Most of you know my challenges with my auditory processing condition: difficulties filtering sound, fatigue when trying to carry on a conversation with too much ambient noise, words getting jumbled in the midst of too many competing conversations, processing delays deriving from the visual nature of my hearing, and so on.
In general, sound always feels very close to me. If I’m in the midst of very loud sound, such as the loud rock ‘n roll music they play at the local pharmacy, I literally feel as though the sound is inside me, and as though I am inside the sound. It’s exhausting. I can’t concentrate, and it takes my nervous system some time to calm down afterwards.
Since auditory processing has been my greatest challenge, I’ve been thinking lately about whether there is an upside to my condition. Certainly, in another culture, having acute hearing would be a plus. I’d undoubtedly be the first to hear the tiger approaching the village, or to perceive some other sign of impending disaster. But in a noisy culture like our own, I hadn’t been able to see much benefit in it.
And then I started thinking about my relationship with music.
It’s not something I’ve talked about a lot, perhaps because I take it so much for granted. When I was a child, I was a classical pianist. I didn’t just play the piano. I was a pianist, performing in recitals in Boston and playing in statewide piano contests, one of which, to my great surprise, I actually won. I began playing when I was eight years old, and I was told right away that I had a lot of talent.
It wasn’t that I was more technically proficient than the next person. It’s that I was musical. I felt the music, from the inside out.
Back then, I couldn’t see what the big deal was. To me, it all came naturally, and I could never understand the fuss. But now I think I do. I had the same experience back then that I have in the pharmacy with the loud rock ‘n roll music — the music was inside me, and I was inside the music. The only difference was that the music was classical, and that the sound of the piano thrilled me. The melodies, the harmonies, the timbre, the volume — all of them were a delight to my auditory system.
I used to play Chopin and cry. I used to play Beethoven and feel as though I were communing with his spirit. It was a complete physical, sensory, and emotional experience. It took me over and spoke to my soul. It resonated through me.
As a child, of course, I thought that everyone experienced music that way.
I stopped playing the piano because I became very stressed out by all the performing. I was an extremely shy child and received no guidance for how to handle the pressure. Performing brought with it perfectionism, and perfectionism created pressure, and pressure ultimately created a lack of enjoyment.
So I turned to singing. People have told me that I have a good singing voice, but I’ve never felt that I was particularly talented as a singer, so there has never been any pressure involved. I just enjoy it, and other people seem to enjoy it, too. As an adult, I’ve mainly sung Jewish liturgical music — first as a prayer leader when the rabbi at my local synagogue was on sabbatical, then as an assistant when my husband was the spiritual leader at my next synagogue, and then as a lay rabbi when my husband and I led our own services some years back. I’ve sung at weddings, life-cycle events, and weekly services.
Whenever I sing, whether the music comes from another culture or my own, I am in the music, and the music is in me. I am in the history, the culture, the laughter, the sorrow, and the struggle of the people who came before. All of it takes up residence in my body, my mind, and my soul.
I’ve struggled with whether I’d want my auditory processing condition cured. I’ve decided that I wouldn’t. I’d lose the gifts along with the difficulties. I’ve adapted quite well to the difficulties, and the gifts are an essential part of who I am.
© 2011 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
Great article! Rob loves the piano as well. I often feel the same way listening to a piece of music I really enjoy, although I don’t play and don’t like classical much. But good for you!
Thanks, Kate. The next time we all meet up, it would be great to talk with Rob about his experience of music and the auditory aspects of Asperger’s.
Hi Rachel, interesting observations here. I’ve never been able to listen to pop music, or any other music with a prominent and repetitive beat. It feels like someone wicking me over the head with a hammer over and over.
After reading your book I was curious what had become of your childhood interest in music, which seemed strangely absent in your later years. Have you considered picking up an instrument again just for its own sake. Not warring about how others preserve you?
I’ve never considered trying another instrument at this point in my life. When I was a kid, I also played clarinet, alto sax, and guitar, but I don’t think I’d have the time to devote to a new instrument at the moment. Right now, singing works for me.
I have no taste for classical music (generally, I find it to be excruciatingly painful for my mind & body), but there are other sorts of music I seek out (trip-hop, electronic, trance, space music, etc.). My sensory experience seems not unlike what you describe, though-just operates according to different parameters/particulars. The music I like, am drawn to (I don’t play/create music on instruments myself, I play recorded tapes/cds/etc.), is that which makes me feel physically & mentally good/well.
