Stimming: What It Is, and Why It Matters.

I had been stimming all my life, but I never really noticed how often it showed up until I was diagnosed with ADHD at 30. That’s when I started paying closer attention, realizing how different stims surfaced with different emotions. One moment stands out clearly.

I was about to present in a meeting for the very first time. My heart was pounding, my palms sweaty against the notes I kept shuffling, and my brain was buzzing with all the ways things could go wrong. About twenty minutes before the meeting, I felt a scab on my neck from a breakout a few days earlier. My fingers instantly went to it, almost like they had a mind of their own. I picked at it, over and over, the sharp sting of skin tearing becoming more grounding than the anxious swirl in my head.

For a few seconds, it was a strange kind of relief — like focusing all my nerves on this one tiny point of pain gave me control. But then the shame hit. “Why would I do this now?” I thought, staring at the small smear of blood on my fingertips. Instead of calming down, I felt worse. My nerves doubled: now I had to present while trying to hide what felt like a battle wound on my neck. It wasn’t that bad, but in that moment, it felt huge, obvious, and humiliating.

That was the first time I really noticed how stimming showed up in me — not just as a quirky habit, but as something my body reached for under pressure. Since then, I’ve been learning to recognize those urges and find ways to redirect them into stims that help me self-soothe without leaving me feeling ashamed or hurt.

What Is Stimming?

Stimming, short for self-stimulatory behavior, is something many neurodivergent people use to regulate their nervous systems. It often shows up as repetitive movements, sounds, or actions — things like bouncing a knee, tapping a pen, humming, twirling hair, scratching, or using a fidget toy. For some, like me, it can also show up in less helpful ways such as skin picking or nail biting.

From a science perspective, stimming is closely tied to how our brains process stimulation and regulate dopamine. For neurodivergent brains — especially ADHD and autistic ones — dopamine (the “feel-good” neurotransmitter linked to motivation and focus) can fluctuate. When the brain feels under-stimulated, it craves more input. Stimming provides that input: it gives the body a quick, reliable way to self-soothe, regulate energy, or spark the brain into focus.

But stimming isn’t just about dopamine. It also plays a big role in managing sensory overload. When the world feels too loud, bright, or overwhelming, stimming can act like a release valve, grounding us in something repetitive and familiar. For me, bouncing my knee or rubbing the fabric on my sleeve helps shift my focus away from all the noise around me and into something that feels safe and controllable.

The benefits are real and important:

• Reduces anxiety and stress: Repetitive movements give the brain a calming rhythm.

• Supports focus: A subtle stim (like clicking a pen or using a fidget toy) can actually increase attention during tasks like meetings or classes.

• Provides comfort and grounding: In overwhelming environments, stimming creates a sense of predictability.

• Boosts dopamine: Offering that small but steady hit of “feel-good” chemistry helps us stay motivated and engaged.

In short, stimming isn’t a weakness or a quirk to fix — it’s a natural tool our brains use to regulate and survive.

The Stigma Around Stimming

Even though stimming is natural and healthy, it often comes with stigma. From a young age, many of us are told things like “stop fidgeting,” “sit still,” or “don’t do that, people will stare.” Society tends to view stimming as “distracting,” “strange,” or even “unprofessional.” That messaging can make neurodivergent people feel like they have to hide the very thing that helps them cope.

I know for me, trying to mask my stimming often left me more anxious than before. Instead of focusing on calming my body, I was focusing on not doing the thing that would have helped me — which created even more tension. Over time, that internal conflict builds into shame, frustration, and exhaustion.

When Stimming Becomes Harmful

While many stims are harmless — like tapping a pen, humming, or playing with a fidget — some can become damaging to the body over time. Things like skin picking, hair pulling, scratching, or biting nails until they bleed can leave lasting marks. For some people, harmful stims also increase shame because they leave visible reminders that others might notice or comment on.

These kinds of stims usually show up when emotions are running high. Anxiety, fear, or overwhelm can push the body to seek stronger sensations as a way to cope. In those moments, the stim can feel grounding and even necessary, but afterward, it can bring guilt, embarrassment, or physical pain.

It’s important to remember: harmful stimming doesn’t happen because someone wants to hurt themselves. It’s not a choice in the same way that taking a deep breath or squeezing a stress ball is a choice. It’s the brain’s way of desperately trying to self-regulate with whatever tool is available in that moment.

My Personal Stims

For me, stimming has shown up in many different ways depending on what I was feeling in the moment. When I was anxious or nervous, skin picking became my default. I would find myself scratching at imperfections, pulling at scabs, or picking at my nails without even realizing how deep into it I had gone. At the time, it felt like it gave me a sense of control — focusing on that sharp, tangible sensation instead of the flood of nerves in my body. But afterward, I was left with frustration, shame, and sometimes even bleeding skin that made me feel even more self-conscious.

