Mindfulness for ADHD and Autism:Finding What Works
Mindfulness has become one of those words we hear everywhere, especially in mental health spaces. It is often presented as something simple. Just breathe. Notice the moment. Let thoughts drift by like clouds. Yet many neurodivergent people describe a very different experience. Instead of calm and clarity, mindfulness can feel frustrating, confusing, boring, overstimulating or even activating. I hear versions of this all the time in therapy. Clients say things like “my mind won’t stop”, “the instructions made no sense”, “I can’t sit still”, “I tried but I ended up dissociating”, “it just made me more anxious”, or “apparently everyone can do this but me”. These experiences are not failures. They are reflections of how beautifully complex and individual the neurodivergent mind can be.
Mindfulness was developed within contexts that assume a certain kind of attention, sensory processing and internal rhythm. That assumption doesn’t always match the lived experience of ADHDers, autistic people, AuDHD individuals, those with trauma histories or anyone whose nervous system has its own distinctive way of moving through the world. The human mind is wonderfully weird and endlessly adaptive, and mindfulness needs to be adapted in the same way.
There are several reasons why traditional mindfulness practices can be harder for neurodivergent people, and none of them reflect a deficit of character or motivation. One common challenge relates to attention. Many ADHD brains naturally oscillate between hyperfocus and distractibility, and this dynamic flow of attention doesn’t always fit practices that ask us to sustain gentle, nonjudgmental focus for long periods. Research shows that individuals with ADHD often display altered activity in the brain’s default mode network and attentional networks, making sustained inward focus more effortful and sometimes uncomfortable. Studies such as Mitchell et al. (2017) and Zhang et al. (2018) highlight that mindfulness training can indeed be helpful for ADHD, but the starting point is simply different. These brains are capable of mindfulness; they may just need it taught in a way that aligns with their neurology.
For autistic individuals, mindfulness can collide with sensory and interoceptive differences. Interoception refers to our ability to sense internal bodily states, and research by Schauder and colleagues (2015) suggests that autistic people often process interoceptive cues differently. Being told to “focus on your breath” can feel either impossible because the sensation is faint or overwhelming because the sensation is too intense or tied to anxiety. Some autistic individuals report that closing their eyes increases anxiety rather than decreasing distraction. Others find the abstract language used in mainstream mindfulness teaching confusing or ungrounding. Mindfulness can absolutely be helpful, but only when it fits the person’s sensory and cognitive style.
Trauma adds a further layer, and many neurodivergent people also carry trauma in their histories. A quiet internal space is not always safe to enter without preparation. For people with hypervigilance, dissociation or a history of threat, inward-focused attention can open doors that feel frightening. Treleaven’s (2018) work on trauma-sensitive mindfulness reminds us that mindfulness is not inherently neutral. It interacts with our histories, nervous systems and learned survival strategies. A neurodivergent person whose system is already highly activated may not be able to drop into stillness without feeling dysregulated.
And yet, mindfulness remains one of the most robustly supported psychological tools we have. Meta-analyses across dozens of studies show improvements in emotional regulation, attention, working memory, stress management and overall wellbeing. For neurodivergent people, adaptations often mean the difference between something that feels inaccessible and something genuinely empowering. Most importantly, mindfulness is not about getting it right the first time. It is an exercise. No one expects a new runner to complete a marathon on their first attempt. Mindfulness is a training program for the mind and the nervous system. The repetition itself is part of the therapy. You are not only using it to regulate in the moment. You are gradually building new neural pathways, expanding your capacity to notice, pause, choose and remain connected to yourself even under stress. It becomes a strengthening of your internal muscles, and like all strengthening exercises it gets easier, more fluid and more beneficial with time.
The key is finding the form that fits your brain, rather than forcing your brain into the form.
So what does that look like in practice. The first thing is allowing movement rather than stillness. Many neurodivergent brains think better while moving. Steady rhythmic movement can regulate the autonomic nervous system, which makes mindful awareness more accessible. Some people find that mindful walking, rocking, stretching or even pacing allows them to anchor their attention far more effectively than sitting still. Movement-based mindfulness is supported by research in sensorimotor psychotherapy and embodied cognition. Your body becomes the entry point, rather than something you are trying to shut down.