My belief is that I perceive music/sound with my entire body (not merely via my ears), and that has implications for good & ill, depending on whether the auditory stimuli is something I like or not (of my own choosing or something inflicted upon me). The right music at the right time can do a lot for me, in giving me pleasant distraction/diversion, and elevating my mood. Like laughter, I consider it a medicine that’s available to nearly anyone, for little or no cost, without much risk of overdose/overuse.
In contrast to the upside, I had an ex-husband who was a big fan of death metal & stuff of that ilk.
We had great difficulty negotiating over that (as we shared a small apt.), as it was the kind of sound he lived for-but of course, it made me feel sick (I felt like I was having a heart attack, with all the harsh & rapid-fire hammering, shrieking, and growling). I liked him as a person, but we had vastly divergent sensory preferences (to regulate our respective neurologies)-and our environment wasn’t adequately spacious to accommodate both our needs (for what each of us deemed soothing and/or invigorating music).
It’s interesting what you say about your sensory needs being mismatched with those of your former husband. The same was true in my first marriage. My first husband loved loud rock and heavy metal music, and I went along with it for a long time, thinking that I needed to broaden my musical tastes and be more “normal.” Obviously, it didn’t work. As I look back on it, I can see that our sensory needs were almost always in opposition; for instance, he needed to listen to music to fall asleep, while I needed silence. At the time, I didn’t realize that it was a sensory issue; it’s only in hindsight that it’s become clear.
We walked a good road together and have an amazing kid, but from a sensory perspective, it wasn’t a sustainable situation. My present husband’s sensory needs are much more compatible with my own. He’s a pretty quiet person who enjoys the same kinds of music that I do.
Mmm… Techno.
I love techno, electronica, trance, and so on. I love how the combination of eat and harmony weave around eachother and make almost a sea of sound.
My boyfriend and I generally get along in terms of the music we like, although there are a few songs he likes that are very grinding and are difficult for me to listen to. But we compromise (and use headphones
). On the other hand my last girlfriend and I had very divergent tastes, she liked very soft high-pitched old-school rock. It made life a bit difficult at times.
Definitely, music and sound (for me at least) is something I feel with body. Fluttering up against skin or pushing firm and gentle or going through the body and out the other side.
Thinking of this, I was watching “Touch the Sound” recently. It’s a wonderful movie about a percussionist, an amazing musician, who also happens to be a Deaf woman and how much music is a part of her life.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_l7kRDv9c8&safety_mode=true&persist_safety_mode=1
(warning: she plays with a lot of sounds. If there’s a particular kind that hits on your sensitivities, be prepared to turn the volume off or pull off your headphones)
The collage of images and sounds in that movie also feel very familiar to me, similar to how I’m “seeing” the world when I walk down a street.
Ooh, I can totally understand this.
I’ve noticed that I tend to process music– instrumental music especially– far more clearly than speech. And while I have a hard time making out what other people are saying when others have no difficulty… at the same time, I notice details in music that most people don’t notice.
Codeman, I experience something very similar about noticing details in music. I’ve been wondering for a long time whether my inability to filter sound accounts for why I was such a good musician. I can hear harmonies and how they work together in very rich ways and, as a pianist, I always had a very good sense of how to bring out the melody with one hand and use the other hand to complement it. With music, it’s the bringing together of sound that’s important, not separating it into distinct pieces.
My difficulties with filtering sound are not much of a problem when I’m not trying to parse speech in the midst of it (and it’s not too ungodly loud). Perhaps music is just an easier, more natural means of communication for me. It was an important emotional and communicative outlet for me as a child. Because I was so shy, it was sometimes difficult to let people know what was going on inside; when I played the piano, there was no doubt how much feeling I was carrying around with me.
While my auditory processing problems cause me no end of trouble, I also would not choose to cure them at this point. I also seem to hear music with my whole body. I’ve never been much of a musician, but I’m a huge music fan, because when music feels good, it feels really, really good. I’ve come to love the way that I hear entire soundscapes that no one else does, and all the little tiny sounds of daily life that no one else seems to notice or think about.
