You Probably Don't Know I'm Stimming

Stimming is that weird thing autistic people do, isn't it? Maybe you don't know what it's called, but you know what it looks like. Hand flapping. Oh, yes, those weird autistic people, they go around flapping their hands like a frustrated seagull?

"WARNING: JAZZ HANDS" by waldopepper, licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0 

No. Well, yes. Yes, some autistic people flap, and it's not a bad thing. It's just a way of stimming. In fact, flapping is so identified with autistic people that in the early days of getting diagnoses for myself and my children I thought that we wouldn't be diagnosed, because we didn't flap. News flash: you can be autistic without hand flapping and lining up your toy cars. You can be autistic with these things too, but it's not an entry requirement for the club.

I didn't even know that I stimmed, yet I have stimmed all my life. Basically, stimming is self-stimulating with a sound, a texture, a sight, anything sensory, in a way that helps you focus and ground yourself. It helps you concentrate. It helps you calm down. When I walk past an iron railing fence brushing my fingers almost painfully along the rails, I'm stimming. The more worked up I feel, the more anxious, the harder I press my fingers, until the pain pushes away the anxiety. When I brush my fingers over velvet or corduroy, I'm stimming. When I bury my nose in a flower and inhale, I'm stimming. When I find myself repeating a particular phrase or song lyric over and over, or listening to the same song again and again, I'm stimming.

You can buy stim toys to fiddle with. You can buy rings that turn on your finger, fidget spinners, clickers, all sorts. But a lot of us - especially women, I'm guessing, who learn more to mask - do these things so subtly you'd never know it was happening. I've never bought a stim toy but I will run my fingers repeatedly over my phone case or repeat song lyrics in my head. If I'm fiddling with my phone while you're talking to me, I'm probably stimming so I can stay focussed. I'm not being rude.

When I'm walking along holding my thumb so tightly inside my fist that it aches, I'm stimming. It's the most frequent way I stim. Sometimes I have to do that to relax enough to fall asleep at night. It's like a tiny hug for your thumb. And if I'm walking along the street hugging my thumb because urban streets are overwhelming, you probably won't notice, unless you're really observant. I don't 'look autistic,' but there I am, out in public, subverting your expectations with my secret stims. I don't look autistic, but there I am.

The Bowling Party

Today George (almost 7) went to a friend’s birthday party. It was bowling, which he was excited about, because he’d never been before. But of course because he’d never been before it was also a troublesome thing for him, in a typically aspie way. He behaved with perfect Georgeness, but with gentleness and understanding we avoided a meltdown.

'Bowling Shoes' by John Walker, on Flickr.

On coming in through the door he was excited of course, but when his friend’s mum said hello to him he instantly collapsed onto the floor and rolled under the pool table and out the other side. In his cat-like way he acted as if that was the perfectly proper way to get across the room.

The first real problem came with the bowling shoes. I tried to take it in a gentle way, warning him he would have to change his shoes and taking him to show him what the shoes would be like. We’ve had plenty of experience with the trouble of shoe changes with him when taking him to buy new shoes. It’s a change, and worse still, a change under pressure. While all the other boys were excitedly taking their shoes off and handing them over the counter, George was crouching in the corner hiding his feet under his body. He didn’t want to do it, he didn’t see the need for different shoes, he didn’t want shoes with laces.

I noticed some of the shoes had velcro straps, and luckily they had some in his size. But this still meant getting his shoes off him. We managed this after a little time, but he didn’t want to put the bowling shoes on. He tried, but they felt wrong, and the two velcro straps were joined together instead of separate. He kept asking me sporadically through the party why the straps had to be joined together. Because I explained to the lady behind the counter that he had autism she was patient and although she shouldn’t let him in without shoes she was flexible enough to let him go in carrying them.

'The Eyes Have It' by Vagawl on Flickr (cropped to a square.)

The bowling alleys were a difficult place too. It was noisy, bright, overwhelming. The balls smashing into the floor, the sound of the pins being knocked down and picked up again, talking and music and excited children bouncing about like electrons in an atom. It was a lot to take in. So he hid behind the seat back and then sat in a corner for a while and someone else took his first turn. His friend’s mum was patient and understanding and tried gently to bring him out of his shell, explaining to her son when he asked why George was hiding that he was just a bit shy.

Then he began to engage. ‘Mummy, maybe when I’m not shy I can have a go,’ he said. When he decided it was time to have a go, he did really well. He engrossed himself in lining up the balls in order as they came out of the machine, putting one on each side. (I was more bothered by the odd blue ball than he was. All the rest were light orange or dark orange and could be lined up nicely.) The holes went on top and presented him with a shocked face.

'Bowling Ball' by Jonathan Keelty, on Flickr.

After a few goes he even decided that he wanted his shoes on. They stayed on for about two minutes, and then suddenly it all became overwhelming again. He didn’t like the taste of his drink. He lay under the bench. The shoes came off. He was ‘bored’ of bowling and wanted to go now. He had to walk away and watch through a glass screen for a while. Then after his self-imposed break he slowly sidled back, and finished the game.

Later he managed the chaos of McDonald’s with grace, and as we walked back into town he had fun trying to spot lines of three cars of the same colour in a row, a game of his own devising.

I was proud of him today. Together we managed things so that he didn’t find things too overwhelming and he didn’t have a meltdown. He was eased gently in and when he needed time he went off and took it. Instead of breaking down and spoiling things for everyone, we got through and he had a good time. What really gladdened me though was that everyone around him was also patient and understanding. No one decided he was rude or disruptive (or if they did they kept it to themselves.) They accepted that he does things in his own way. That’s just the way George is.