The Reason I Jump

The Reason I Jump, written by thirteen-year-old Naoki Higashida through a painstaking letter-board communication method, offers a rare opportunity to witness the inner world of a non-verbal autistic adolescent. Instead of presenting a clinical explanation of autism, the book unfolds as a deeply personal reflection told through a question-and-answer structure, addressing common curiosities, confusions, and misconceptions. Higashida invites readers to listen to a voice that is rarely heard yet profoundly eloquent. His reflections illuminate the emotional depth, cognitive insight, and sensory complexity that shape the daily lives of autistic individuals.

Unlike textbooks that focus on diagnoses and symptoms, Higashida speaks as someone living inside a body that does not easily obey him. He seeks not sympathy, but understanding—asking readers to see beyond surface behaviors such as repetition, silence, or emotional eruptions. His words aim to dismantle stereotypes and build bridges between autistic individuals and the world that often misunderstands them.

Living in a Body That Does Not Cooperate

A recurring theme throughout the book is the difficulty of navigating a physical world when the mind and body feel disconnected. Higashida describes the frustration of knowing what he wants to do or say while being unable to translate those intentions into smooth action. Motor planning, impulse control, and physical coordination present constant challenges. Behaviors that may appear willful or disobedient often result from neurological barriers rather than intention or attitude.

For example, he explains that even when he fully understands a rule or instruction, his body may act before his mind can intervene—like touching an object he knows he should leave alone or interrupting someone despite wanting to wait his turn. He compares this disconnect to having the controls of his body malfunction, leaving him trapped watching himself perform actions he never intended.

This struggle encompasses emotional and behavioral regulation as well. Meltdowns, he notes, are not tantrums born from defiance but distress signals when sensory input becomes overwhelming or communication fails. Inside, he may be screaming for calm, but his body responds with panic. Higashida asks those who witness these moments not to judge but to offer calm, safe support—knowing that the individual is suffering, not misbehaving.

Sensory Chaos and the Overwhelming World

The sensory environment plays a critical role in shaping Higashida’s experience of daily life. Sounds, lights, physical textures, and smells that neurotypical individuals barely register can strike him with painful intensity. He describes noises merging like crashing waves, preventing him from focusing on speech. Something as ordinary as fluorescent lighting or the rustling of plastic may trigger distress, confusion, or physical discomfort.

To cope with sensory overload, repetitive movements—such as jumping, pacing, or flapping—act as grounding mechanisms. These actions help him reclaim control when the world feels fragmented and chaotic. They are not meaningless habits, he insists, but survival strategies that bring order to disorder. Jumping in particular becomes a channel for releasing emotional pressure, almost as though energy trapped within him can escape upward and dissolve for a brief moment.

Routine also serves as a stabilizing force. Predictability shields him from the unpredictability that ...