Echolalia: What it is, what it isn't, and the phrases I find tastiest to repeat
Just because it's repetitive, doesn't mean it's meaningless.
Welcome to The Late Diagnosed Diaries, the musings of a late-discovered autistic author and speaker, former journalist, and eternally curious human, featuring educational explanations, critical explorations, and vulnerable realizations, often seasoned with a teeny little dash of feminist rage.
Nobody tells you how much infant and toddler parenting is just repeating yourself over and over and over and over and over again. And I don’t mean having to ask your child to put their shoes on 473 times, although, that too.
Word repetition is an integral part of early language acquisition and mastery: Without ever being taught to do so, caretakers around the world name things aloud and repeat words as part of day-to-day caretaking, from “mama” and “puppy,” to “yummy” and “hello.” We enunciate slowly and melodically, with different pitches and inflections, instinctively modeling language for little ones to absorb.
Most of us enter Miss-Rachel-Mode around babies without even consciously trying because we just instinctively know that babies need word repetition to catch on. “You see the PUPPY? Yes, it’s a PUP-PY. Say hiiiiiii puppyyyyy! Hi puppy! Ok, say bye to the puppyyy. Byebye puppy!”
Eventually, little ones begin to use repetition themselves. When we greet the neighbor’s puppy on the way to the park next, out kiddo might echo us, saying “Hiiii puppy” in the same sing-songy tone. Not long after, they might be the ones to pipe up first, shouting “Hiiiii puppy!” as we approach the neighbor’s fence.
Once toddlers start repeating things, they get really good at repeating things. Before you know it, we’re on our 27th “Hi puppy!” before we’ve even left the house for the park, at a pitch high enough that the puppy probably heard all 27 from down the street.
This is called echolalia—combining the Greek words for “repeat” and “speech”—and it’s a completely normal part of early language development for people of all neurotypes.
For most neurotypical children, reliance on echolalia naturally largely fades away by the age of three or so, as they learn and master other language acquisition and communication strategies. So when a neurotypical five or six-year-old wants to play on the swings at the park down the street or go pet the neighbor’s dog, they’ll use some combination of those words (more or less) to say so, rather than repeating “Hi puppy” as they may have done in their earlier years.
But for many autistics1, echolalia continues to occur beyond early childhood. For some—especially those with co-occurring conditions that further impact speech and learning—echolalia can remain a preferred, primary, or even the sole means of communication well into adulthood.
I’m not here to provide a nuanced explanation of all manifestations and experiences of echolalia. I’m not a speech-language pathologist.
But as a former journalist and an autistic adult with the power of hyper-fixation, I’m here to share both what I’ve learned from my research, and my own experience.
If you haven’t spent much time around neurodivergent adults who use echolalia, you may only be familiar with the most common representation of it as parrot-like behavior: seemingly random repetition of words in someone with otherwise limited speech. In many cases, it’s presented as being “meaningless,” or referred to as “non-functional communication” (which felt pretty icky to even write out, honestly.)
But echolalia is far more complex than that, and what may appear, at first, to be “random” repetition is often very intentional and nuanced. Just because “hi puppy” doesn’t mean something to you, in this moment, doesn’t mean it’s devoid of meaning. Here are just a few examples of what that repetition might mean in various scenarios:
Similar Actions: “Hi puppy” may continue to be used as a request to visit the nearby park, the neighbor’s dog, or both, or it may also be used to refer to related activities: to play outside, to go on a walk, or even just to leave the house.
Similar Context: “Hi puppy” might be adopted as a way to greet or point out any animal, anyone in the neighborhood, or for any living thing at all.
Similar Words: “Hi puppy” may be said in place of “dog,” “pet,” “animal,” “neighbor” or other words related to to its initial use.
Similar Emotions: “Hi puppy” might be a way of expressing excitement, anticipation, or happiness. It may also be adopted as a way of confirming readiness to leave or to begin something, even if that thing is not going to see the puppy on the way to the park.
And yes, sometimes repeating familiar words, phrases or sounds like this is NOT intended to communicate something to someone else. Maybe repeating “hi puppy” in stressful situations makes the speaker feel safe, calm and comforted by bringing about positive memories and feelings during times of uncertainty.
