The Unadulting Society

There are things I do with my body that I've never told anyone about. The way I dig my fingernails into my palm when I'm overstimulated. The way I press on bruises. The way I used to hold ice cubes in my hands until they burned. Sometimes the only way to quiet the noise in my head is to give my body something loud to feel. Sharp. Cold. Firm. Real. I'm not writing this for shock value. I'm writing it because I know I'm not the only one, and the silence around this kind of stimming is dangerous. When we don't talk about pain stims — when we only talk about the cute fidget spinners and the squishy stress balls — we leave people who need intense sensory input completely alone. And isolation makes everything worse. Here's the thing about pain stims: they work. That's the uncomfortable truth. Hitting, biting, scratching, pressing — these are effective ways to regulate an overwhelmed nervous system. The pain creates a focal point. It drowns out the chaos. It's fast, it's accessible, and it doesn't require any equipment. The problem isn't that it doesn't work. The problem is that it causes harm. I've spent a lot of time in the car-living community, and I've noticed that harm reduction is a concept people in marginalized communities often understand better than clinicians do. We know that telling someone "just stop" doesn't work. We know that meeting people where they are is more effective than shaming them for what they do to survive. Harm reduction means: if you can't stop, can you do it safer? If you're going to hit something, can it be a pillow instead of your head? If you need sharp sensation, can it be an acupressure mat instead of your fingernails? Temperature is one of my safest alternatives. Ice. Cold water. A frozen orange held in both hands. The shock of cold hits the same nerve pathways as pain but doesn't cause damage. I keep a gel ice pack in my minivan fridge. When the world gets too loud and my brain starts screaming, I press it against my wrists or the back of my neck. The cold floods my nervous system. For a few seconds, I can't feel anything else. And then, slowly, I can breathe again. Firm pressure works too. A tightly wrapped blanket. Compression sleeves. Pushing against the steering wheel. Spiky sensory rings. A bristle brush on my forearms. These aren't replacements for therapy or medication or community support. They're tools. And tools are better than bruises. If you do pain stims, I'm not going to tell you to stop. I'm going to tell you that you deserve alternatives that don't hurt you. You deserve regulation that doesn't come with shame. You deserve to feel better — not just quieter, but actually better. There are ways. They're not perfect. But they exist.