My best elementary school field trip entailed a boat ride along the Hudson River. It was a simple yacht that was able to accommodate about 50 people. Throughout the journey I sat quietly, reveling in the boat swaying back and forth atop the water. My classmates maintained their usual chatter, not appearing to be affected by this sensation. Yet I had never felt anything quite like this and remained silent with a big grin plastered on my face. The captain’s mate noted my contentment. “You come back one day, this is a place for you,” he said as I left with my class. I agreed with enthusiasm, then tried to convince my parents to buy me a boat.
Although I never returned to that ship, I have kept my promise in frequenting the water. As a child with autism, I would often rock my body back and forth as a means of gaining soothing sensory input. I typically did this alone, but reveled in the moments when something or someone else rocked me. This boat ride was my first time being swayed by the world itself, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
Throughout my life I have craved the sensation of being moved and sought it out. At the shopping mall I rode the escalator as many times as my parents would allow. I loved being on slower carnival rides such as carousels and Ferris wheels. We lost count of the number of times that I rode the Dumbo carousel at Disney World. Since I did not have ongoing access to rides or live near a body of water, I had to find other sources of motion. Each day I spent several hours rotating between the trampoline and the swings in my backyard. This continued until I was 15 years old, at which point I fell off a swing and cracked my pelvis. The swings were then removed from my yard, but to this day, I still enjoy the occasional swing on a park playground. I often skipped back and forth through the same room while I listened to music, usually the same couple of songs over and over.
Many of these activities are ones that would ‘amp me up.’ They engendered the release of a form of adrenaline that while stimulating, is just mild enough to sustain for extended periods of time. These repetitive behaviors would make me happy, but not relaxed. I could never have enough sensation to be satisfied. I’d repeat these actions until I got too tired to continue, fall asleep, and start again the next day. This continued into my mid 20’s, at which point I challenged myself to engage with the world more, thus spending less time recycling the same thoughts and behaviors for hours on end.
At this point, I sought out more calming de-escalation methods. I lived along the shore of a large reservoir in the backwoods of Massachusetts then. When I felt the need to skip, I took my kayak out instead. The water would rock me while I rowed, gaining simulation while I leveled out my adrenaline through physical activity. On warmer days I would jump into the lake, sometimes energetically swimming, but often just lying on my back and allowing the water to buoy me. I ended each excursion feeling more focused and content than I had before. I quickly noted that water provided me with a more soothing form of sensory relief.
Many of the individuals that I work with find water-based activities to be soothing. Sometimes this means zipping down waterslides leading to vast pools. But there are simple things too, such as bottles of water filled with glitter and food coloring that are fun to shake. There are a vast array of items and activities that offer fun and relaxation through interaction with water.
The earth is composed of about 75% water, as is about 60% of the human body. It is a powerful force that sustains both our world and our being. I thrive by embracing the many beneficial roles that water plays in my life.
