When the World Gets Too Loud: My Autistic Kid’s View of Sensory Overload

My son, an autistic kid who experiences a lot of sensory overload, once showed me a video he created using Plotagon – a simple animation tool that lets you script scenes and add voice to characters. In this particular video, a child gets scolded by a green-skinned man, and instead of responding with words, the child repeats “wa wa wa” over and over… for nine seconds.

That sound instantly reminded me of how adults talk in Charlie Brown cartoons – that garbled noise no one can quite understand. But here’s the thing: my kid has never seen Charlie Brown.

Still, he came up with his own version of that unintelligible adult voice. Not to be funny or whimsical, but to show me something real. For him, when he's overloaded, speech can stop making sense. The words blur and become noise. He can’t process what’s being said.

Kid on a computer with his golden retriever

How My Autistic Kid Used Fiction to Show Sensory Overload

Technology has helped my kid share his perceptions.

In another video my son created, a teacher sends a child to the counselor’s office for bringing a PG-13 DVD to school. When the boy gets home, a man yells – sharp hand gestures, voice stern: “How dare you? That’s it! Go to your room!”

The kid just stares, wide-eyed, and answers with only that same garbled "wa-wa-wa" sound.

In yet another video, a character punishes a child by blasting loud music for an hour and a half. The child, overwhelmed, lets out a long cry – “Aaaaaaaaaaa” – for twenty seconds straight (this scenario is like a horror movie for my kid).

My kid wasn’t just creating scenes — he was helping me understand his nervous system. While these portrayals were fictional, they captured the emotional truths of his experiences with overwhelm. He was showing me what happens when too many sounds – too much intensity – flood his ability to process.

And these videos didn’t come out of nowhere. They echoed years of overwhelming sensory experiences.

Author’s note: The scenes my child created are fictional and dramatized. They don’t reflect how I parent or treat him, but they’ve helped me better understand his sensory world.

Early Signs and Growing Communications: Understanding Sensory Overload Together

Looking back, the signs of sensory overload for my autistic kid were always there.

Loud sounds were consistently a challenge. As a baby, a toilet flushing or vacuum cleaner could send him into a panic. His whole body would tense, and he'd scream. (For a story about the early signs of autism for this kid, check out this post).

In preschool and early grade school, G-rated cartoons with yelling or angry characters triggered the same response: panic, a racing heart, a need for quiet.

Spoken language didn’t come easily during his early school years, but my kid’s creativity became a bridge – a way for us to connect, understand, and grow together.

What started with a video became a conversation. After showing me the scenes, he opened up about what hurts, what helps, and how he feels when the world gets too loud.

His fictional characters and scenarios enhanced our conversations. To me, this connection was gold.

Circling Back to Charlie Brown

It still amazes me that my autistic kid used a “garbled adult voice” effect to show what sensory overload feels like. And he did this without being influenced by Charlie Brown cartoons.

When I was a kid watching Charlie Brown shows, I used to laugh when the adults talked in those garbled sounds. To me, it felt like a funny exaggeration of how grown-ups can sometimes sound when you're daydreaming or tuning out.

But my kid’s version of garbled speech is different. It’s about being overwhelmed.

When some people’s nervous systems are overloaded, speech doesn’t register as language. It becomes pure noise. A fog of input. Distorted. Even meaningless.

Through a simple Plotagon animation, my kid reminded me of something I try not to forget: if someone isn’t responding, it doesn’t mean they cannot hear you (so don’t speak louder!). It might mean they just can’t process the words – not yet.

The kinder, more respectful thing we can do is turn down the volume.

Or help them get to a quieter space. Let them self-regulate. Support them in a way that works for them.

And then wait for clarity to return.

Jen with Cool Wiring