Stomp, stomp, stomp.

The house is quiet, and we are all in bed, trying to sleep.

All except one of us.

The nervous system is working overtime, and the movement is necessary to find comfort and calmness.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

“He is easy. He is so intelligent. He is so articulate. He does not look like he has autism (my personal favorite). He is verbal; he will be able to do what everyone else does.”

While I agree with almost all of the above, except the outlandish one, there is no easy autism.

It isn’t every night, but it happens. His brain will not allow his body to rest. When he was young and had to go to school and conform to their unreasonable and often impossible requests, we would work to calm him and get him to sleep. We also had to be mindful of his siblings because they required a restful sleep.

But now that he is an adult, I often let him work it out on his own because I know he is safe. Other families do not have that luxury; their loved ones on the spectrum cannot be left to walk it out or utilize other methods to calm themselves without hurting themselves or breaking items in the home. But he just needs “a minute”.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

An adult unable to feel their feet hitting the floor can make a noise loud enough to rival the 4th of July fireworks. At times, his sister will remind him that she has class or work early in the morning. He has a soft spot for her and is awakened to reality. Normally, he can find something quieter to do. For her. His favorite person.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

The midnight march beats its final steps of this night.