When I’m overwhelmed—emotionally flooded, confused, or unable to explain myself in the moment—I growl. It’s not something I plan. It rises up from my chest like a deep, guttural sigh. Sometimes it cracks in my throat and makes my voice raspy. Some have said to me “You sound like a dog”, and to those who don’t understand, it can seem frightening—like a split personality, a loss of control, something primal or broken.
But I’ve come to understand that this sound—this growl—isn’t madness. It’s memory. It’s instinct, and it’s not just me.
Among autistic individuals, involuntary vocalizations—such as groaning, sighing, growling, hissing, or repeating sounds—are common, though rarely talked about in clinical language. These are not meaningless noises. They are bodily expressions of emotional overload—responses shaped by differences in sensory processing, interoception (the sense of what’s happening inside your body), and the ability to label and express feelings.
In autism research, these behaviors fall under stimming (self-stimulatory behavior) or nonverbal emotional regulation. Dr. Barry Prizant, in his book Uniquely Human, emphasizes that such expressions are coping mechanisms, not symptoms to be eradicated. They are often the body’s attempt to self-regulate in a world that overwhelms it. The growl, for me, isn’t just a sound of frustration. It’s a shield. It’s a way to say “enough” without hurting anyone. It’s a warning, yes—but not of violence. A warning that I’m on the edge, and I don’t know how else to signal it.
Some autistic individuals describe it as a “meltdown precursor.” Others call it a reflex. But to me, it feels ancestral—something ancient and rooted, a sound that predates speech. A ritual noise. A war cry turned inward. Like the barritus of the Germanic tribes, later adopted by Roman soldiers—a chant, a growl, a collective howl that said: I’m here. I’m trying. Don’t come any closer. I believe the Romans who adopted this recognized their past in the Germanic tribes that they encountered, remembering that Romulus was raised by a wolf. What I need in those moments isn’t punishment or panic. It’s space. Safety. Trust. Maybe a quiet place. Maybe silence.
What I need is for people to understand that not all language looks like speech, and not all cries are threats. To those who’ve heard someone like me growl, sigh, or moan under pressure—don’t rush to pathologize it. Don’t assume we’re breaking. Sometimes, we’re surviving the only way we know.
— Robert Gervais
robertgervais.ca 
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