My Son Doesn’t Hide His Stimming. The Rest of Us Were Taught To.

My nonverbal son likes to stim. He will make sounds or do motions that help him self-soothe. If you’re in the same room, you can’t help but notice.

To his sister and me, these have become background music to our lives. Lucas’s claps and shrieks fade into the background. He’s a part of us.

I try to remember that not everyone else is aware of this. So if a person glances over, as long as they’re not doing it rudely, I let it go. If anyone asks me a question about him – again, as long as it’s not done out of malice – I gladly respond.

The most common question is, “Why does he do that?”

My answer is that I don’t know… and I do.

This might sound confusing, but it’s really a question of semantics. It depends on what they are specifically asking.

Do I know why Lucas likes clapping and hopping? No. He just does it. I can identify the triggers or video clips that bring about this response. Through years of watching and studying his behaviors, I’ve learned to figure some things out.

Why does he do the particular movements, though? Why does he clap instead of tap dance or snap? I don’t know. It’s what he chooses to do. It’s what soothes him.

That said, I have a different answer if you’re asking me in the sense of, “Why does he self-soothe?” That one I know.

We all do it.

I see it in others just as I see it in myself. The friend who clicks their lips together when the car ride gets quiet or the person who randomly breaks into a sentence from a song stuck in their head — they’re both prime examples of self-soothing.

There is not one person reading this right now who hasn’t made a sound or movement, often alone, just because it felt good in that moment. Whether it’s a movie quote, a memory, or a tune, all of us have done it out of nowhere with no reason other than your mind saying, “Do it. Right now. Sing!”

When I was five, I remember the first time we learned about “metamorphosis.” We colored pictures of caterpillars and then added little wings to them. For a solid week, metamorphosis was the word of the day.

And I couldn’t stop saying it.

I was obsessed with how it sounded. I’d slowly sing the “meta” and then quickly hit the “morphosis.” There was a whole rhythm to it.

Meta…morphosis!

This went on nonstop until my teacher finally sent a note home. I kid you not. Her name was Mrs. Raab, and she was not a fan.

Why did this happen at five and not years later? Because at five, I still believed in the magic. I wasn’t worried about what others thought of me or what was socially acceptable. My brain said to do it, and I did it. It didn’t matter where I was.

Then, as the years went by, the world beat me down. It happens to all of us. Kids scrutinize each other to the point where even a sneeze becomes something to mock. We start watching our words, minding our manners, and trying to fit in with everyone else.

My son, however, is a different story. Although he’s 15, he still holds onto that same outlook I had when I was younger. I credit his autism for allowing him to live each day without the social shackles we put on as we grow up.

Lucas doesn’t care what you think. At all.

If he’s tired and the airport is crowded, he’s going to try to lay down. If he’s excited over his video and we’re in a quiet hallway, he’s going to scream as loud as possible. If people are talking, he’ll shout over them if the spirit moves him.

Of course, it’s not always appropriate. As most special needs parents do, I work to make sure he doesn’t interrupt others or ruin moments where quiet is expected. That’s my job.

Outside of that, he’s more than welcome to be his authentic self. In fact, it’s encouraged.

If we’re waiting on a loud line at Adventureland and everyone is talking and shouting, he gets to shout too. If we’re walking down the street and he wants to clap, he claps. No one needs to know why, and it’s not embarrassing that he does it. If anything, it’s admirable.

I wish I could do the same thing. I want to finish a long day and immediately jump up in the air. In my mind, I’m screaming with delight and clapping so loudly they can hear me down the block.

But I don’t.

Lucas does.

And every time he does, it makes me smile.

No one is as authentic as my son. The things he does might seem strange to outsiders, but I get it. I get the reason. I get the desire. I get the whole motivation behind it.

If the world was different, maybe I’d be doing it too. Maybe we all would.

Social graces taught us not to. So we don’t.

But don’t pretend like you don’t want to.

You do.

We all do.

We all understand Lucas.

We just stop ourselves before anyone else notices.

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