Echolalia that manifests as self-stimulating behavior like this (aka “verbal stims” or “stimming”) may not be intended as communication, but it can be an effective tool for regulating your nervous system.
But if it regulates someone’s nervous system, then it’s not “meaningless.” At least, not any more “meaningless” than humming a song to help pass the time while you wait in line, or whispering “I can do this” before doing something scary. (Both of which I highly recommend, btw.)
What Echolalia Is Not
Everyone repeats words beyond the age of three, of course, since intentional repetition can be a useful communication tactic. But not all repetition is echolalia.
People of all neurotypes often repeat others’ words as a way to confirm that you’ve heard someone correctly, the way a waiter might repeat each item in your order after you request it, or a customer service representative might repeat the spelling of your name after you offer it. People also repeat what they hear as a way to express surprise, or to signal agreement:
👨 I just saw Carol at the gym, and she said she totaled her new car yesterday!
👩 What?! Her new Mercedes?!
👨 Her new Mercedes!
👩 Totaled it?!
👨 Totaled it. She’s OK, but the car is wrecked.
👩 Thank God she’s OK, though.
👨 Thank GOD! But she just got it last week! She is so irresponsible!
👩 SO irresponsible!
It’s normal for adults to strategically repeat themselves, too. Maybe they weren’t heard the first time, or the meaning of their words wasn’t understood correctly, or they tell a joke so funny that repeating the punchline might elicit a second round of laughs. And as most teachers, preachers, and professional speakers2 know, repeating yourself is also a powerful way to reinforce learning.3
Repeating words in these ways doesn’t constitute echolalia, and the fact that neurotypicals sometimes repeat words in these ways, does not mean that “everyone’s a little autistic.”
What most differentiates autistic echolalia from casual language repetition is that autistic echolalia is automatic.
Echolalia not a just conscious attempt to confirm what you’ve heard, or show surprise, or signal agreement with someone’s words. It’s not the intentional repetition of a phrase or tidbit to help someone else remember it. It’s typically both unintentional and compulsive, and it can sometimes inhibit, interrupt, or complicate communication with neurotypical, rather than help it.
What Echolalia Is For Me
Every autistic person experiences echolalia differently, and in the spirit of radical transparency, I wanted to share a little about how the various types of echolalia manifest in my own life.
Take delayed echolalia: repeating something you’ve heard at some other time in the past, like a phrase from a weeks-old conversation or a movie you watched years ago. For me (like many, I’m sure) it’s part of my keen pattern recognition.
If you use a phrase that was uttered in a movie I’ve seen, there’s a good chance I’ll complete the quote, perhaps in the character’s voice or accent. If you use a sequence of words that appear in a song I know, I’m likely to complete the lyric or start humming the tune. The connections between the current moment and the past reference always seem obvious to me, and they jump out of my mouth without so much as a thought.
Sometimes, this works well, and I blurt out what turns out to be a fantastic callback to earlier in the conversation, or a previous experience with the same people. But sometimes it doesn’t make sense to those around me:
Nobody gets the reference I’m making, creating awkward silence & shame
Nobody gets the reference, so they just think I’m changing the topic abruptly
The reference is poorly timed, which makes me seem insensitive or rude
Repeating things too often is seen as annoying (“You said that last time”)
Repeating words someone else often uses can be seen as inauthentic4
But for me, the variety that creates more issues tends to be immediate echolalia: repeating something that I just heard:
Repeating someone’s good point can be seen as trying to take credit for it
Repeating something with an upward inflection is taken as questioning or mocking
Repeating a line during a movie or song can be seen as disruptive or distracting
Repeating while someone is still talking can be seen as interrupting
Repeating can be seen as mocking, especially when there are accents involved
Reactions to situations like these can range from barely perceptible judgments to outright hostility.
One of the many benefits of discovering my autistic identity is that I now know that this behavior is echolalia—not any of the rude or malicious things it is sometimes misconstrued as—which changes how I think about myself, and makes it easier to explain myself when things don’t land as planned. (I also try to be more mindful, of course, but since we’re talking about automatic behaviors, there’s a limit to what mindfulness can do.)
