One of my favorite memories as the father to a non-verbal boy with autism was the first time I “entered his world.” He was little and rather than trying to correct the way he was playing with his toy, I instead took a turn doing what he was doing. 

What Lucas was doing was slowly pulling his toy telephone on wheels by its string until it would disappear under the chair in our living room. He’d watch closely in the mirror to see when it would leave his view. Then he’d pull it back out again and repeat the process. 

I had seen him do this a hundred times before but had never taken a turn. When I sat beside him and tapped my chest to ask if I could try, he watched me and the look in his eyes showed that he appreciated this. Up until then, I’m fairly sure no one else had ever done this with him. 

Since then, there have been many moments where I have joined in on Lucas’s self-stimming activities. Whether it was discovering the reason why he was pausing and playing his videos at certain times or flipping through his board book at a set pace, I discovered that a lot of his activities involved repetition. A lot of them were, well, soothing. 

On the surface, these reasons might seem abstract. For a parent fixated on having a kid who plays football or watches shows straight through, Lucas’s actions might be frustrating. It’s not “appropriate.” It’s not what we, as people not on the autism spectrum, would do. 

Except that it is. 

I say this because we all do the things that my son does. I know I do. Long before I pulled that toy phone out from under the chair, I had been fixated on things and acted in ways that soothed me. The only difference is that my actions were sometimes saved for time away from the eyes of others. Me and my neurotypical ego didn’t want the judgment of others. 

What do I mean? Well, I often sit by myself and begin clicking my tongue while thinking. Even now, writing this out, I find myself smacking my lips, humming random tunes, or tapping my foot against the base of my desk. Why do I do it? I’m not entirely sure. 

What I am sure about is that it echoes a lot of the things that my boy does. Sure, his behavior is more pronounced without worry about others noticing, but it is still the same. Rather than waiting until he’s alone to do somewhat quiet self-soothing behavior, he might choose to shriek, scream, or clap his hands together to produce an echo. 

Me? I hide it. I keep it to myself. If someone happens to walk by and see it, they might offer a sarcastic, “You alright?” I laugh it off and slink away, embarrassed by their comment.

Lucas? Not so much. I admire that about him. 

When it comes to the starting and stopping of videos, I can’t claim to have done that myself. However, I have definitely repeated songs to the point where I would be embarrassed if another person heard me. Since I was young, I have pressed “repeat 1” on both CD players or Spotify and replayed music over and over until I was sick of it. That’s something we’ve all done. 

In fact, when I was five, I watched a Bugs Bunny episode where the wascally wabbit broke into a stirring rendition of “Atsa matta for you?” Italian-themed music played in the background as Buggs sang along wildly to this brief song. 

Then I went to kindergarten and proceeded to sing it…repeatedly…all day. The teacher sent a note home about it.  

When it comes to kids with autism, we like to talk about sensory or tactile stimulation as if they are unique to those on the spectrum. Maybe your kid stares into a light on their toy or rubs a particular blanket on their face. Whatever it is, we write it off as something that autism causes, and, for a lot of parents, it becomes something they want to change. 

In reality, who doesn’t have to gravitate towards some sensory things? Whether we stare at the clouds in the sky (which I do), snuggle up between electric blankets even in the middle of a summer heatwave (which I do), or just rub our own temples during times of stress (which we all do), there is nothing about sensory self-stimulation that makes it exclusive to a child with autism. The only difference is that my son doesn’t hide these desires from other people. 

I do. I wish I didn’t, but I do. Call me out on using hot blankets in July and I will laugh it off as I unplug them. Notice that I’m clicking my lips and I’ll probably remark that “I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” Hear me bop along to a song playing on repeat all afternoon and, well, I would be mortified. 

My non-verbal boy – not so much. Lucas does the things that he loves and your opinion doesn’t matter to him. He approaches the world in a way that we all wish we did. It’s how we want our kids to be and it shows that he values the most important things. I want him to be happy and he values that above everything else. For that, I couldn’t be prouder of him. 

So, yeah. I get it and I know you do too. We all do. We might not be as open about it or shadow Lucas’s stimming movements exactly, but we all do it. We self-soothe every day. If people look, let them look. I’m learning to be more like my son and prioritize my wants.  

We could all stand to be a little more like him. 

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