Stimming and Coping

Good morning and welcome back to A Writer in the Woods. Today I’ll be yammering about Stimming and Coping and how it’s leading me to self-awareness. But first the updates.

• First off, I would really like to thank all of you who read and absorbed last month’s newsletter. I have spent most of my life hiding the truth of my mental illness and felt an overwhelming sense of relief when I received kind words both here on Substack and on my other social platforms. You all are the best. 🤎🤎🤎

• She Who Brings Gifts has run into a wall, and the general consensus is that the story is good, but needs editing. In these uncertain times of publishing, I’m assuming the investment in the book wouldn’t be worth the return. I, of course, don’t agree with that, but I understand business is business. I plan to continue submitting the book until the end of the year, and if there is no interest, I will shelve it until I can find and afford the right editors and artists to put it out myself. We must be our biggest advocate. It won’t be the first time I have self-published, but I’ve learned a lot from the convention circuits, so I’m hoping for better results this time around.

• Spooky Action at a Distance has been requested by a small publisher but is getting no love on the agent circuit, although the rejections have been very kind. I’ll be submitting to more agents until the end of the year and then will be pursuing more small publishers in hopes of finding the book a home early next year. If not, well, I should have some experience with self-publishing by then.

• The Sleeper has begun its trek in the query trenches. No requests yet, but the rejections are coming in much faster, some as soon as 24 hours. I’m hoping this means that my name is getting around the circuit and I’m starting to build a reputation. That’s something, right?

Now, let’s get to it.

Stimming, for those that don’t know, is short for Self-Stimulation. Not that kind you dirty birds, (or maybe it is for some people, I don’t judge or shame). It’s a way to soothe the mind when outside sources become overwhelming and the anxiety reaches an all-time high. For me, that means counting. This could mean counting the steps that I’m taking, the vertical lines in a pattern on the floor, the number of chairs around me. It also means that I’m fairly good at card games and putting together puzzles. I have encountered more than one pit boss after playing a few rounds of blackjack at Casinos. I’m not a savant like Rain Man, but in all honesty, I don’t really try to count, I just do.

It started when I was young. I didn’t notice it, but my Abuela did. That’s when she introduced me to crafting. It wasn’t easy to learn or to teach. I am left-handed, so everything she did I had to do backwards. We went through many types of crafts; embroidery, and knitting, sewing and that thing where they make those lace-like doilies. None of those stuck, but there were two crafts that did: Crocheting and Cross-stitching. Both skills had one thing in common; counting. When crocheting, I have to count the number of stitches per row to get that perfect flat edge, and in cross-stitching it’s all about making sure you have the right number of colored exes in a grid.

The crafting keeps my mind calm so that I can process the thousands of thoughts running through it and I’ve been doing it for decades now. I also bounce my knee, sing, or move my body to remind my brain that it’s there, but most of the time I count. I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding it too, but I’ll let you in on a secret: When you see me alone smoking a cigarette with my eyes narrowed and fixed on some point in the distance, I’m counting.

Most stories that I’ve read, or shows and movies that I watch depict this habit as something that can’t be controlled. For some that may be true, like everything else in this world mental illness and autistic habits exist on a spectrum. I, however, haven’t found many people that aren’t aware of their proclivities like the movies depict. Usually, when I meet someone like me, they are cognizant of what they do and how to do it in a way that doesn’t affect those around them. I have no desire to change this about myself because I won’t fix what’s not broken.

It's true, however, that most of my days are spent coping, and self-stimulating. Some days, it’s all that I can do. Because of this, I tend to miss out on simple lessons, or nuances that other people catch without trying. An example of this is my inability to quickly detect sarcasm. Now, if I have known someone for a minute, and I have processed that there general tone is sarcasm, then it’s not so hard. (Although, when these people try to be serious I tend to think they are joking.)

Another example would be how hard it is for me to bring my focus away from the big picture. This trait makes me really good at putting together puzzles, discerning patterns, and even anticipating people’s needs, but it’s basically worthless when I am trying to build something, or accomplish a dream like publishing. When you can only see the big picture, every small step seems like failure. It sucks, and my self-esteem takes a daily hit. Recently, however, my coping mechanism has gone beyond self-stimulation. I’ve had an epiphany of sorts thanks to my current cross-stitching project.

Here's the revelation: One colored X contributes to the larger picture. Without that one X the picture would be incomplete. I know, I know, simple, but as I’ve stated before, sometimes simple is the hardest thing for me to grasp. What this means to me is that in writing, (and the rest of my life), the important part isn’t the finished product. It’s the steps I took to get there. Sure, I mean, having a book in my hands would be wonderful, but the book represents the moments I took to create it. When I read, I take a journey and let a picture form page by page until there is an entire world in my head. That’s what I love about reading. The same can be said for pretty much anything, right? It’s not the feel of the perfectly cooked steak in your belly that brings joy, it’s the texture on the tongue and the way the spices bring the tastebuds to life. Each bite, each moment, each tiny X that makes up the big picture.

It's a revelation in progress, but so far it’s really helped with my patience in publishing, and with my own writing. Each book is an X, each time I meet and talk with another writer is an X, every trip that I take, every book I read, every new idea or fact that I learn, is another X that will fill the grids until a beautiful picture called my life forms. The last X will be placed upon my death. The picture will then be complete. (Come on now, you knew you weren’t going to get through this without a little darkness.)

Anyway, thanks for hanging for the rant. I hope that if you’re dealing with some of this, you too can see the beauty of it, how it makes the bigger picture much more detailed, nuanced, much more you. I dear reader, will be doing the same.

Until next time

Millie