Stimming?
According to A.I. stimming is:
Stimming is short for self-stimulating behaviour. It refers to repetitive movements, sounds, or actions that help someone regulate their emotions, energy, or sensory experience.
What does stimming look like?
It can include things like:
- Hand-flapping
- Rocking back and forth
- Repeating words or phrases (echolalia)
- Tapping fingers or feet
- Spinning objects
- Humming
- Playing with hair or clothing
Some stimming is very noticeable, and some is subtle (like clicking a pen or bouncing a leg).
Why do people stim?
Stimming can help with:
- Managing anxiety or stress
- Processing strong emotions (excitement, frustration, overwhelm)
- Focusing or concentrating
- Coping with sensory overload
- Expressing joy
It’s often discussed in relation to Autism spectrum disorder, because many autistic people stim regularly. However, everyone stims to some degree. For example, biting your nails before a presentation or pacing while thinking are common forms of stimming.
My particular stim is keeping a bit of satin ribbon in my fingers.
I've been stimming since I was a baby. My parents dropped me with my aunt, uncle and cousins out the back blocks of Keith, South Australia as they went off on a skiing holiday. Being the resourceful baby, I raided the satin lining out of my uncle's hat, started rubbing my nose with it, as a self-soothing action because my parents had deserted me with this raucous family of seven, two of whom took me to show and tell one day... (family lore - my cousins still talk about it). Regardless, for the last 50 odd years, I've carted around a bit of satin ribbon. One is often in my handbag or pocket. It's not taken to work, but most other cases, when I'm on my own, I'll have my ribbon with me.
It's cheaper and less invasive than Prosac.
Anyway, I took my ribbon with me to the retreat. I'm around a lot of other neurospicy people, I don't need to explain stimming.
Regardless, I was going home, a passenger in tow, and I realise I don't have my ribbon. Hackles rise. Anxiety passes in a minute as I realise there is nothing I can do. I'm going have to raw dog it without it.
Never to mind, I tell myself. I couldn't turn around to look for it; I had to get my retreat mate to the airport. Besides, I have a spare at home.
The next day I noticed a post from my mate, Jazz, who'd stayed at Seacroft for an extra night. There was a flash of red in the background. I messaged her.
Pand: Mate, is there a red ribbon on the table where I was sitting? Asking for a friend.
Jazz: Yes, there is.
Pand: Oh, bummer, there it is. It's my stimming ribbon.
Jazz: Are you okay?
Pand: Sure. I have a spare, but it's not my favourite.
Jazz: Can I post it on to you.
Pand: I owe you dinner or something. Thank you.
Phew.
See, Jazz has three neurospicy kids. She gets quirks and stims and the small elements that can be the difference between peace and quiet or an utter meltdown. It's a bit different when you're an adult and can regulate a bit better, but still.
It turned up in the mail today.
I had another conversation about stimming with another retreat mate, also the mother of neurospicy kids, who admitted that one of their children carted around a ribbon too.
Frankly, I feel a little vindicated. There are people who understand!
And I love them for it.
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