I’ve always preferred a cooler indoor environment. In my home, my sweet spot is sleeping at 68 degrees and keeping the thermostat at 70 during the day. Yet, odd as it sounds, I would take a humid 100-degree summer day over 20-below winter cold any time.
So it was perplexing when, over the past few months, I began experiencing deep, involuntary shivers and chills—sensations that felt as if I were running a fever. Yet the room wasn’t cold, my body temperature was completely normal, and cranking up the thermostat did nothing to stop the shivering.
Adding to the mystery, these chills followed a distinct pattern. They almost always struck in the late afternoon or evening. And rather than a uniform, full-body freeze, the sensation was highly localized: concentrated squarely across my upper back.
As I’ve peeled back the layers of my neurodivergence, I’ve come to realize that my body was sending me loud, physiological signals. I wasn’t being cold in the thermodynamic sense; I was feeling cold as a direct physical reaction to sensory overload, nervous system withdrawal, and cognitive fatigue.
It’s not because someone is constantly walking on my grave. Here is how those mechanics break down.
The Post-Masking Nervous System Crash (Cognitive Tax)
Navigating a neurotypical workplace requires continuous public masking—a state that keeps the nervous system running at a high RPM on elevated adrenaline and cortisol. When I finally return to the safety of my private home sanctuary in the evening, my body undergoes a sudden, dramatic power-down. As that fight-or-flight energy rapidly recedes, my central nervous system experiences a temperature drop—not unlike an engine cooling off after hours of redlining. The result isn’t a medical fever; it’s a nervous system decompression chill.
Textile and Sensory Overload
Sensory inputs from clothing—the constant shifting, compression, or friction of textiles against skin—require continuous cognitive processing. When my brain reaches its threshold for processing these inputs, the overload can manifest as shivering. I’ve noticed this phenomenon even in extreme conditions: standing outside in 100-degree summer heat with my dogs, a gentle breeze pushing my shirt fabric across my skin can instantly trigger an intense wave of chills. It is a pure sensory translation error: overload registering as cold.
Hyper-Reactivity to Subtle Micro-Climates
My nervous system reacts intensely to tiny ambient temperature variations. While stark environmental shifts—like stepping from an air-conditioned room into sweltering outdoor heat—are the most jarring, even subtle drafts inside a house can trigger a reaction. When a slight temperature shift combines with textile friction, it creates a perfect storm of sensory stimulation.
Micro-Tension and Localized Ischemia (Prolonged Sitting)
My role in marketing involves long hours sitting at a computer—executing campaigns, analyzing data, or leading meetings. This static posture creates chronic micro-tension in my upper back, subtly restricting localized blood flow. That localized reduced circulation creates an ischemic chill in the exact muscle groups that bear the physical weight of posture, tension, and hyper-vigilance all day.
Why Is This Happening Now?
If I’ve been neurodivergent my whole life, why are these phantom chills a recent development? Two factors explain the shift:
First, cumulative load meets natural aging. Decades of unmitigated cognitive tax have accumulated, while my body’s natural baseline tolerance has shifted with age. The physiological buffer I had in my 20s and 30s is no longer there to absorb the impact silently.
Second, amplified interoception. Interoception is the internal sense that allows us to perceive bodily signals—heartbeat, breathing, hunger, and muscle tension. For forty years, my brain reflexively suppressed or ignored the subtle warning lights flashing on my internal dashboard. Now that I am actively unmasking and tuned in to my neurodivergent architecture, those suppressed signals are no longer ignored. What used to be muted background noise is now a clear, unmistakable circuit-breaker trip: a phantom chill telling me my system has reached its limit.
