Conversations in Empty Rooms: A Love Letter to Stimming

 

For most of my life, I carried a quiet, lingering shame about something I did in secret. When no one was around, I’d find myself acting out conversations out loud, playing out imagined scenes, or physically pacing and talking to myself. Sometimes I’d imagine entire dialogues with fictional characters, or rehearse how a difficult conversation might go. Other times, I’d just narrate my day or improvise silly little plays that I'd act out. 

It felt instinctive — something my brain did naturally when it was trying to sort through emotions, ideas, or boredom. But for years, I was convinced it meant something was wrong with me. I thought I was weird. Broken. Too much. I was terrified someone would catch me in the act and confirm every awful thing I feared about myself. 

So, I kept it hidden. I buried it under layers of self-criticism and tried to force myself to “act normal.” It wasn’t until much later — after I began unpacking my neurodivergence, including ADHD and autism — that I discovered what was really happening. It turns out this thing I was so ashamed of is actually a form of stimming. 

For those unfamiliar, stimming is a term used to describe self-stimulating behaviors — actions that neurodivergent people (and honestly, plenty of neurotypical folks too) use to self-soothe, focus, or process emotions and information. It can be as subtle as tapping a foot, as noticeable as flapping hands, or as personal as talking to yourself in character. For many people with ADHD, autism, or other neurodivergences, stimming is a natural and necessary part of how our brains regulate themselves. It helps us manage anxiety, organize thoughts, and release pent-up energy. 

For me, playing out conversations or acting out scenes was my brain’s way of processing emotions, preparing for interactions, and sometimes, just creating for the sheer joy of it. It was a revelation to realize this wasn’t some shameful, broken quirk — it was a healthy, normal, and even amazing way my brain was taking care of itself. 

 And yet, this kind of thing isn’t talked about enough. So many people grow up internalizing shame about their natural behaviors. So many of us are taught that if we don’t fit a narrow idea of what “normal” looks like, we’re somehow defective. But the truth is, there’s a whole spectrum of ways to be human — and many of them are quietly happening in bedrooms, basements, and empty kitchens everywhere. 

If this resonates with you, I want you to know: You’re not weird. You’re not broken. You’re not too much. You’re wired in a way that’s uniquely yours — and that wiring includes beautiful, surprising, and creative ways of existing in the world. 

 And honestly? That’s kind of amazing. I wish this was something we talked about more openly. It could spare so many people from years of silent shame. Maybe it’s time we start.