Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity: What It Actually Feels Like — And How I Stopped Fighting My Own Field

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Is Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity Real? It Depends Who You Ask

If you search for electromagnetic hypersensitivity, you will find two camps. One says it’s a documented biological response to a changed electromagnetic environment. The other says it’s anxiety, nocebo effect, or simply modern life catching up with sensitive people.

I’m not here to fight that debate. I’m here to tell you what it feels like from the inside — because for the people living it, the question of whether it’s “real” stopped mattering a long time ago. The experience is real. The patterns are real. The cost is real.

I lived with electromagnetic hypersensitivity for most of my life without having a name for it. What I had instead were symptoms I couldn’t explain, environments that drained me without obvious reason, and a nervous system that seemed to register something everyone else was filtering out.

It wasn’t sensitivity as weakness. It was sensitivity as early field detection.

What Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity Actually Feels Like

For me, it never announced itself dramatically. It arrived as pattern.

Brain fog that lifted when I left certain environments. Fatigue that didn’t correlate with how much I’d slept. A low-grade internal hum that intensified in tech-dense spaces and quieted in nature. Sleep that fragmented around full moons, eclipses, new moons — cycles I didn’t yet have language to connect to my biology.

The clearest signal came from an unexpected place: Schiphol Airport, where I worked for several years. Schiphol is one of the most electromagnetically dense environments you can spend time in — layered technology, constant wireless negotiation, infrastructure running around the clock. During those years, I went through two burnouts, both accompanied by extreme brain fog. The first time, I couldn’t even name what I was experiencing. The second time, I finally had a word for it.

What I noticed — and couldn’t yet explain — was that the brain fog didn’t just fade with rest. It lifted when I left.When I was home, away from that environment, something in my system exhaled. When I returned, the load returned with it.

Years later, my neighborhood installed solar panels on every house. Within two months, my brain fog returned. I sleep directly next to the transformer for those panels. The dots didn’t just connect — they formed a pattern I could no longer ignore.

This is what electromagnetic hypersensitivity feels like from the inside: not a dramatic reaction, but a slow, cumulative environmental cost that your system is quietly paying around the clock.

What Is Actually Happening in the Body

Electromagnetic hypersensitivity is not about signal strength. It’s about complexity, density, and biological load.

Modern electromagnetic environments are structurally different from anything our biology evolved alongside. They are layered, continuous, and increasingly unpredictable — Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, cellular negotiation, smart infrastructure, all running simultaneously in the same space. The body doesn’t just respond to how strong a signal is. It responds to how stable and predictable the environment is.

In a sensitive system — one already carrying viral load, mitochondrial strain, or a nervous system wired for high-perceptual clarity — that environmental complexity becomes an additional processing cost. Not a crisis. A constant, invisible tax.

Biology doesn’t fail under electromagnetic complexity. It compensates. Increased cortisol modulation, nervous system vigilance, immune activation — all running in the background, all consuming resources that should be available for repair, regulation, and rest.

In my case, the Epstein-Barr virus had already been claiming those resources for fifteen years. EHS layered onto terrain that had no spare capacity. My system wasn’t malfunctioning. It was working overtime in an environment that kept raising the cost.

When I Finally Had Language For It

The recognition came through bioresonance therapy. My practitioner discovered early in our work together that my nervous system was registering electromagnetic complexity at a level that was directly interfering with my ability to stabilize. She had to run the BICOM device on child settings just to keep my system from going into overload during sessions.

That moment reframed everything. This wasn’t hypersensitivity as malfunction. This was a precisely calibrated system detecting what most systems filter out.

The word “hypersensitive” had always felt like a pathology — something wrong with the instrument. What I understood instead was that my antenna wasn’t broken. It was wide open. And in an increasingly complex electromagnetic world, wide open comes at a cost unless the environment is addressed.

How I Stopped Fighting My Own Field

The shift didn’t come from reducing my sensitivity. It came from changing the conditions my sensitivity was operating in.

The first layer was environmental. Identifying the primary sources of electromagnetic complexity in my home — particularly the solar panel transformers near my bedroom — and addressing them directly. Not by eliminating technology, but by introducing structure into the field itself.

This is where Aires became a non-negotiable part of my rebuild — and why I speak about their work as an ambassador with genuine conviction rather than obligation.

Aires doesn’t block electromagnetic signals. It introduces structural coherence into the electromagnetic environment— reducing the chaotic variability that sensitive biological systems have to work hardest against. The technology is based on fractal resonator design, precisely engineered to create a more stable, predictable field locally.

What their research shows — and what my body confirmed — is that the issue was never the presence of technology. It was the unpredictability of the environment it created. When that unpredictability reduces, the biological processing cost reduces with it. The nervous system stops scanning. The immune system stops bracing. Recovery becomes possible in a way it simply wasn’t before.

Aires’ two largest user groups are people with chronic illness and elite athletes. That parallel has always stayed with me. Both groups are operating at the edges of biological capacity. The athlete protects a high-functioning baseline. The person with chronic illness works toward a stable one. The sensitivity is the same. The direction is different. What both need is an environment that stops costing them energy they cannot afford to lose.

Living With Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity — What It Looks Like Now

I no longer experience EHS as a condition to manage. I experience it as a layer of biological intelligence that requires an honest environment to function well in.

My system still registers electromagnetic complexity. It always will. But the difference between registering and being overwhelmed by it is entirely about the conditions underneath — the load the nervous system is already carrying, the stability of the electromagnetic environment, and the structural support available to both.

What changed wasn’t my sensitivity. What changed was my relationship to it — and the environment I chose to live inside.

I still nap when I need to. I still choose quiet over stimulation. I still feel the difference between a coherent natural environment and a tech-dense urban space. Amsterdam’s electrical hum is real, and my system reads it.

But I no longer fight that signal. I’ve learned to work with it — as information, not interference.

That shift — from fighting my own field to understanding it — is where electromagnetic hypersensitivity stopped being a diagnosis and became a form of biological literacy.

And literacy, unlike sensitivity, is something you can build on.

For my Dutch readers, this website contains a lot of helpful information concerning electromagnetic hypersensitivity. Here in the Netherlands people with EHS are recognized under “VN-verdrag Handicap en de gelijke behandelingswetgeving”

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I’m Tani — writer, educator, and someone who has spent fifteen years learning to read her own body like a map. Based in Amsterdam, I navigate the crossroads of EMF awareness, post-viral healing, and nervous system regulation. Not from theory — from lived experience. This space exists for the ones who feel things deeply, who sense what others miss, and who are done being told it’s all in their head. If that’s you — come find your people. Follow me on Instagram @tanistates, tag me when something here lands, and let’s build something real together. Your story might just be the one someone else needed to hear.

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