Why I Freeze Up at the Thought of Wool: Living with Sensory Processing Sensitivity

I have never really spoken about this before—not in a blog, not in interviews, and certainly not in my art descriptions. But today feels like the right time, given I’m gradually leaning into the more weird and conceptual focuses in creation. It’s something I live with daily, and oddly enough, it’s played a somewhat great role in shaping how I create.

I live with something called Sensory Processing Sensitivity (SPS)—a condition where certain textures, sounds, and even thoughts trigger very real physical and mental reactions. In my case, it’s mostly tactile and texture-based. I also have Misophonia, which I’ve written about separately, but this goes beyond just sounds.

It’s hard to explain until you’ve felt it. For me, just seeing or thinking about someone touching dry fabric—like cotton, wool, rough linen, or cardboard—can send an intense wave of discomfort throughout my body. I get goosebumps, I freeze up, sometimes I even shake or lose my train of thought. It can be overwhelming, and it doesn’t take much: a person rubbing their clothes together, a dry paintbrush scraping a canvas, or someone talking or writing about wool or velcro (yes, like I’m doing right now) can all trigger the same reaction.

Some Reactions Are Instant and Unavoidable

These aren’t small reactions. They’re immediate and involuntary. I’ve even had moments where I’ve had to leave a room. I’d sit in silence with no movement or shift my focus as best as possible instantly just to hold composure. The best way to explain this is with a reaction people have to chalk boards being scratched with finger nails. Just imagine this reaction for many textures, sounds, words, thoughts and visuals. 

It doesn’t stop at what I see or hear. Even just thinking about these textures can trigger a reaction. Sometimes I’ll feel the discomfort before I even realise what triggered it. It’s become so embedded in my brain that I’ve learned to manage it with quick mental redirection. I’ll imagine something smooth—ice cream, moisturiser, smooth polished skin, gel, or even the softness of clouds—to override the response before it takes over completely. It’s not perfect, but it helps.

Why This All Makes Sense Now

I recently wrote to my AI assistant (yes, I use one—it’s brilliant for research and sounding boards), and I asked it to dive into what I might be dealing with. I knew there was an issue with my weird arty brain, but couldn’t work out the ‘label’. Based on everything I experience, it pointed me toward Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD), which falls under the broader umbrella of Sensory Processing Sensitivity.

SPD happens when the brain struggles to filter and respond appropriately to sensory input. What’s harmless for most people—like the feel of a wool jumper—can feel like sandpaper to someone with SPD. It’s not just about preference or sensitivity; it’s how the brain and nervous system interpret the world, sometimes in overdrive. The reaction involves deep emotional and physical loops that hit hard and fast—usually triggering the fight, flight, or freeze reflex, even when there’s no actual danger.

So, Why Did This Start Later in Life?

Interestingly, I didn’t have this as a kid. My Misophonia started around age 12, but the tactile sensory stuff didn’t fully kick in until years later. I’ve since learned that it’s not uncommon for SPD to develop later in life, especially when paired with stress, pressure, or trauma.

And to be honest, as many of us have, I’ve experienced a fair share of those things. Life hasn’t always been easy- still isn’t… That’s life. Between the demands of my art career, the constant push for growth, a mind that never stops working, and a few personal things I’d rather not unpack publicly, it’s no surprise this surfaced.

Turns out, highly detailed, emotionally tuned, and driven people like myself can be more prone to developing these conditions over time. It’s like the nervous system gets tired of filtering out what others can easily ignore.

The Unexpected Gift Hidden Inside This Condition

Now, here’s the fascinating part—and probably the silver lining I’m most grateful for.

This sensitivity quite literally shaped the way I create.
After much trial and error, I discovered that coconut charcoal powder—brushed gently with a custom soft brush—didn’t trigger my goosebumps. I leaned into it like nothing else. It was a revelation. I could still draw and express deeply, but without the sensory discomfort that dry textured materials or harsh brushes would cause.

That’s why my artworks often feel fluid, smooth, and graceful, even when the subject is intense. It’s not just a style—it’s a coping mechanism turned into something beautiful. Using powder and extra wet acrylics became my escape from those harsh textures, and in the process, it became my unique signature.

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m not writing this to gain sympathy. Honestly, I’ve lived with this for so long now that it feels normal and honestly, it makes me laugh at times as it’s so weird. Most people who meet me would have no idea, because I’ve learned how to manage it privately. But I wanted to write this for two reasons:

1. To help others who might be experiencing similar things and wondering if it’s “just them.”
2. To share something real about how my art isn’t just expression—it’s therapy, survival, and adaptation all at once.

If you’ve ever felt that kind of reaction to the world—whether it’s a sound, texture, or a moment no one else notices—know that it’s real. And sometimes, those sensitivities can lead to something extraordinary, if you learn how to work with them.

For me, it led to coconut charcoal powder. To flowing movement in art. And to building a visual world where things feel soft, grounded, and peaceful—because that’s what I need.

And maybe that’s why you connect with my art. Maybe you feel it too.