Wait … That was you and your daughter?!
Today I recorded a podcast with a homeschool mom who is a virtual occupational therapist and fellow neurodivergent parent. I had heard her name before as a thoughtful advocate in the neurodivergent parenting community. She was sent to me by another professional, Amy Bodkin, an AuDHD educational psychologist and fellow podcaster, who has run into multiple parents of my other patients.
Why We Were Talking
We spent the first part of the podcast talking about auditory processing difficulties, also called functional listening difficulties and their impact on daily life, particularly in homeschool families and households where neurodivergence and sensory sensitivity are everyday realities. The host, a homeschool mom and virtual occupational therapist, had invited me to speak on her show, her podcast, to help parents better understand how listening difficulties can shape behavior, attention, emotional regulation, and even relationships.
As she shared her story... how her daughter’s low-gain hearing aids had changed their home life, I began to piece things together. The off-screen selective-mute child in our early sessions. The fatigue. The trial of devices. The sudden shift in sleep and connection. It was all there.
And then, mid-sentence, mid-moment, the connection suddenly snapped into place. I felt that immediate sense of familiarity, followed by the slow realization that I knew this family. It’s always a little embarrassing not to recognize a client, especially one whose family clearly made an impression. I see a lot of people, and I know how doctors can forget patients based on chart notes alone. But I take pride in seeing people as individuals, not numbers. I really try to meet them where they are. Still, I’ll admit that facial recognition has never been my strength. Back when I worked in a large corporate clinic, I relied on the receptionists to discreetly point out my patients in the waiting room because I often didn’t recognize them on sight. I’m usually better with names, so I was surprised I missed this one. It had only been a few months since I’d seen the mom, and only brief (visual) glimpses of the daughter during our sessions.
And the fact that we were reconnecting in real time, through a recorded conversation meant to help other parents, only underscored what we had both learned: auditory support isn’t just about sound, it’s about survival.
Living in a Sensory Storm
Parenting neurodivergent kids can feel like living in a sensory storm. You (or at least I) hear it in the relentlessness of “Mom, mom, mom…” all day while homeschooling, or even during an evening or weekend. You can't even get away to a bathroom. You feel it in the sharp edges of meltdowns that arrive seemingly out of nowhere. And sometimes, even with the deepest love and empathy, you think: Are you trying to make my life impossible?
You know they aren’t. You know it’s neurological. But experiencing it day after day wears you down. The host described how overwhelmed she felt before identifying her daughter’s auditory sensitivities. Even as an OT, the reality of living inside the chaos was different from understanding it clinically.
That’s something I hear often from parents. We’re expected to be intuitive, nurturing, ever-present—and to feel nothing but joy while doing it. But when a child is sensitive to the refrigerator hum, the clink of dishes, the pitch of your voice, or the overlapping sounds of daily life, it’s not just exhausting for them... it’s exhausting for you too.
The Water Balloon Analogy
I often describe the brain like an overfilled water balloon. Every little pressure, an itchy shirt, a loud sibling, hunger, noise, fills the balloon a little more. You only get so much cognitive space before something spills over.
In clinical terms, this means kids with sensory sensitivities often use up their capacity just managing input. There’s less space left for learning, interaction, or emotional flexibility.
The host shared how her daughter struggled with seemingly simple tasks, like staying present at homeschool co-op or engaging in conversation in the car. She wasn’t intentionally withdrawn. She was flooded. Once we introduced low-gain hearing aids, things began to shift.
The First Breakthrough: Sleep
For the host's daughter, sleep was the first breakthrough. Within a couple of weeks, her daughter began falling asleep faster, with fewer complaints about noise or tension. That’s a common early win, once the auditory system is less taxed, the nervous system can start to rest.
Then came improvements in behavior. The host noticed more interaction, fewer short fuses with siblings, and a new willingness to participate in group settings. Even co-op classes, which had once been overwhelming, became tolerable, and sometimes even enjoyable.
Understanding Low-Gain Hearing Aids
Most people think hearing aids are only for hearing loss. But that’s outdated thinking.
Low-gain hearing aids are designed not to amplify everything, but to stabilize the listening environment. They smooth out background noise, clarify speech, and reduce the amount of effort it takes to decode sound. Instead of boosting volume, they boost clarity and consistency.