The second is shortening the window. You do not need twenty minutes to build a skill. For many people, one minute a day is a realistic and effective starting point. In fact, shorter practices reduce overwhelm and increase the likelihood of consistency, which is exactly how skills are built. Start with micro-mindfulness: a single slow breath, a quick grounding through the feet, a pause to name one sensory experience. Over time, your brain learns to shift states more easily.
A third adaptation is choosing focus areas that feel comfortable. If paying attention to your breath is distressing, you can choose something neutral or external. Many autistic and ADHD individuals respond well to sensory anchors like noticing colours in the room, the temperature of the air on the skin or the sensation of feet pressing into the ground. These external anchors can be more regulating than internal ones, especially when interoceptive cues are confusing or dysregulated.
Some people benefit from interest-based mindfulness, which simply integrates a person’s hyperfocus or passions into a mindful framework. If you love music, your mindful practice might be spending sixty seconds noticing a single layer of sound. If you love video games, it might be bringing mindful awareness to your body before starting to play. If you love crochet or LEGO or gardening, these can become mindful rituals that cultivate presence without requiring stillness or silence. Mindfulness does not have to be formal to be effective.
A fifth approach is guided or structured mindfulness, where a voice or external stimulus provides containment for attention. This can reduce the cognitive load of keeping yourself on track. ADHD research highlights that external scaffolding strengthens follow-through. Using an app, recording your own scripts or having a therapist guide you might feel easier than doing it alone. The goal is not independence; the goal is skill building.
The sixth adaptation is using mindfulness while doing something with your hands. Neurodivergent people often regulate through tactile input. Fidget toys, drawing, kneading dough, stroking fabric or holding a warm drink can all help ground attention. This aligns with polyvagal theory research showing that predictable sensory input can support a shift into a calmer state. Mindfulness here looks like noticing the sensation of the activity as you do it. Your hands become the anchor rather than your breath.
A final adaptation is understanding that sometimes mindfulness will be inaccessible in the moment, and that is not evidence of failure. When someone is in a meltdown, shutdown or highly activated state, the nervous system has moved outside the window of tolerance. In these moments, mindfulness may need to come later, once safety is restored and the system is settling. Therapists often work from the principle of state before skill. It is not possible to practise presence when your body is in survival mode. What matters is returning to the practice once the storm passes.
Building a mindfulness habit as a neurodivergent person often involves three main steps. The first is experimenting widely and gently to discover what resonates with your brain and your sensory system. The second is treating the practice as training rather than a test. Effort counts. Repetition counts. There is no pass or fail. And the third is noticing the cumulative effect, which often shows up subtly at first. Perhaps you catch yourself taking a breath before reacting. Perhaps you recover from overwhelm a little more quickly. Perhaps you feel slightly more present when someone speaks to you. These moments reflect the strengthening of neural networks involved in attention, interoception, emotional regulation and cognitive flexibility. They are signs that the practice is working even if it still feels awkward or inconsistent.
Research in neuroplasticity supports this cumulative model. Studies by Tang, Hölzel, Lazar and others show that regular mindfulness practice changes the structure and function of brain regions involved in executive control, emotional regulation and sensory awareness. These changes can occur even with short, consistent practice. For neurodivergent individuals, this means mindfulness is not about forcing yourself into a neurotypical mould but about building internal skills that support your own unique brain to function more comfortably and sustainably.
In clinical practice, mindfulness becomes a collaborative exploration rather than a rigid set of instructions. We look at your sensory profile, your attention patterns, your triggers and your strengths. Together we experiment with different modalities until something clicks. Over time, people often discover that mindfulness is not about becoming calm. It is about becoming aware. It is about knowing yourself more intimately, becoming curious about your inner world, and building the capacity to notice your impulses and emotions without being swept away by them. It is about developing a relationship with yourself that is gentler, steadier and more compassionate.
And this is where therapy can be particularly helpful. A therapist can help you identify the barriers that make mindfulness feel hard, offer neurodiversity-affirming adaptations, and guide you through practices in a way that feels safe and personalised. Therapy provides a relational container for the practice, which can make the process less overwhelming and more sustainable. If you are curious about building mindfulness in a way that truly fits your neurodivergent mind, you can book an appointment with one of our psychologists to explore it further and find an approach that feels like it was designed for you.