It’s being able to hear the small, delightful details of sound that I find enjoyable as well. Certain tones can just thrill me to the core of my being, and when they come together in harmony or counterpoint, I’m in heaven!
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Ditto to everything chavisory said!
“It wasn’t that I was more technically proficient than the next person. It’s that I was musical. I felt the music, from the inside out.” Yes, exactly right. That was me as a child as well. I also never understood why so many piano players wanted to play all the showy stuff but couldn’t get the core of the music right. I was told by almost everyone I knew that I was talented, and I never really understood why until quite recently.
Interestingly, I never minded performing or got stage fright, in part I think because I never cared much about what other people thought of me. That’s probably why I also never cared for competition (I still don’t).
Jonathan, I know exactly what you mean about people playing the showy stuff. I remember vividly that the day of the contest I won, a number of my peers were playing these incredibly complex and difficult pieces with great technical proficiency, but without a lot of feeling. I figured that I stood no chance against them, since I’d assumed that we’d all be scored mostly on technical proficiency. When I won and saw the judges’ report, I found that I’d scored very high because I brought so much expression to my playing (in additional to technically playing veyr well that day).
I wish I’d had your talent for not caring what people thought of me as a child. I was a people pleaser, big time. I figured out what people wanted, and I did my best to meet their expectations. It was the way I stayed safe and figured out the rules.
Fortunately, I care much less what people think of me now.
As a kid, I could only perform in groups, though certain members (others were less than kind) of my family assured me that I had talent. I was terrified of performing, and I was terrified that somebody was going to be angry (it had happened) if I got a part and they didn’t. Or that I’d be accused of showing off.
Interestingly enough, as a teen and adult… I can perform on stage, be it theatre or music or karaoke… Not because I care any less about what people think, but I think because they are less intimate, once the lights come up, I don’t even really know that you’re there… If there’s a mistake… different story altogether.
Melissa, I was much like you as a child. I had no problem playing in groups. I played alto sax in a jazz band and clarinet in orchestra, and I sang in a choir and a small vocal ensemble. Even when I had a solo, it didn’t phase me. I felt protected by being with everyone else. It was being on stage all alone that was nerve-wracking to me.
Seems we are more alike… I played clarinet until 10th grade when it became a choice between band and chorus. I’ve never taken lessons in piano, but I’ve always played.
Hi Rachel,
Sounds like a marvellous gift, one of many that you have.
I don’t sing or play an instrument but I was gifted in drawing/painting, so that is some compensation.
I’m glad you explained this “whole body” thing. I have experienced this but didn’t think of the words to describe what was happening to me. If I go into a store and hear R&R or metal, it goes right into my whole body and I feel so awful and agitated that I just have to get out of there. I find baroque and some classical so soothing. The only kind of classical I don’t like would be the pieces that go very, very quiet … and then come back with a loud CRASH! I jump out of my skin as the noise shocks me from head to toe.
I’m also a fan of traditional Celtic. My younger daughter plays the fiddle (Scottish) and used to do Irish dancing. She has also been learning some classical violin. A very portable instrument; I envy her a bit
Oh, I love the violin! My grandfather, with whom I was very close, was a classical violinist. It’s such a difficult instrument to learn, and so beautiful in the hands of someone who knows how to play. I envy your daughter, too; in my next life, I want to learn the violin.
I’ve sometimes wondered if my ear for music was influenced by being on the spectrum. I remember being two or three years old and crying if I couldn’t remember a piece of music I liked. Maybe it is the result of our brains not processing language well and having to overcompensate in some way?
For me, being on the spectrum and being musical go hand-in-hand; since I don’t filter sound well, I can hear so much of how music works. Nothing is lost.
I don’t think of it as overcompensation; to me, it’s another mode of receptive and expressive language.
Wonderful post and way to integrate the challenges in a positive way. Sensory overload is a big issue for me, with noise and light being migraine triggers. Some noises that don’t bother anyone else are a major irritant for me; sometimes it can be difficult to see the upside or tradeoff.
Kim, I know what you mean about the difficulties of finding the positives in these things. I’m coming to feel that, at least on my particular perch on the spectrum, there is always a positive that goes with the negative. Much of it has to do with making an ally of my mind, so that I don’t feel burdened by the challenges, and can see things in a different light.
