I'm a Clinical Psychologist. And My Brain Switches Off When the Music Gets Loud.

Emotional regulation doesn't always look like calm.

When we think about emotional regulation, we often picture something peaceful. A quiet room, deep breathing, meditation, perhaps a relaxing walk in nature.

And for some people, those things are exactly what they need.

But for me? Sometimes it's loud music, heavy bass, flashing lights and dancing.

Not exactly your typical emotional regulation advice.

Yet it's one of the places where my brain can finally feel quiet.

As a Clinical Psychologist, I spend a lot of time helping people understand their emotions, recognise their needs and develop more compassionate ways of responding to themselves. And one of the things I often find myself coming back to is that what helps us feel regulated doesn't necessarily look the way we expect it to.

Sometimes the things that appear stimulating, energetic or even overwhelming to someone else can be exactly what helps us feel more settled.

When Your Brain Has 47 Tabs Open

I often describe my ADHD brain as having 47 tabs open at once.

There's always something happening. Thoughts, ideas, plans, things I need to remember, conversations I'm replaying and the occasional completely unrelated thought that has somehow made its way in...

Sometimes that mental activity is brilliant. It can be creative, energising and exciting.

Other times, it can feel exhausting.

And like many people, I've spent time trying to find ways to slow everything down.

But something I've noticed is that the things we're typically encouraged to do to relax aren't always the things that work best for me.

When I'm immersed in live music, something changes.

I'm not mentally working through my to-do list or thinking about everything I need to organise. I'm just there, enjoying the music, moving and completely absorbed in the moment.

And rather than feeling overwhelmed by the stimulation, I often feel more settled, present and connected to myself.

It's not necessarily that everything becomes quiet around me. Quite the opposite.

It's that, for a little while, things feel quieter within me.

Understanding Emotional Regulation Through a Compassionate Lens

One of the approaches that influence my work as a Clinical Psychologist is Compassion Focused Therapy (CFT).

At its heart, CFT encourages us to understand our emotional experiences rather than judge ourselves for having them.

Our brains and bodies have evolved systems designed to help us recognise danger, pursue things that matter to us and experience safety and connection. These systems are constantly responding to our experiences, often without us consciously choosing how we feel.

CFT offers a helpful way of understanding this through three interacting emotional regulation systems.

Our threat system helps us recognise and respond to potential danger. It can bring feelings such as anxiety, fear, anger or shame, alongside physical responses that prepare us to protect ourselves. When life feels demanding or unpredictable, this system may become particularly active.

Our drive system motivates us to explore, achieve, pursue goals and engage with things that feel rewarding or exciting. It can bring enthusiasm, energy and a sense of accomplishment.

Our soothing system supports feelings of safeness, contentment and connection. It helps us experience reassurance, recover from challenges and feel more settled within ourselves and our relationships.

These aren't three separate parts of the brain that simply switch on and off. They're a way of understanding different patterns of emotional motivation and regulation, which interact and influence one another.

And importantly, none of these systems is inherently good or bad. We need all three.

Difficulties can arise when our systems become out of balance, when our threat system is frequently activated, or when we have limited opportunities to experience the things that help us feel safe, connected and supported.

From a compassionate perspective, the question isn't "Why am I reacting like this?" in a critical or frustrated way.

It's "What might be happening for me, and what do I need?"

Why Doesn't Soothing Always Look Peaceful?

When we hear the word soothing, we often imagine something quiet and relaxing.

But feeling soothed isn't necessarily the same as being still.

In CFT, the soothing system is associated with experiences of safeness, contentment and connection. These experiences can be supported in different ways, including through our relationships, our environments and the activities that feel meaningful to us.

For some people, a quiet walk, a warm bath or sitting with a pet might help them feel comfortable and settled.

For others, it might be singing, laughing with friends, exercising, dancing or becoming completely immersed in music.

This doesn't mean every enjoyable or stimulating experience activates the soothing system. Excitement and pleasure may also involve our drive system, and different emotional systems can be active together.

But an experience can be energising and rewarding while also helping us feel connected, secure and less preoccupied with worries.

And that's something I recognise in my own experience with music.

The music is exciting. The atmosphere is energising. There's enjoyment, anticipation and connection.

But alongside that, there's also a sense of being present and comfortable in myself.

For me, it's a reminder that the things that help us feel regulated don't always look calm from the outside.

Our Sensory Needs Are Individual

This becomes particularly relevant when we think about neurodivergence.

Autistic people and people with ADHD can experience differences in sensory processing, attention and emotional regulation.

Some people are particularly sensitive to noise, lighting, movement or busy environments. Others may actively seek particular kinds of sensory input, such as rhythm, pressure, movement or sound.

And many people experience a combination of both.

Someone might find the unpredictable noise of a supermarket exhausting but absolutely love the intensity of a live concert.

On the surface, both environments might appear equally stimulating.

But our experiences of them can be very different.

Predictability, choice, enjoyment, control and the meaning we attach to an experience can all influence how we respond.

