When Connection Becomes Overload: Rethinking the Open Great Room

As our family settles into a gentler rhythm this month — welcome, Ramadan — our evenings stretch in two directions at once. We gather with more intention. We cook together. We linger. We talk longer than usual.

And yet, by the end of work and school days, our energy is lower. Thresholds are thinner. The nervous system is simply more tender.

On the first day of Ramadan this year, I woke up in pain. It was one of those high-sensitivity days when light feels sharper and everyday sounds land harder than they should. On days like that, I usually retreat to my bedroom; a space I intentionally designed with layered lighting, dimmers, softer finishes, and visual calm.

But that evening, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to be part of the family dynamic. I wanted to sit at the island and listen to stories and feel the small rituals of togetherness that mark the beginning of the month.

And that’s when I really noticed the sound.

The sink running.
The oven door closing.
Cabinet hardware clicking.
Multiple conversations overlapping.
The kitchen fan humming — not quite loud enough to mask, just enough to add another layer.

The room didn’t just hold the noise. It bounced it.

And I realized something important.

I had taken such care in designing the lighting in this open space. I had layered it. Controlled it. Tuned it. But I had not given the same intentionality to sound.

Sensitivity Is Not Rare

When we talk about sensory sensitivity, many people immediately think of autism. And it’s true — research consistently shows that sensory hyperreactivity, particularly to sound and light, is common in autistic individuals.

But sensory sensitivity is not limited to one diagnosis.

Migraine affects roughly 15% of the population, and sound and light sensitivity are part of the diagnostic criteria. Hormonal shifts — particularly during perimenopause — can increase migraine frequency and sensory reactivity. Stress, pain, fatigue, and life stage all influence how the nervous system processes input.

Sensitivity is not static. It fluctuates.

And our homes rarely acknowledge that.

The Open Plan Paradox

The open “great room” was designed for connection.

It fosters visual continuity.
It keeps cooks and kids and conversations in one shared volume.
It allows life to spill across functions.

In many ways, it works beautifully for our family.

But acoustically, open plan spaces can be demanding.

Large uninterrupted volumes increase reverberation time. Hard surfaces such as quartz counters, tile backsplashes, drywall ceilings, hardwood floors all reflect sound. In Ottawa homes especially, we often lean toward durable finishes that can withstand snow, salt, and long winters. Hardwood handles boots. Tile resists winter grit. But durability often comes with reflectivity. And reflectivity amplifies sound.

Without absorption, every clink and hum lingers longer than we realize.

And unlike light, which we’ve learned to dim and layer… especially in a city where winter glare off snow can make interiors feel unexpectedly bright… sound in most homes is left unmanaged.

In an open plan space, you cannot step two rooms away while staying socially present. There is no buffer. No soft boundary. No micro-retreat.

Connection becomes constant exposure.

On a resilient day, that may feel energizing.
On a high-sensitivity day, it can feel like static in the nervous system.

Designing for Fluctuation

What struck me most that evening was not that open plan “doesn’t work.”

It does work. For many families. Often beautifully.

But in a city like Ottawa, where multigenerational living is increasingly common, whether by intention, culture, or housing economics; a single large volume often has to carry many rhythms at once. Work calls. Homework. Meal prep. Prayer. Rest. Recovery.

One space and many nervous systems.

And those nervous systems are not identical.

We design for the best version of ourselves; energetic, resilient, socially engaged.

But homes that truly support us need to accommodate the tender days too.

The migraine days.
The hormonal shifts.
The fasting evenings when energy runs low.
The seasons of life we cannot predict five years in advance.

If we are designing homes that grow with us, we must consider sensory sovereignty alongside aesthetics and flow.

Connection is powerful.

But connection without regulation is not accessibility.

And that realization while sitting at my island, wanting to stay part of the conversation while quietly wishing the room would soften…has changed how I think about open plan design.

Not as a default.

But as a decision that deserves acoustic intention.