That can take some serious effort. In the first few years of dealing with tinnitus, I thought I’d lose my mind; it’s been ten plus years now, and I think if I didn’t have that constant hum, I wouldn’t know what to do (although it can and does get in the way of what I need to hear at times).
I know what you mean; I’ve had some form of tinnitus all my life, and it can be very annoying. These days, I don’t notice it unless I’m wearing earplugs or headphones; ordinarily, the ambient sound seems to make it fade from my consciousness.
Love this post… understand this post…
One of the (many) reasons I have said that I wouldn’t want to change my daughter is that she sees the world in music. Both her father and I have musical backgrounds, so we didn’t find it strange that at 12 and 15 months old, she’d spend entire afternoons with a box of musical instruments. We encouraged it. The songs from the music class she took when she was 8-18 months old? She remembers. When she had no language, she’d request using music. Nobody understood this. At about 2.5, when Lion King became a favorite, we realized that she had – if not perfect pitch, than incredible musical memory – when she started singing the beginning note that starts the movie in the right pitch before the movie came on and if we sing songs that she’s familiar with, she’ll sing/hum them 1/2 step higher… if you check the CD… she’ll be correct.
It comes with distinct challenges. She doesn’t, to the naked eye, appear to be all that sensitive… because she doesn’t put her hands over her ears. (I don’t think she even KNEW to) But she WILL exit stage left if crowd noise is too much. Or scream if you sing with her at times or if it’s the WRONG song. And certain frequencies of sounds really really upset her. It can become task avoidant…
When she’s evaluated… ahhh when she’s evaluated. I think it’s hard to take the intricacies into account. And they work to decrease it. As we enroll her into music therapy. And watch her conduct. I think, if you’re not musical (and that’s different from liking music as you pointed out) you don’t understand this. I REMEMBER playing piano on my desk. My husband REMEMBERS getting a song in his head and tapping it out. All of which, yes, could look different… if you can’t explain it.
Melissa, your daughter sounds very gifted. I love hearing about musical kids.
In terms of appearing to be sensitive… A lot of girls don’t manifest as boys do. I never put my hands over my ears as a kid. I understood that it was not socially acceptable. Girls on the spectrum are much more plugged into social expectations, and so they mask a lot of things that become more apparent in boys. I have always manifested my sensitivity to sound by a) avoiding loud situations, b) trying doggedly to remain in them, or c) trying desperately to tolerate them in an effort to “fit in.” None of that would be obvious to most diagnosticians. It was only at 50, when I was able to articulate what was going on, that the whole picture came into focus.
It’s good that your daughter has you to describe what is happening; that will go a long way, both for her understanding of herself and for a possible diagnosis.
Rachel,
Thank you for that. I needed to hear it today.
This is very interesting to me. I’ve often wondered how A. processes music as it seems to be both a comfort and at times all too much. While I don’t think he processes the same way it is very enlightening to see how you process auditory stimulus. It makes sense and it’s a gift to be able to experience something so fully although I can see how it can be overwhelming. Thank you for sharing.
Lizbeth, I’m finding that some sounds are a comfort to me, too, and others are not, and it doesn’t seem immediately apparent why. Sounds don’t necessarily have to be loud to be difficult for me. For example, today I was realizing that I do very well conversing with people who have a certain tone and timbre to their voices; my husband, for instance, has a voice that is always easy for me to listen to, no matter what emotion he is expressing. Other people, though, I have a terrible time listening to, because their vocal tones feel grating to me; my system spends so much time defending against their tones of voice that I have difficulty processing the words, and can’t do so for extended periods. With other people, however, I can have quite a long conversation.
It’s very variable among people on the spectrum; for me, the auditory stuff is the most difficult. Without the auditory challenges, my life would be much easier, I think.
I experience the same thing with people’s voices. There are certain people I would love to listen to all day because their voices are so pleasant and soothing, and there are others I can hardly stand to listen to for even a very short period of time. When someone’s voice affects me in such a negative way, I have to use so many of my internal resources not to do something inappropriate. It’s not that I want to be rude – it’s not even in my nature to be so; it’s just that the sound makes me so anxious, or something like anxious – there’s frustration and even anger – that it takes an enormous amount of energy to maintain a calm exterior.
