I’m a big believer in mindfulness that is neuro-affirming and accessible for all kinds of brains. We are just as diverse as birds in the forest. We all have different ways we experience the sensory world and meditation.
Sometimes we try meditation, expecting to find serenity in the breath, and instead we find unease or even distress. Some neurodivergent folks also experience chronic sensory overload—a perpetual state of dysregulation that can lead to trauma. While traditional mindfulness instructions are designed for neurotypical people, we can adapt our practice to be more accessible and beneficial for our unique brain wiring and individual sensory profiles.
I’ve practiced formal mindfulness for (gulp) 40 years now, and have taught Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction since training under Jon Kabat-Zinn in the mid-2000s. I’ve also practiced social work in the neurodevelopmental community for over 30 years, serving people with neurodevelopmental conditions (autism, ADHD, and intellectual and developmental learning differences), as well as their support networks, including families and helping professionals. I consider my own neural type as undiagnosed ADHD, and neurodiversity is alive and well in my extended family.
Prior to teaching mindfulness, I spent years both attending silent retreats and serving as a volunteer assisting the teachers in running retreats. I’ll never forget one rainy night early in my meditation days, when I was serving on a 10-day silent retreat in the mountains of British Columbia, and I heard a knock at the office door.
A Different Anchor
This knock came just before the evening meditation sit. A student whispered that someone was by themselves out in the rain, screaming. I headed outside and found her on the side of a steep hill at the edge of the retreat property. She was soaked, crying out in total anguish. We’ll call her Tracey (not her real name).
I sidled down the hill and silently reached my hand out as support. Tracey looked away and wailed. I stood, breathing, beaming compassion out for her pain, in the dark rain. After a while of just being present with her, I held my hand out again—and she took it, and I pulled her back up the muddy hill.
Back in the office, she lay on the floor and began moaning, crying, writhing in her body as though in pain. I sat, breathed, and silently beamed love at her. I knew Tracey required a different kind of support than the others, sitting stoically on their cushions in the hall. I remembered noticing her keeping to herself on the registration day, appearing nervous, avoiding speech and eye contact. We stayed for the full hour of the meditation period and into the next hour.
After a while, she lay quietly and we exchanged whispers: She wanted to stay on the retreat, but concentrating on the sensations in her body was putting her into a panic. This was a strict retreat that asked participants to focus intensely on inner body sensations for 10 hours a day.
Sensory Inspiration
Something dawned on me as I was thinking of how I could support her to stay on retreat. I was wearing a really itchy British Columbia natural-wool Cowichan sweater. I offered her my sweater, and suggested she focus on the sensations of itchiness on the surface of her skin, rather than focusing on the scary feelings inside the body. She did it. Over the next day or two, I would look out at the hall of meditators, and see her seated there wearing the sweater—it worked! Concentrating her attention on a different part of the body was allowing her to stay.
The next time Tracey checked in with me, I gave her my packet of Fisherman’s Friend throat lozenges. I suggested she hold her attention on the intense taste on her tongue, if another anchor point was useful. She did—and it also worked. After the retreat was over, Tracey wrote me a letter, thanking me for the silent support, and for honoring that she needed something different to focus on than what the traditional teachings offered.
My experience with Tracey taught me the necessity of providing options when it comes to sensory anchors. I have since taught mindfulness to probably over a thousand people. Each and every person will take a different way of meditating home with them.
Adapting Your Practice
Just as each of us has a unique thumbprint, each one of us has unique neural wiring, and we all experience the sensory world in our own way. So how do we honor this in our approach to mindfulness?
Remember that no one size fits all; if you try a practice and don’t connect with it, you are not a failure! You may need to try a number of different practices to find your own sensory sweet spot.
For example, in terms of sensory processing, you may be higher or lower on the interoceptive scale. Interoception refers to “feeling the feels” or noticing the sensations connected with direct feelings in the body. Some of us who are very high on the interoceptive scale may feel things way too intensely to use them as a mindfulness anchor. Here are examples of different mindfulness sensory tools for those who may process sensations intensely:
Movement: For some neurodivergent folks who experience heightened sensory perception, sitting still and paying attention to the body sensations can provoke anxiety. Moving and feeling the body pressing against something may be useful ways to get mindful without sitting still. Just a few examples: yoga poses like downward dog, pushups, jumping on a trampoline, or jumping jacks.
Drawing: Mindfulness can be more accessible for some of us if it involves creating something visual. Grab a pen and paper, close your eyes, and move your pen in sync with your breath. Breathing in, allow the pen to flow in one direction, and breathing out, let the pen flow in another direction. Continue for about 10–15 breaths, then open your eyes and take a look at your masterpiece.
Compassion Phrases: Some of us benefit from saying phrases out loud, quietly, to keep us on track and access mindful concentration. Repeat phrases of loving-kindness and compassion, like “May I be filled with calm” or “May I be held in loving awareness.” Try repeating those phrases with your eyes closed and explore how hearing your voice, or feeling the vibration of the sound, may help you.
If you come to mindfulness with trauma or other neurodivergent ways of being, consider finding a mindfulness teacher who knows how to support this. Most importantly, know that you already possess the wisdom to honor what you need in the practice.
Attention (Without the Tension)
Attention is another big part of mindfulness. What if sitting still and paying attention to the subtle cues of your breath feels impossible? If you are more on the ADHD side of neural types, you may benefit from a different way of focusing mindfully. Here are some examples:
Dual Anchor Feeling/Sound Practice: Noticing the sound of your breath at the same time as the sensations of the belly rising and falling can be helpful for some. Try: For three breaths, close your eyes, and breathe so that you can hear and feel the sound.
Photography Practice: If you are visual, try this: Take a walk, noticing the rhythm of your footsteps, and when you notice something that inspires you—stop, pause, breathe. Concentrate on your phone screen or camera viewfinder. Take the photo: a visual reminder of a mindful moment.
Journal Writing Practice: Many ADHDers and autistic meditators share with us that they appreciate keeping track of mindful experiences on paper. Use a journal that has a design you love. At a set time each day, briefly write three things you are grateful for or what is going well. Pause and breathe, letting it soak in!
