What’s Stimming Got to Do With Me When I was a child and the world got a little too big, a bit too loud, I would take my nanny (my word for blanket) and cover my whole body.
It was the type of blanket your granny would knit that looked like a checkerboard of muted green, yellow and white. I would escape the banter of my siblings, the barking of my dogs, the squabbling of my parents by counting the squares and rubbing them between my fingers.
This soothed me; this was my place that was soft, familiar and smelled like Tide. At 42 that nanny sits in the corner of my bedroom most nights, no longer capable of shielding me. Fidgeting Before It Was Cool “You are so fidgety” was a statement I heard way too often growing up.
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