I know just what you mean, Emma. For a long time, I wondered why I got so angry with other people, and for decades, I saw the problem as having its source in some unresolved psychological issue. Now that I see that the source is sensory, I can see the anger for what it is — my nervous system defending itself. When I feel angry and frustrated, it’s now a signal to me that I have to deal with the sensory nature of the situation, and that the anger really isn’t about the person at all.
What a relief! I have a much easier time with other people now — and they with me.
Aha! I see “I feel music with my whole body” throughout the comments’ section. Bliss!
As I read,
“It was a complete physical, sensory, and emotional experience. It took me over and spoke to my soul. It resonated through me.”
I felt tears in my eyes. I do not play a musical instrument, but I love music. Most of my twenties, I listened to music on my Walkman, over and over again. I could spend a day pacing and listening to Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A minor. The music liberated me from anxiety and fear. It took me to a place that I could never really make another person understand. You plucked the words out of the sky for me.
I also have trouble with auditory processing. It must be related. Thank you for your words.
Lori
Lori, what you say reminds me so much of my Aspie dad. He used to play the Eroica Symphony every Sunday. It was so beautiful and so thrilling to him. It seemed to free him from the constraints of ordinary life.
Do you often have an internal musical soundtrack? I’ve almost always got music playing in my mind. I’m aware that when I rock to it, other people just see the rocking and don’t hear the rhythm to which I’m moving!
Yes!!! I do have an internal soundtrack! I tap my fingers to it and rock, especially when I am excited. Music and rhythm persist in my mind. That is why the music piped in at stores aggravates me. It is more than loudness. It is disorganizing. The music interferes with the mental harmony and visual process of shopping.
I think the internal soundtrack is fairly common amongst people on the spectrum. Perhaps it’s a way of blocking input…or maybe it’s just very cool.
I feel like I’m taking over your comment thread, but I can relate to these so much! I absolutely have an internal soundtrack. I don’t think I’m ever without music in my head. A lot of my echolalia is actually with bits of songs – they will play in my head and I will repeat them out loud, often just a small bit over and over for a while. There are certain sequences of notes, and certain pitches that are extraordinarily wonderful to me, and I can easily get stuck on them. However, sometimes the internal soundtrack can be quite annoying, as my internal processing speed is much faster than my external processing speed. If I’m consciously trying to think along with lyrics or a melody, the song in my head will often skip ahead, and my conscious thoughts will have no choice but to skip ahead as well. This is particularly annoying when there are lyrics involved, as I will have to skip to a new section of lyrics before I have finished the old section.
Emma, please don’t apologize! I love comments.
I think I’m envious of the way you experience music!
I do have the internal soundtrack fairly often, though. It’s particularly intense in the run-up to a big handbell concert performance.
I love handbells! They’re magical.
Oh MY this just opened my eyes. My kid memorize tunes. Any single good tune. Classical, or soft rock, or kids music. Any tune. He is nor speaking yet but he does memorizes tunes and he is trying to sing them, But it takes him just once to memorize it, That means he can hear the tune once and he will “sing” it the whole day. Exactly as it is. And request it as he sings.
He can tune a Waltz or a hip hop. And now that you write this it makes sense. He is experiencing the music different. My way to make contact with him was singing. I love to sing and the moment I played the guitar and sang he looked at my eyes for the first time, he is autistic, since then we made a bond and I use it. He loves music. He feels it. He memorize it, he uses it and I use it to teach him to speak.
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He might feel the music as you do and that will make a ton of sense for me. Thanks.
( For me the best singers are the ones that makes you feel the song. You must be one of those
, because if you feel it, who ever hears you will, 
)
Sabrina, your experience with your son proves just how many different kinds of expression there are, and how much our culture stresses verbal expression while discounting other kinds. Keep on encouraging your son’s musicality! It will bring him so much enjoyment.
One of the reasons I say that I would never want to be non-autistic if I had the option is my relationship with music. If you ask me what my favorite band is, I couldn’t give you an answer. I probably couldn’t even tell you what types of music I like. It’s not that I don’t like music; I just don’t seek it out like most people my age. I don’t even own an iPod. But what I can do is channel my emotions into my fingers and compose a song on the piano. When I feel ambitious, I compose parts for other instruments as well.