As I’ve continued to research and better understand my autistic mind, I’ve also come to realize that I sometimes experience a related behavior—called palilalia—where you repeat your own words and phrases, instead of verbalizations you hear others say.
When I first started to learn Turkish, for example, I discovered that the translation for “second cousin,” was “ikinci dereceden kuzen,” and I found this series of sounds to be absolutely delicious. I said it over and over, both in my head, and out loud. The syllabic emphasis made it feel so blissfully bouncy, and that fact combined with my visual thinking to create the loveliest linguistic loop-de-loop in my mind:
Has anyone ever spoken to me in Turkish about their second cousin? Nope.
Do I have any Turkish second cousins I need to speak to or about? Also no.
Despite that, this is undoubtedly the Turkish phrase I’ve said aloud more than any other: “ikinci dereceden kuzen. ikinci dereceden kuzen. ikinci dereceden kuzen.”
Repeating words with good mouthfeel isn’t a new behavior for me, although I only recently recognized it for what it was.
As a child, I was especially curious about the names of plants around me, and when I learned a new plant name that was fun to say, I’d often say the name over and over and over again, turning the syllables over in my mouth: “Pachysandra, Pachysandra, Pachysandra, Pachysandra…”
Understandably, I often enjoyed this more than those around me, and eventually I was asked to stop. When I couldn’t actually stop saying it, I’d switch to silently repeating the word to myself instead, picturing the pattern that went along with the sounds: “Sycamore, Sycamore, Sycamore…” I’d say, tracing an infinity symbol in my mind.
Somewhere between a song and a chant, repeating plant names this way was calming and comforting, almost meditative. Hours or days later, the urge to repeat the word would typically pass, and I’d move on to some other thing. But you best believe that the next time I saw a plant I recognized, the tasty little etymological snack I’d stored away for later enjoyment would be rushed to my lips again: “Forsythia, Forsythia, Forsythia, Forsythia…”
As I was writing this post, I called my mom to ask which plant names she remembered me repeating as a child. (I’m still a reporter at heart, after all.) Without prompting, her list matched my own, and she delivered each name with the same singsongy intonation that I’d used as a kid: Pachysandra, Sycamore, Forsythia.
As I was writing these out, I realized that a lot of the words I like to repeat—both silently and aloud—have that whistling “s” sound…
These crispy whispy sounds are called “sibilants,” an appropriately sibilant word itself that comes from the Latin word for “hissing.”
It include sounds like /s/, /sh/, /z/, and that distinct buzzing sound in “usual” and “casual” that starts in your teeth and ricochets up into the back of your head. You know, the sound that proves impossible to spell when you try to truncate the words in “I’ll have the ughje” or “We’re keeping it cajszh”
I am always having the ughje, but I am rarely keeping anything cajszh.
Especially if I see a puppy. 🐶
Or a plant. 🌱
💜
For my fellow NDs: Would love to hear the tasty phrases that you find yourself repeating, if you’re open to sharing in the comments!
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Echolalia is most commonly associated with autistic communication, but it can also appear alongside schizophrenia, Tourette’s syndrome, stroke, dementia, and more.
How delicious is “teachers, preachers, and professional speakers”?! Yum.
Fun fact: Of the 119 surahs (chapters) in the Quran, all but one start with the same few words: “Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim,“ which means “In the name of Allah, the most gracious, the most merciful.“ Since Muslims pray five times a day, and we recite multiple surahs each time we pray, a Muslim’s day is packed with reminders of God’s grace and mercy. How beautiful is that?!
I started saying “y’all” after moving to the South, since it’s actually a pretty solid gender-neutral collective noun, but I’ve been told that my doing so is inauthentic, forced, fake, or “extra.” I’m not trying to fake an accent or anything, but it seems to me there just isn’t really a way to say “y’all” WITHOUT sounding southern, you know?
Love this! Echolalia is something I don't see talked about much, so this is a really great reference. I tend to latch on to certain words/phrases from films I watch and repeat them. Usually, the meaning doesn't matter. It's just how the character said the line that tickles my brain. Sometimes I end up annoying myself by how much I repeat things.
Also, as a Texan, I give you full permission to use "y'all" as you please. :) We need more gender-neutral language! "Y'all" is *right there*!