Mapping the Inner World: Interoceptive Awareness for Neurodivergent Wellbeing
For many neurodivergent individuals, including those with autism, ADHD, or complex trauma histories, the fundamental process of understanding one's own emotional and physical state can be fraught with difficulty. This often stems from challenges with interoception, the nervous system's ability to sense and interpret internal bodily signals. Interoception forms the very foundation of emotional awareness, it tells us we are hungry, thirsty, that our heart is racing with anxiety, or our chest is warm with contentment. When this internal signaling system is noisy, inconsistent, or difficult to decode, it can lead to a state described as alexithymia, a profound difficulty in identifying and describing one's own emotions. This is not a character flaw, but rather a neurological difference in how internal data is processed. The consequence is that feelings may be experienced as overwhelming physical events, confusing meltdowns or shutdowns, or a general sense of being disconnected from the self. This can complicate self-regulation, healthcare, relationships, and the basic human need to understand one's own experience.
Traditional talk therapy, which often begins with the question "How does that make you feel?" can feel like being asked to read a book in a language one has never learned. The bridge between bodily sensation and emotional lexicon is missing. This is where somatic psychotherapy offers a vital pathway, starting not with emotion words, but with the raw data of sensation. A powerful and accessible tool for building this bridge is the creation and use of a Sensation Glossary. This is a personalized, non-judgmental catalog of physical sensations, deliberately separated from the pressure to name an emotion correctly.
The exercise begins in moments of calm. The individual is guided to simply notice neutral or pleasant physical sensations. They might note the weight of their body in the chair, the texture of fabric on their skin, the temperature of the air in the room, or the rhythm of their breath. These are recorded in a journal or list as simple, objective facts. The next step involves gently expanding this awareness during low-stakes moments of increased arousal. For instance, after climbing a flight of stairs, one might note, "My heart is beating quickly in my chest. My face feels warm. My breath is shallow in my upper lungs." The key is to describe the physics of the sensation, its location, quality, and intensity, without leaping to "I am anxious or excited." Over time, this glossary becomes a rich reference manual. When a strong, confusing state arises, the individual can scan their body for data points, "tightness in my jaw," "flutter in my stomach," "tingling in my hands," and compare it to their growing glossary.
For the neurodivergent mind, this process reframes the problem. It moves from a frustrating demand to name an elusive emotion to a concrete task of observation and description. It depersonalizes the experience, reducing shame, because a "fluttery stomach" is simply a fact, not a failure. Gradually, through repeated practice, patterns begin to emerge. The individual may learn that the specific combination of "heat behind the eyes" and "tight throat" often precedes tears. That "restless legs" and "drumming fingers" correlate with a need to move or change tasks.
This is the slow, respectful construction of an internal map. The emotional label can then be tentatively applied later, like a hypothesis, rather than a required answer. It empowers the individual to respond to their body's signals with accuracy, perhaps recognizing early signs of overload or seeking comfort when a sensation aligns with a past entry marked "calm." Ultimately, the Sensation Glossary is not about achieving perfect emotional articulation, but about fostering a compassionate and curious dialogue with the self, building a language of sensation where words for feelings were once elusive or overwhelming.
