Watching our rabbit sniff and scratch at the floor, I wonder what he’s experiencing.

From reading Ed Yong’s brilliant book An Immense World, I know our rabbit’s sight alone is far different from ours. Rabbits don’t have the cone in their eyes that distinguishes between green and red, so they’re essentially red/green colorblind. Because their eyes are on the sides of their heads, they have much better peripheral vision than we do, but don’t see particularly well straight in front of them. And that’s just vision – his sense of smell and hearing is likely far different from mine in a way that’s hard to comprehend.

Yong talks about how we try to force our sensory experiences onto other animals and assume they experience the world how we do.

But the fact is, we do it with people too. I just have to put on my husband’s glasses to be reminded of how radically different the visual world is for him. (I have glasses too, but I merely get a headache without them – he can barely see a couple of feet in front of him.) Or watch my kids slosh the unicorn slime from hand to hand that touching it makes me shudder. While all humans have approximately the same sensory systems, we still have radically different experiences of how our bodies take in and process that information.

How we react to other people’s sensory ways of being in the world can have major consequences for our parenting. So often, we’re tempted to judge that how our kids are experiencing the world is wrong if it doesn’t match up with what we’re experiencing. “Are you sure you’re not cold?” or “You can’t still be hungry!” slips out so easily even if we’re trying to avoid it.

Despite the assumption our kids experience the world the same way we do, it’s simply not true. Kids in general have different sensory experiences than adults. They hear high-pitched sounds that we can’t. They process tastes differently, which is why we often grow out of super-sweet flavors and grow to appreciate bitterness. (Except for me. I can’t stand bitterness.) Their sense of introception, which is understanding the cues their body is telling them, like hunger and thirst, often isn’t as fine-tuned as adults. That’s why kids often have to pee 10 minutes after they told you that they didn’t. When we tell them their sensory experiences are wrong, we teach them not to trust their own bodies and their needs.

This is doubly true for kids whose sensory systems diverge from the norm, like autistic kids or those with sensory processing disorder. Some people have their senses turned up to 11, so they’re super sensitive. Loud noises or bright lights can overwhelm them to the point of panic or meltdowns. Some of them have those senses turned way down, so they seek out more sensory input than most people. They may jump, spin, flap their hands, fidget, be louder, or eat spicy foods more than other people. There’s also kids who may be both, depending on the sense. Not getting their sensory needs met can lead to them being under a constant state of stress. In addition, both of these traits can be pathologized, get kids labeled as “naughty,” or even in some circumstances be deadly (such as in encounters with police) if we don’t understand their sensory experiences. On the other hand, meeting these needs through accommodations – like ear plugs /protectors, sunglasses, or extra time to move around – or just a little more understanding can help these kids thrive.

We’re often called to think about what other people are thinking and emotionally feeling. But how could we expand our worldview if we tried to understand and respect how others physically experience the world as well? How could show more respect for each other’s and our children’s unique needs?

With a little more effort to think how others see, hear, touch, and feel the world, we could be better parents, friends and community members to everyone.