This is especially helpful for kids (and adults) with:
Auditory processing disorder (APD)
Misophonia, also called "selective sound sensitivity" (sensitivity to specific trigger sounds)
Hyperacusis (pain or discomfort from sound)
Autism, ADHD, or sensory integration challenges
Types of Auditory Sensitivities and Tailored Programming
I divide my patients into three general groups:
Processing difficulties: Auditory processing disorders fall into this group. Here, the bottleneck is between hearing and understanding.
Selective sound sensitivity: Often tied to misophonia, these kids and adults may lash out at chewing sounds, whispering, or breathing—not out of malice, but because their nervous system reads it as a threat.
Hyperacusis: In these cases, everyday sounds can feel painful or overwhelming. Some only react when overloaded; others experience fear or trauma responses from even moderate sound levels.
There are some overlaps between different kinds of auditory sensitivities and processing issues, and we need to tailor low-gain hearing aid programming based on each case. Each group requires a different kind of programming.
Those with hyperacusis need protection from loud sounds, while maintaining stimulation in quiet environments to help keep their auditory systems less reactive. Misophonia kids (and adults) need the most noise reduction in quiet places, but aren't as triggered when background noise covers the soft sounds they dislike. In contrast, individuals with APD need progressively more noise reduction and speech enhancement in noisy environments because they can't parse out speech from noise easily, particularly if they struggle to localize where sounds are coming from.
It's crucial to take case history into account. That includes sensory needs as well as preferences. For example, a child with misophonia might need strong noise reduction without boosting speech, while a child with APD might need emphasis in specific frequencies to support phoneme clarity. Some might prefer to layer headphones or earplugs with hearing aids, or use remote or FM microphones, others prefer just the aids. Some like pink noise programs to avoid environmental distractions during tests, other detest any sort of interference. This sort of programming is far from "plug-and-play." It’s precision work that takes considerable experience and expertise.
Many audiologists might give an in-office demonstration, followed by an invoice in full. In my clinic, the idea is to trial the devices over 6–8 weeks. If they help, we’ve identified a treatable element. If they don’t, the patients family takes no financial risk. I'd far rather they have resources available for something that might be more suitable, and often refer them to other providers or information sources. But when they do help, the results are often dramatic.
"Glasses for the Ears"
My clinical mentor once told me about his own experience as a nearsighted child. He didn’t know he had poor vision because he’d always sat in the front of the room. He read early, did well in school, and he loved baseball because the ball would suddenly “flash into focus” right before he hit it.
Then came the glasses. And for a while, he couldn’t play baseball at all.
The Adjustment Period: What to Expect
It took my mentor's young brain time to adjust to the new clarity through glasses. The world became overwhelming. Too much information at once. He had to relearn how to focus, aim, and hit.
Low-gain hearing aids work the same way. At first, they can make kids feel more tired. The brain is adjusting to a cleaner, more stable stream of sound.
But, when the aids are well-programmed, within days or weeks, many begin to regulate more easily. They can choose when to engage. They aren’t as irritable. They sleep better. They feel safer. Headaches from sound and anxiety related to listening dissipate. And once that transformation begins, life transforms, at home, in the car, at co-op, and beyond.
It’s Not Magic, It’s Access
I often say that auditory processing support isn’t a magic trick. It’s not a cure. It’s access.
When we stabilize sound, reduce background chaos, and improve clarity, we give kids improved access to control and self-advocacy. We create a platform to thrive. For some, that looks like better sleep. For others, it’s better reading, improved memory, or fewer tears at the dinner table.
And for parents, especially mothers, who live in a swirl of noise and demands, it means breathing room.
The host and I spoke candidly about that too. The unspoken toll of trying to hold it all together. The way parents are told to “just deal with it,” even when they’re hanging on by a thread. Being treated as yet one of many, rather than as an individual. I regretted not recognizing her. Then, I forgave myself. I, too, am human. The way we’re made to feel guilty for needing support ourselves.
But when we honor sensory needs, our kids’ and our own, something powerful happens.
Connection comes back online.
Calm becomes possible again.
And a little more of that overflowing water balloon drains out, making space for everything that really matters.
The podcast itself will be released in August and includes much more detail than I could fit here. I’ll be posting the link in the group once it’s live, so stay tuned if you'd like to hear the full conversation.