A supermarket might involve competing demands, unexpected sounds, bright lighting and the pressure of having things to do.

At a concert, someone may feel immersed in something they love, surrounded by people who share that interest, with a rhythm they can anticipate and enjoy.

Of course, the reverse might be true for someone else.

And that's the important part.

We can't determine what someone finds regulating simply by looking at the environment or their behaviour. We need to understand their experience of it.

When We Start Judging Our Own Needs

We grow up surrounded by messages about how we're supposed to behave.

Sit still. Concentrate. Calm down. Stop fidgeting. Don't be so sensitive. Try harder.

Over time, these messages can shape the way we understand ourselves.

For neurodivergent people, particularly those who have spent years masking or adapting to meet other people's expectations, there can be a significant gap between what they genuinely need and what they feel they should need.

Someone might recognise that movement helps them concentrate but feel embarrassed about needing to move.

They might know that certain sensory experiences help them feel comfortable but avoid them because they're worried about appearing different.

Or they might repeatedly try relaxation strategies that don't work for them, only to conclude that they're somehow doing it wrong.

From a CFT perspective, this is where understanding our threat system and our relationship with self-criticism becomes particularly important.

When we feel judged, criticised or different, our threat system may become activated. And when we respond to ourselves with further criticism, we can inadvertently add another layer of distress.

Instead of simply experiencing a difficulty, we begin judging ourselves for having that difficulty.

Compassion offers a different approach.

It encourages us to recognise that our responses have developed for reasons, that we don't consciously choose every emotional or sensory experience, and that we can learn to respond to ourselves with understanding rather than blame.

We don't have to earn the right to have our needs understood.

Regulation Isn't About Forcing Ourselves to Feel Calm

Sometimes emotional regulation is misunderstood as the ability to stop difficult emotions or return to a calm state as quickly as possible.

But emotions aren't problems that need to be removed.

Anxiety, frustration, sadness and anger can all communicate something important about our experiences.

And there will be times when the most compassionate response isn't to try to change how we feel, but to acknowledge what we're experiencing and consider what support we might need.

This is particularly important when thinking about children.

A child who is moving, fidgeting, making noise or struggling to sit still isn't necessarily being disruptive or refusing to cooperate.

They may be seeking sensory input, managing competing demands, expressing distress or finding ways to support their attention.

Rather than immediately focusing on stopping the behaviour, we can become curious about what might be happening underneath it.

What is the child experiencing?

What demands are being placed on them?

What might their body be communicating?

And what could help them feel more supported?

The same questions are just as relevant for adults.

Emotional regulation isn't about making ourselves appear calm or comfortable for other people.

It's about developing an understanding of our internal experiences and finding ways to respond to them that are helpful, flexible and compassionate.

Finding What Works for You

One of the most useful shifts we can make is to move away from asking ourselves what we should find relaxing and instead become curious about what genuinely helps.

That might involve noticing the environments where we feel most comfortable, the activities that help us feel connected, or the sensory experiences we naturally seek out.

You might find it helpful to reflect on a few questions:

• When do I feel the most comfortable and able to be myself?

• What helps me feel safe, connected or supported?

• Are there activities that help my mind feel less busy?

• Do I sometimes need movement, rhythm or stimulation rather than quiet?

• What happens when I try to meet other people's expectations instead of recognising my own needs?

• How might I respond differently if I approached these experiences with curiosity rather than criticism?

  
  

There aren't right or wrong answers.

And what works on one day might not be what we need on another.

Compassion isn't about finding the perfect strategy or always responding to ourselves in the right way.

It's about recognising that we're human, that our emotional systems are doing their best to help us navigate the world, and that we can learn to understand and support ourselves more effectively.

Sometimes Compassion Sounds Like a Very Loud Bassline

As a Clinical Psychologist, I believe that understanding ourselves is an essential component of psychological wellbeing.

And as someone with ADHD, I also know that this understanding can involve questioning some of the assumptions we've absorbed about what we're supposed to need.

For me, live music and dancing aren't just things I enjoy.

They're also experiences where I can feel immersed, connected and present, without the constant demands of everything else competing for my attention.

That doesn't mean they're the only things that help me regulate, or that they would have the same effect for everyone.

But they remind me of something I often explore with the people I work with.

We don't need to force ourselves into someone else's version of calm. We can learn to understand what helps us feel safe, connected and comfortable being ourselves.

And sometimes, for me, that comes with a very loud bassline.

Understanding Yourself or Your Child

At I.N. Therapy Berkshire, I offer autism and ADHD assessments alongside focused psychological support for neurodivergent adults and parents.

My approach draws on Compassion Focused Therapy and other evidence-informed psychological approaches, with an emphasis on understanding individual experiences, recognising strengths and developing compassionate, practical ways forward.

Whether you have an existing diagnosis, are exploring the possibility of neurodivergence, or want to better understand your own or your child's emotional and sensory needs, support doesn't always need to begin with a diagnosis.

You can explore my focused neurodivergence support programmes and free resources at www.intherapyberkshire.co.uk.