On reframing and spinning
[This post was published on a former blog, “Autistic Empaths.” It was written while I was still a medical student and new to my understanding of myself as autistic, as well as autism and disability.]
One of the strangest parts of a new diagnosis, particularly as an adult, is the retroactive life reframing. Suddenly behaviors that I considered quirks or attributed to other things are being moved into the folder "autism" in my mind.
Some of these are more obvious and were part of why I sought out a diagnosis to begin with. I experience a "veil" sensation that I now understand is a mild shutdown response, a way my brain attempts to protect me from the constant sensory onslaught and allow me to function. I lived this way almost every single day of my life until my mid-twenties when moments of clarity shocked me into realizing that my experience was likely not like others'.
The most amusing reframe is spinning. I was a toe-walker as a child, and my mother's very logical and wonderful response was to put me in ballet classes. I danced intensively for 18 years. During and since, I have a habit of spinning, in socks on kitchen floors, especially when I am happy or having a pleasant conversation one-on-one. This used to be filed under identity: dancer. In the ASD evaluation, I was asked about repetitive behaviors. I have very few and remember nothing in particular from when I was a child, at least not anything that others commented on. But I do remember spinning. I loved to spin in the pool, tucking one leg up, slightly bent, and almost flip-flopping myself so the momentum would keep the spin going as the water rushed through my fingers on the surface. And while my kitchen-spinning is harmless and not especially frequent, I have to admit it isn't something I see most other NT adults do. Turns out spinning is my happiness stim (that and a mono note hum I do without realizing; always the same note).
Contrary to most professionals’ advice (many discourage stimming because it looks like an obvious AS "symptom"), since I made this realization I have been increasing my spin. Intentionally spinning, as an experiment of self-study, is quite frankly fun. I haven't been able to figure out a more precise or relevant or important reason, it just feels natural and it feels good.
All in all, I am both the dancer who twirls and the autistic who happiness stims and spins. Mostly I am grateful for these reframes because I am always grateful to understand things from as many directions and perspectives as possible.
