The Unadulting Society

Proprioception. It's a word I didn't know until I was twenty-two and an occupational therapist explained to me why I kept pressing my body against walls. "You're sensory seeking," she said. "Your body needs to know where it is in space. Deep pressure. Heavy work. That's proprioceptive input." I nodded like I understood. I didn't. I just knew that when I pressed my palms against a doorframe and pushed, something in my brain went quiet. That was the beginning of what I now call my sensory diet. I have high support needs. I'm autistic. I live in a group home. My nervous system is, to put it mildly, a lot. The world is loud and bright and unpredictable, and my brain processes all of it at full volume with no filter. Sensory overload isn't a metaphor for me — it's a daily event. Meltdowns. Shutdowns. The works. Proprioceptive input changed things. Not everything. But enough. Heavy work — that's what OTs call it — is any activity that puts pressure on your joints and muscles. Carrying groceries. Pushing a heavy cart. Wall push-ups. Weighted vests. Compression clothing. The kind of deep, grounding pressure that tells your nervous system: you have a body. It's here. It's solid. You are not floating away. I use a weighted lap pad during the day. Fifteen pounds. It sits across my thighs when I'm reading or writing or trying to stay regulated during group home activities. I wear compression clothing under my regular clothes — it looks like athletic wear but it's doing something much more important. I push against walls. I carry heavy books from the library. I've learned to recognize the early signs of overload and intervene before I hit the point of no return. Most of the time, anyway. The thing I want to say about sensory diets is that they're not just for kids. The stereotype is a child in a sensory room with a swing and a crash pad. But adults need this too. Adults with autism, with SPD, with trauma histories, with nervous systems that never got the memo that we're supposed to have outgrown our sensory needs. We didn't outgrow them. We just got better at hiding them. And hiding them is exhausting. If you've ever found yourself pressing against something solid and feeling inexplicably better, that's not weird. That's proprioception. That's your body asking for what it needs. Listen to it. The wall isn't going anywhere. Neither are you.