Why I struggle to tell the difference

The truth is, both types can look similar from the outside. Crying is crying. Shutting down is shutting down. Anger is anger.


And sometimes they overlap. Sometimes I’m sensory overloaded and emotionally overwhelmed at the same time. Sometimes a loud environment plus a hard conversation plus hunger plus lack of sleep equals a perfect storm.


That’s when my threshold gets crossed fast.


And that’s also why I’m learning that the real work isn’t just understanding meltdowns.


It’s learning to recognize my warning signs sooner.


My threshold signs (what I’m learning to watch for)

I’m still building this list, but these are some signs that I might be getting close to the edge:

  • I get suddenly irritable or “prickly”

  • I feel urgency in my body, like I need to escape

  • my jaw clenches or my shoulders creep up

  • I can’t track conversation as well

  • my sound sensitivity spikes

  • I start overexplaining, freezing, or going quiet

  • my brain gets foggy and decisions feel impossible

  • everything feels too loud, too bright, too much

  • I feel like I’m “performing” instead of being present


The goal is to catch these before I’m at a 10.


Because at a 3 or 4, I can adjust. At a 9, I’m already flooded.


What helps me when I catch it in time

When I notice early, I’m learning to respond with support instead of shame. Things like:

  • stepping outside or leaving the environment

  • ear plugs or reducing sensory input

  • movement, pacing on purpose, shaking out tension

  • deep pressure like a blanket or tight socks

  • hydration and a safe food

  • silence and solitude

  • letting myself cry before it turns into a collapse


And sometimes the most important thing is simply admitting: I’m not okay right now, and I need a minute.


What I’m learning overall

Meltdowns are information.


They’re not proof that I’m broken. They’re proof that I reached capacity. They’re my body’s way of saying, this is too much and I can’t hold it anymore.


I’m still learning the difference between “I need an outlet” and “I’m emotionally flooded.”


I’m still learning my signals. I’m still learning my thresholds.


But I’m also learning to be gentler with myself in the process.


Because the goal isn’t to never have a meltdown.


The goal is to understand my nervous system well enough to support it sooner, and to recover without shame when I can’t.


Thank you for being here. If any part of this resonated, I hope you feel a little less alone. I’m still learning, still unmasking, and still choosing compassion over shame one moment at a time.

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