Late last March, I was sitting in my studio in SE Portland, trying to finish a client’s commission for a set of botanical labels. The rain was doing that persistent, gray-misting thing it does here, and I was on my third cup of coffee. Suddenly, the hum of the mini-fridge in the corner didn’t just sound like a hum anymore. It sounded like a jet engine. The light hitting the dusty surface of my drawing tablet felt aggressive—almost like I could feel the photons hitting my skin. It wasn't a moment of bliss; it was a moment of deep, vibrating confusion. It felt like someone had reached into my brain and turned the master volume dial all the way to the right without asking.
I need to be honest about something before we keep going: this site contains affiliate links. If you purchase something through them, I earn a commission at no extra cost to you. I only share tools, books, and programs I’ve actually used in my own messy, non-linear journey. I’m just an illustrator trying to figure out why the world suddenly feels like a high-definition broadcast I didn’t subscribe to. I’m not a healer, and I’m definitely not a guru. I’m just someone who’s been spending the last few months trying to stay grounded while the floor feels like it's shifting.
If you’ve been following my updates, you know I spent the better part of the last two years thinking I was just burnt out from the freelance hustle. But over the last few months—specifically since that strange, loud morning in the studio—I’ve realized that what I’m experiencing is an awakening. But it’s not the version you see on Instagram with the white linen outfits and the perfect sunrise yoga poses. It’s gritty, it’s awkward, and sometimes it’s downright inconvenient. Here are five signs that the 'volume' is turning up in your life, too.
1. The Sensory Overload (When the World Gets Too Loud)
Nobody told me that waking up meant my nervous system would suddenly feel like a raw nerve. For most of my life, I could tune things out. I could work in a crowded coffee shop on Division Street with no problem. But lately, especially throughout this past April, I’ve found myself needing to wear noise-canceling headphones just to walk through the grocery store. The fluorescent lights at the checkout counter feel like they’re shouting at me. The smell of the floral department is so intense it’s almost dizzying.
Here is the thing: spiritual growth is often marketed as this peaceful expansion of consciousness. For me, it felt more like a total loss of filters. I’ve spent dozens of hours on my meditation cushion lately, just trying to teach my brain how to process the extra input without going into a full-blown panic. I’m not a health professional, but I can tell you that my body is definitely picking up on frequencies I used to be able to ignore. If you’re feeling this, you might think you’re developing some kind of sensory processing issue. And while you should definitely talk to your own doctor to rule out medical causes, it’s also worth considering that your internal 'antenna' is simply becoming more sensitive.
2. The Social Static and the 'Alien' Feeling
This is the part that actually hurts. You’re at a friend’s birthday party or a casual brunch, and suddenly, you can’t do the small talk. It’s not that you’re suddenly 'above' everyone else—it’s just that the words feel like cardboard. You start sensing the emotions underneath the conversation—the hidden anxiety in a laugh, the performative joy in a story about a new car—and it’s exhausting. It’s like watching a play where you’re the only one who knows the actors are wearing masks.
I’ve written about this in my journal a lot lately. I have a drawer full of notebooks from this past winter, and at least half the entries are me asking: Is it me? Am I just becoming a hermit? I’ve realized that as your internal frequency shifts, the old social puzzles just don’t fit anymore. It’s lonely. It’s awkward. You find yourself nodding along to a story about a kitchen remodel while your soul is internally screaming for a conversation about what it actually means to be alive. I’ve even wondered if I was hitting a Dark Night of the Soul, that heavy period where everything old falls away and nothing new has arrived to replace it yet.
3. The Need for a Different Kind of Map
By late last spring, I hit a wall. I was tired of feeling like an alien in my own studio. I needed something to help me understand the 'why' behind the weirdness. I’m not really into the heavy-duty guru stuff—I tried a 'sacred geometry' workshop that cost way too much and mostly just made my head ache—but I found myself looking for tools that felt personal rather than preachy. I needed a map that acknowledged my specific weirdness.
I actually ended up trying a Moon Reading during a particularly confusing week in May. I’ve talked about this before—I even wrote a post asking Is Moon Reading Accurate?—but honestly, it helped ground me. It wasn’t a magic wand, but it gave me a framework. It explained why my emotional 'tide' was pulling me so far out to sea and why my specific creative energy was feeling so chaotic. Sometimes you just need a tool that says, Hey, this part of you is supposed to be this sensitive. It’s a feature of your design, not a bug in the system. It helped me stop fighting my sensitivity and start working with it.
4. The Physical Purge (The Crying and the Fatigue)
I expected the peace. I didn't expect the random, soul-shaking fatigue. There were days in early May where I’d sleep for nine hours and wake up feeling like I’d run a marathon through a swamp. It’s like the body is trying to catch up to the spirit. All the old stress from that freelance drought two years ago? It’s been coming out in weird ways—sudden bouts of crying over a commercial for laundry detergent, or a physical heat that feels like it’s radiating from my chest.
I’ve found that using specific sound frequencies can help settle that physical 'buzz' in my nervous system. I’ve been experimenting with the Billionaire Brain Wave audio lately. Don't let the name throw you—I’m not trying to manifest a private island—but the actual sound technology is great for settling that overactive, 'vibrating' feeling. It’s become a bridge between my morning meditation and the rest of my work day. I’ve written about using brain waves for creative focus before, and it’s one of the few things that actually helps quiet the 'static' in my studio so I can actually get some drawing done.
5. The Loss of the 'Future' Self
This is perhaps the most unsettling shift of all. I’ve noticed that I’ve stopped being able to obsess about the future. For a freelance illustrator, this is actually kind of terrifying. My whole career was built on 'what’s next?' and 'where is the next contract?' and 'what will my portfolio look like in five years?' But lately, the future feels... blurry. Not in a bad way, but in a way that forces me into the present moment with a grip that won't let go.
I couldn't manifest a five-year plan right now if you paid me in gold. I’m currently learning to trust that the 'now' is enough, which is a massive shift for someone who used to live entirely in her Google Calendar. It’s a work in progress. I’m still figuring out how to balance this new, present-focused consciousness with the very real need to pay my rent in Portland. It feels like learning to walk on legs that are still a little bit wobbly. I've had to adapt my meditation practice for my restless mind just to stay in the chair long enough to finish a single sketch.
The Reality Check
If you’re feeling these things—the noise, the isolation, the weird physical shifts that make you want to nap for three days straight—know that it’s okay to be confused. You don’t have to have a 'practice' that looks like a stock photo. My practice involves messy charcoal sketches, a lot of staring at the rain, and occasionally crying in the middle of a craft store because the colors are too beautiful to handle. It’s not always pretty, but it’s real.
If you feel like you're drifting and the static is getting too loud, maybe start with something simple to find your bearings. I really liked the personalized aspect of the Moon Reading because it felt like it was talking to me—the illustrator with the loud fridge and the messy studio—not some idealized version of a spiritual seeker. It’s a free place to start when everything else feels like too much noise. Hang in there. The volume might be up, but eventually, you start to find the melody in the chaos.