Other stims have been less harmful. I often catch myself bouncing my knee under the table in meetings, rubbing the edge of my sleeve between my fingers, or absentmindedly scratching my scalp when I’m trying to focus. One of the more subtle ones I’ve relied on is gently biting the inside of my lip. It sounds small, but it’s been surprisingly effective in helping me stay present. Whether it was during school lessons that didn’t hold my attention or long meetings at work, that small repetitive action gave my brain just enough input to keep me engaged with the material instead of drifting away.

Over the last few years, I’ve been trying to notice these patterns with more curiosity instead of judgment. I’ve learned that when I give myself safer outlets — like a fidget toy in my pocket, or even intentionally rubbing fabric between my fingers — my body feels calmer, and I don’t spiral into the shame cycle that comes from harmful stimming.

The truth is, stimming isn’t about being “bad” or “good.” It’s about finding what works for our nervous system. And sometimes, that means experimenting with healthier options to replace the ones that cause harm.

How to Support Someone Who Stims

One of the most powerful things we can do as a society is create more normalcy around stimming and fidgeting. Neurodivergence shows up in so many individuals — some who may not feel comfortable disclosing it, and others who may not even realize yet that they’re neurodivergent. By making stimming more visible and accepted, we give people the space to succeed without the added layer of shame.

So, what does this look like in practice? It doesn’t have to be complicated.

• Encourage body breaks. In classrooms, presentations, or meetings, normalize opportunities to stretch, walk around, or move. These aren’t “disruptions,” they’re ways to support regulation and focus for everyone.

• Make fidgets accessible. Having fidget toys, textured objects, or stress balls available in shared spaces allows people to choose what works for them without feeling singled out.

• Shift your language. Instead of judging or calling out someone who’s bouncing their knee, tapping, or fiddling with something, approach with empathy. If it feels appropriate, you can turn it into a gentle check-in: “Hey, how are you feeling? Is anything making you nervous?” That small shift from critique to curiosity changes everything.

• Model acceptance. When leaders, teachers, or parents show understanding, it sets the tone for everyone else. By not enforcing unspoken “rules” about stillness or quiet hands, we create safer and more inclusive environments.

At the heart of it, supporting someone who stims is about empathy and understanding. Stimming isn’t rudeness or distraction — it’s communication. It’s the body’s way of saying, “I need something to regulate right now.” When we meet that with compassion rather than criticism, we open the door for connection, safety, and success.

Finding Safer Stims & Supporting Ourselves

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that stimming isn’t something I need to erase — it’s something I can work with. The goal isn’t to stop, but to find outlets that soothe without leaving me hurt or ashamed.

For me, this has looked like experimenting with different options:

• Keeping a small fidget toy or textured object in my pocket.

• Giving myself permission to bounce my knee or rub my sleeve in meetings instead of fighting the urge.

• Redirecting harmful urges (like skin picking) into safer ones, such as squeezing a stress ball, doodling, or even gently biting the inside of my lip when I need to stay focused.

But beyond some of my personal tools, there are countless ways people can find safer stims.

For example:

• Sensory grounding: Carrying smooth stones, worry coins, or textured fabrics to run your fingers across.

• Movement stims: Chair stretches, rocking gently, pacing during calls, or even using a standing desk to incorporate micro-movements.

• Auditory stims: Humming, listening to white noise or background music, or keeping a small instrument (like a kalimba) nearby.

• Creative outlets: Doodling during meetings, knitting, or even playing with clay or putty — activities that keep the hands busy while freeing up the mind to focus.

• Breath-based stims: Blowing bubbles, using a pinwheel, or guided breathwork to create rhythm and calm through repetition.

Everyone’s stims are unique, and what helps one person might not help another. The important part is paying attention with curiosity instead of judgment, and giving yourself permission to experiment until you find what feels right.

Closing Reflection

Looking back, I wish I had known earlier that stimming wasn’t something to be ashamed of. All those years of trying to hide it only made me feel more anxious, disconnected, and misunderstood. The truth is, stimming has always been my body’s way of helping me survive and focus in a world that often feels too fast, too loud, or too demanding.

By creating more acceptance — both in ourselves and in our communities — we can shift stimming from something “weird” or “wrong” into something normal, helpful, and even empowering. For those of us who are neurodivergent, that acceptance can be the difference between feeling broken and feeling seen.

So whether you stim through bouncing your knee, fiddling with a pen, rubbing fabric, or picking up a fidget toy, know this: it’s not a flaw. It’s a form of self-care. And the more we normalize it, the safer the world becomes for all of us.

If you’re curious about your own stimming habits — what emotions they’re connected to, and how to redirect them into safer, supportive practices — I’d love to help. Book a consultation call with me, and together we can explore how your brain works, identify what triggers your stims, and find healthier ways to regulate while honoring your unique needs.

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