‘Everybody stims. It’s normal! Stop labelling everything.’

Yes, I have gotten this comment before when I’ve shared the things I’ve learnt about autism since my late diagnosis. Sure, you could argue that everybody stims. But the intense way and the reason that autistic people need to stim compared to neurotypical people is vastly different.  

What is stimming? Stimming is the use of repeated movements or repeated behaviours for sensory stimulation to keep calm or express joy. To put it simply. 

For neurotypical people, ‘stimming’ is way to occupy oneself when bored or to sooth anxiety. Not too dissimilar to autistic people but it is usually less noticeable and less intense. For example, pen tapping or drumming fingers. These behaviours are totally ‘normal’ and not a singular cause for an autism diagnosis. 

Stimming alone is not cause for a diagnosis, but there is a reason that stimming is a core feature of the autism diagnostic criteria.  I would say that the general public don’t know what stimming can really look like – because I didn’t! - or can only recognise the stereotypical rocking back and forth and hand flapping behaviours. The reality is, stimming looks very different for every autistic person and can be especially undetectable in high masking people. 

I can only speak of my experience as a late diagnosed, high masking woman, but I think sharing is helpful for others to see the different ways stimming can present. Something I’ve learned since my diagnosis is that stimming isn’t limited to physical movements but can include all the senses as well as the mind. So, here are my ‘unusual’ or less known stims that I do that I had no idea were stims in the first place. 

Singing. I had no idea that oral stims were a thing and I’ve since realised that singing is a stim of mine. And a big one at that. I don’t mean random small bursts of singing around the house or singing to my favourite songs, which I definitely do. But I’m talking about needing to belt out in the car on my way to work to help with the uneasiness, the pain, of the transition. I would convince myself to get into the car to do whatever task I didn’t want to do, by telling myself I could sing. I would come home from work, have a 30-minute shower and belt out my favourite album, ‘Folklore’ by Taylor Swift btw, in order to calm down after a busy day. Because before that, I’m incredibly irritable, frustrated and exhausted from masking all day. I was especially reliant on this stim when I was a nurse during covid. The warm, soothing stimulation from the shower and singing loudly allowed me to calm down and regulate in the evenings when I didn’t feel human. It became a ritual, something I depended on. Looking back, I now know why.  

I had never thought much about this behaviour before, especially because I imagine singing in the car and shower are pretty common things to do, but after I was diagnosed with autism and learnt what stimming was, it clicked that this was one of mine. I can date this exact same behaviour to childhood as well. I would come home after school and belt out ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift. Since my diagnosis, I’ve realised that I wasn’t singing ‘just because I like music’ but because I enjoyed the way my mouth and throat felt while singing. It soothed me, distracted me, calmed me down after pretending to be neurotypical all day and struggling to get through days of school or work. 

Another less known stim I do is a mental one. I repeat phrases over and over in my mind when I’m overstimulated and can’t self-regulate. I do this mostly when I’m in public and feel as if I ‘can’t cause a scene’ or I can’t stim with my hands. These phrases aren’t anything wild, just mostly things like ‘I need to go home,’ or ‘You’re almost home,’ or a variation of those. I repeat them over and over until I’m in the safe space of my own home. Once I’m home after stimming like this, and I’m on the verge of a meltdown, I have to strip my clothes off, remove any jewellery, push my hair back from my face, removing any source of uncomfortable stimulation and lay on my bed or couch in complete silence for hours. It takes an autistic person hours, if not days, maybe sometimes weeks, to recover from a meltdown. Constant, or bouts of, stimming can be a way to lessen the severity or frequency of meltdowns. As well as removing the stimulus of the overstimulation that causes the meltdown. But of course, this isn’t always possible when the causes can be things like simple conversation at work or a noisy public space. (Because imagine it takes days to recover from a meltdown if you're having one once, or even more, every week. You can see why autistic people are exhausted and require accommodations in social and work settings.) 

Another oral stim that I can date back to childhood is chewing straws. (Back when we had plastic straws). For as long as I remember I would chew the shit out of any straw I had. I enjoyed the repetitive movement of it and seriously couldn’t help it. Even when friends and family would say, ‘Ew, Tahnee why are you doing that?’. I didn’t have an explanation for them. Looking back, it was a ‘subtle’ (maybe not so subtle when people are commenting on it) or less known stim.  

Another form of stimming is sensory seeking. Something I do constantly. I’m always looking for satisfying textures to touch. Things like velvet or silk. I love the feeling of rubbing that material between my fingers so much that I ‘seek’ it out. I had no idea that was also a stim. I love the feeling of having gel nail polish on and the feeling of rubbing the smooth surface of my nail. Or I really enjoy the feeling of rubbing my lips together with a specific texture of lip balm on. For as long as I can remember, I have only liked wearing certain textured lip balms. If it’s too thin or too thick, I hate it. There needs to be a silkiness to the balm that feels enjoyable to rub my lips together. I do this constantly. Being high masking, I have unconsciously done things like this for years as a way to hide my stims and the fact that I was autistic. Even from myself. 

Seeking certain textured foods can also be a stim. I think it’s largely agreed amongst a lot of autistic people that crunchy texture specifically is the best. (That’s an anecdotal opinion of course). Crunchy things are superior, but occasionally there’s a time when crunchy textures are exhausting, so I’ll seek for something softer or smoother, if I have to eat. (Another ‘symptom’ of autism is that eating can be strenuous. Finding something that isn’t overstimulating or stressful to eat is arduous, so a lot of times we miss meals and sometimes find it hard to look after ourselves that way. Again, I can only speak for myself, but I think this is true for a lot of autistic people). 

So, there’s some of my ‘unusual’ or unnoticeable stims that a lot of people wouldn’t realise are stims. When I started figuring out that a lot of my behaviours are not just ‘simple quirks’ but are a product of my neurodivergent brain, a lot of things started to click into place for me. It’s a really nice feeling to know why I do or crave certain things. I’m now able to recognise that if I’m stimming or sensory seeking more than usual, I might be really stressed and need to remove myself from a situation or perhaps I’m on the verge of burn out and need to allow myself to rest more. (Pretty hard to do without feeling guilty in a society that shames rest, or what they might deem to be ‘excessive’ rest. Which I find weird).  

So many people don’t understand why adult autism diagnoses are important, not realising that once we have the knowledge with how our brains work, we can look after ourselves a lot better and have a greater quality of life. But I suppose it’s hard looking in from the outside when you have no idea what it feels like to mask a meltdown in public or go through constant cycles of burn out every few months. So, I hope with this blog that anyone reading who isn’t autistic will have a better and more compassionate understanding before saying, ‘Stop labelling everything’. 

If you’re autistic and reading this and want to educate me or provide some feedback on this topic, feel free to contact me. I have only been diagnosed for six months as a 29-year-old, so I am still learning and open to feedback if you feel I have misrepresented or forgotten anything.  

See you in the next one!!