I talk about the guilt that comes with raising a non-verbal child and I know that a lot of the assumptions center around my son himself. The assumption is that I feel guilty for bringing him into a world with challenges and the worries I have for his future.

That’s true in some ways, but this guilt has layers. It’s not all about the same things or the same time frames. There have been different responses and decisions I have made over the years that, once I understood more about our situation, I beat myself up about.

It’s one of the reasons I take my responsibility in writing these posts so seriously. I’m aware of the people who might be reading my words during some of the most uncertain parts of their lives. I know how desperate I was for answers when Lucas was little.

Sure, I can scream from the rooftops that you shouldn’t look to me for specialized advice because “every child is different”. I can step back, raise my hands, and claim that I’m just telling stories here. Yet, I know that, in the absence of answers during a time of uncertainty, it’s easy to listen to whoever feels like a voice of knowledge.

When Lucas was about 3, that’s what I did. An in-home speech teacher – one of the worst we’ve ever known – came in like a house of fire. She began giving us advice and tips to get him to speak. To hear her explain it, autism was a choice he was making that we could easily push away through some in-home changes.

So, on her suggestion, we removed any toys that could be seen as stimming toys. The art of self-soothing is something that kids like Lucas do. Whether it’s staring intensely into lights, flicking board books with his fingers, or shouting out with excitement, my son has done many stimming behaviors.

Removing his favorite toys didn’t work the way she said it would. It just made me feel terrible about punishing my boy for being himself. He didn’t notice they were gone, but I knew that he would have been happier with them there.

The day his teacher told me about the big bead-activity-box that he loved playing with at school, I knew how awful that decision had been. I looked at her and I said:

Yeah, I know. That’s his. We’re the ones who donated that box to the school.

Years later, Lucas still stims and I don’t stop him. He’s allowed to do whatever he wants, if it doesn’t infringe on others, cause harm, or get too gross. That last one is a doozy.

His soggy wet sleeves are a bone of contention between him and me. He knows he’s not supposed to chew on them, but he does it anyway. Within minutes of getting dressed, his arms are drenched. With it, everything he touches is dripping wet. You’d think he spilled water on himself with the wet spots left behind from simply resting his wrist on his leg.

I call to him, “Lucas. No mouth!” He immediately obliges, letting the clothing go from his teeth and sending a disgusting rainstorm across the room. Five minutes later, he’s chowing down his clothes again.

And that’s what stimming is. He doesn’t do it to be “naughty”. Removing sleeves won’t necessarily end it. Without them, he’ll chew on blankets or clothes from his closet. It’s just what he does. I can reinforce to him that it’s unacceptable, but – between you and I – I just have to accept it. When he’s past it, he’s past it. I can teach and hope, but I can’t make that happen. Only he can.

The same can be said for his pausing/unpausing of YouTube videos or desire to flick board books open with a snap of his fingers. We’ve had books accidentally torn to pieces from his full contact “reading.” He’s gotten the same Frog and Friends book every Christmas for the past eight years.

The sounds that he makes are perhaps his biggest stim. Although he’s non-verbal, Lucas is far from silent. He’s constantly making noises from low moans in tune with music or clapping to cause an echo. I tell him he’s my little Bobcat Goldthwait.

Usually, his little Bobcat shouts are done for happiness. Giddy over his tablet, Lucas will grumble, clap, and hop around the house. It’s what he does when he’s in a good mood.

Actually, though, he does it no matter what mood he’s in. Stimming goes beyond happiness and there have been times where all his happy actions can be done during times of stress and concern. As his dad, I need to spot the difference.

I do. I’ll watch as Lucas gets overwhelmed and suddenly, he’s doing the Bobcat shout but with a desperate look of frustration his face. He’s chewing his clothes ferociously or hopping in an angry way. It’s how he handles an outpouring of emotion – whether the emotion is good or bad.

At that point, I will step in to comfort him. Just like during a meltdown, I will rub his back and try to help him soothe himself in the moment. I also don’t try to stop him from doing whatever he needs to do, provided he’s not hurting himself.

Sometimes seeing him get worked up is the signal for bed…which he happily obliges. It’s like he forgets that’s an option and then realizes it’s exactly what he wants.

During those times of calm among chaos, I try to let him do what he needs to get his overstimulation out. I let him push my thumb against his teeth. I allow him to press my hand into his eyes or shove his lips against my cheek for one of his trademarked angry kisses. I basically let him do what he needs to do in those moments to feel better.

I have to support my son…even if I don’t fully understand why he needs to do the things he does.

That would be true even if he was neurotypical. As his father, I can – and should – make sure he’s kind, well-behaved, and happy. Those are part of my job in raising him.

I can’t – and shouldn’t – stop him from doing things that make him feel better, unless they’re harmful to himself or others. So, I don’t.

Since the day we gave those toys away, I beat myself up for making that poor decision. I vowed then to never judge my son for his stimming behaviors. I can show him alternatives and teach him positive ways to deal with his emotions. But if he never learns, he never learns. It doesn’t affect my love for him or my responsibility as his father. He’s my boy and he always will be, no matter how wet his sleeves are.