Sometimes I have to stop playing because I become so overwhelmed with emotion. Other times, a certain chord sequence will affect me so wonderfully that I have to play it over and over and over, providing variety with the higher keys. I can sometimes play for others, but I am detached from it when I do, because it is so difficult to be expressive in their presence. During those times, it is a performance, not an experience.
But there was someone who had the opportunity to hear me play day after day, and he was able to pick up my moods that way. I was 19, and still unable to say whether I was happy, sad, frustrated, angry, afraid, etc.; but then he stopped having to ask, because he realized I was already saying it. If he heard my tempo getting faster and the notes getting louder, he would sometimes come and stand in the doorway, wait for me to finish, and ask me what was going on. I had never intended my music to be communicative, but it was an interesting side effect. When I realized that I was communicating without having to struggle to find words – and that it was working – I began to throw more emotion into my playing. My posture, the speed of my fingers, and the look on my face began to reflect what I was feeling inside, and all of it was represented in the notes coming out of the piano. I have never played so emotionally when others could hear as I did during that time in my life. It was intense, to put it mildly, but it helped.
Currently, I see a psychologist for issues related to my autism, and when I couldn’t express something fairly complicated in words, she suggested I express it through music or art. I didn’t even need to compose a new song for it – I knew exactly the one that would work, and I brought a recording in the following week. With the music as a starting point, I was then able to interpret it for her in words.
I am glad that you feel music the way you do, Rachel. It’s something I would never, ever want to give up, and I’m glad that it pushes, pulls, and carries others the way it pushes, pulls, and carries me.
Emma, you have such an incredible gift for musical expression, and it’s just amazing that you’ve been able to use it as a path for verbal expression as well.
I don’t play an instrument, but I lead services at shul (I have a fairly decent singing voice). I also have a radio station in my head- I constantly hear songs. I don’t mind it; it’s like a soundtrack to my life. As you know, I also do song parodies. The only time I mind music is when I’m shopping at the supermarket and the music is very loud. All the people and the products combine with that to make a sensory overload, so I make mistakes from my shopping list. It’s frustrating. I enjoy all genres of music most of the time, however.
I know what you mean about loud music. It really does interfere with the very rich interior process I’ve got going on all the time — including my personal soundtrack.
Rachel,
I am sure you already know how I feel about this post before I even attempt to express it. You have once again explained something to me with such clarity. Now I understand why my daughter hesitates to share her music and what a true gift it is to her whether she ever shares it or not.
Sue, you’ve just given me insight into why performance was such a trial. Music has always profoundly personal means of expression for me; if I’d been left alone to play for my own enjoyment and as an outlet for my feelings, it would have been a much better experience.
Rachel,
I’m not sure if you had a chance to check you e-mails, but please check the one I sent yesterday and go check out the new blogger who posted about music today.
What a wonderful piece of writing! I’ve added the blog to my sidebar.
Rachel,
Thank you! I am so glad the two of you finally connected. You really are a blessing in my life.
Yay! My mother finally understands. There’s just too much pressure trying to get everything perfect and worrying what others think. Pressure just sucks the fun out of everything.
Thanks for commenting, Miranda. So good to see you here!
And about pressure sucking the fun out of everything, all I can say is: “I SO relate.”
[...] Music and the Positive Side of Auditory Processing Disorder appears here by permission. [...]
I can relate to a lot of what you write about feeling like you become one with your music, the stress of wanting to be perfect, and ultimately the lack of enjoyment that comes with the inability to be perfect. I avoided playing in ensemble groups for a long time because I felt the experience was just too personal, and I didn’t want to share it with others. In this last year I found myself accompanying the choir at church, not because I wanted to, but rather because there was a need. I discovered a few things about myself in the process. I had (and still have) a hard time processing all the different instruments and voices and coordinating them with what I’m doing. If I was ever challenged to sing and play at the same time, it’s completely impossible to even think about singing or talking while playing with the group. I also found it frustrating for the director to make changes to the beginnings or endings “on the fly”, to the point where I’d get really frazzled when things didn’t go as originally planned or expected, which is pretty much all the time when you’re dealing with a church setting and different amounts of people all the time. I was wondering if you had any similar experiences, or have suggestions of effective coping mechanisms you’ve found over the years. Again, thanks so much for sharing your story.