A picture of what happens to me when I’m “not listening”

I call what happens to me “stovepiping”.
stove-pipe thinking

The blue lines represent my thinking process.

The pink lines represent the rest of the world.

The orange lines delineate what I call ‘the social layer’ of interaction — the place where people process information together.

This is not to say that I think the rest of the world is superficial or not as “deep” as me — it’s just an attempt to show how I tend to stray outside the social layer to think things through and process information, while the rest of the world goes on without me.

While people are talking and interacting, I can get overwhelmed, so I have to “step away” mentally and go off into my own space to make sense of what’s going on around me. I get very involved in a specific thing I’m thinking about… Sometimes it takes me a while to really get my head around what’s going on in the general vicinity, so I go into what I’m thinking about very deeply,

Meanwhile, the rest of the world around me moves on and (as far as i can tell) just disappears. They are interacting at a level that I find overwhelming and confusing — especially if I’m tired.

The more difficulties I’m having with parsing out all the stimuli around me, the deeper I go into the “stovepipe” of my subject, and the farther away from the rest of the world I get.

So, when someone tries to get my attention (from what seems like a very far distance), it can take a while for the communication to get to me. I’m going to draw a picture of the process, because it’s getting hard for me to put it into words, exactly.

I think a lot of us have this… tbi or not. The more involved we are in the things we’re thinking about and/or involved in, the more distant we can become towards the rest of the world. I think the difference between neurotypical folks and tbi or other “neurodiverse’ folks is one of degrees.

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Author: brokenbrilliant

I am a long-term multiple (mild) Traumatic Brain Injury (mTBI or TBI) survivor who experienced assaults, falls, car accidents, sports-related injuries in the 1960s, '70s, '80s, and '90s. My last mild TBI was in 2004, but it was definitely the worst of the lot. I never received medical treatment for my injuries, some of which were sports injuries (and you have to get back in the game!), but I have been living very successfully with cognitive/behavioral (social, emotional, functional) symptoms and complications since I was a young kid. I’ve done it so well, in fact, that virtually nobody knows that I sustained those injuries… and the folks who do know, haven’t fully realized just how it’s impacted my life. It has impacted my life, however. In serious and debilitating ways. I’m coming out from behind the shields I’ve put up, in hopes of successfully addressing my own (invisible) challenges and helping others to see that sustaining a TBI is not the end of the world, and they can, in fact, live happy, fulfilled, productive lives in spite of it all.

1 thought on “A picture of what happens to me when I’m “not listening””

  1. Reblogged this on Broken Brain – Brilliant Mind and commented:

    Eight years later, this is still pretty much true. I tend to be hyperfocused on my immediate surroundings, and when people try to talk to me and don’t give me enough time to shift my attention, I “get lost” and have to work just a bit harder to sync up with what they are saying.

    For people with no patience — or who expect me to read their minds — this is particularly bothersome.

    For me, as well as them.

    Like

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