I’ve felt like I’ve been meditating wrong my whole life.

Or, more accurately, the world’s most popular forms of meditation—sitting still, closing your eyes, doing nothing—have always made me feel like I was either failing, fidgeting, or falling apart.

It turns out, I’m not alone.

There’s a growing recognition that traditional meditation practices might be designed for neurotypical brains—those who are comfortable and returning to their natural state of stillness, silence, and internal focus. But for folks like me—those of us who are wired a little differently, who some lovingly call neurospicy—this form of practice can feel like trying to calm a wild horse by locking it in a cage.

It doesn’t soothe; it agitates.

So let’s name this for what it is:

Meditation as we know it isn’t universally accessible.

Neurodiversity is an umbrella term that includes a wide range of brain styles—autism, ADHD, sensory processing differences, dyslexia, OCD, Tourette’s, and more. It celebrates the reality that there’s no single “normal” brain, and that different ways of perceiving, processing, and moving through the world are not deficits—they’re differences.

But differences in wiring often mean differences in what calms us, focuses us, or helps us feel safe enough in our bodies to reach a flow state.

Which brings us to the big question:

If stillness-based meditation doesn’t work for some of us, can we reach the same outcome through a different doorway?

I believe we can.

In fact, I believe that the outcome of meditation—calm, clarity, nervous system regulation, a feeling of connection and/or spaciousness—is still available to neurodiverse people. We just need to get there through a different path. One that works with our brains and bodies, not against them.

I remember the first time I tried to meditate “the right way.”

It was in a yoga studio in Ashland, Oregon—warm wood floors, sage smoke in the air, soft flute music playing. I sat cross-legged, closed my eyes, and waited for the bliss to begin.

Instead, my body screamed.

My foot fell asleep and my knee felt like it was dislocating. My thoughts exploded into a fireworks show of unfinished conversations, grocery lists, childhood trauma, and Instagram captions. I felt like I was hyperventilating and couldn’t breathe “correctly,” and I became so aware of every sound in the room that I started cataloging them like a birdwatcher on amphetamines.

After eight minutes, I snuck out and cried in my car.

I tried again and again, even at one point employing yoga teachers in a studio space I managed. And I never, ever—not even once—felt like it connected me to anything but my own inadequacies.

For years, I thought I just wasn’t spiritual enough. Or disciplined enough. Or healed enough.

Turns out—I was just autistic and ADHD with sensory processing disorder (SPD), dyscalcula, dysgraphia, and dyslexic with a hearty dose of CPTSD, plus a delightful grab bag of invisible illnesses (the co-occurring evil trifecta of EDS, MCAS, and POTS) These diagnoses finally came years after I had “given up.”

Traditional meditation wasn’t designed for my kind of brain.

Many neurodivergent people experience meditation as deeply uncomfortable—not because we’re “bad at it,” but because it often amplifies the exact challenges we live with every day:

>> Sensory overload: Silence isn’t always peaceful. It can make the creaks, ticks, and internal sensations louder.

>> Executive dysfunction: The “simple” instruction to sit still and do nothing can feel like a vague, impossible task with no anchor or feedback loop.

>> Hyper-awareness: For some of us, closing our eyes increases anxiety. It heightens internal noise and leaves us very vulnerable for flashbacks.

>> Body discomfort: Stillness can be physically painful, especially for those with sensory sensitivities, trauma-stored tension, and/or connective tissue issues like hyper-mobility.

>> Racing thoughts or emotional flooding: Without a stabilizing or engaging stimulus, the mind doesn’t quiet—it accelerates sometimes to such dizzying speeds that we become extremely dysregulated.

So when we’re told that this is the path to enlightenment, peace, or healing—and we can’t seem to get there—many of us either force ourselves to endure it or give up entirely. Neither option honors the truth of our nervous systems.

But what if the problem isn’t us?

What if the practice itself needs to evolve?

Four Alternative Gateways to Flow for Neurodiverse Minds

If sitting still and closing your eyes makes you want to crawl out of your skin, you’re not broken—you just need a different kind of portal. Below are four common neurospicy challenges, each paired with intentional, rhythmic practices that meet your nervous system where it already is and gently guide it toward coherence.

1. When Your Brain is Spinning and You Need to Match the Speed

Hyperactivity, racing thoughts, or intense kinetic energy don’t need to be shut down, they need to be harmonized.

These practices let your body move with rhythm rather than against it, helping your nervous system entrain to something steady:

>> Trampoline rebounding

>> Weighted hula hooping

>> Rowing (machine or boat)

>> Ecstatic dance to music, especially binaural beats

>> Drumming

Think of these like letting a wild horse run instead of trying to tether it. You’re not suppressing energy, you’re syncing with it.

2. When You Feel Fragmented and Need Gentle Repetition to Reintegrate

Overwhelm, disorganization, and emotional scatter ironically can stem from a lack of structure or too much structure. These repetitive, soothing practices create a containment field, helping you come back to yourself one loop at a time:

>> Rocking in a hammock or rocking chair

>> Spinning slowly on a swivel chair or rotating stool

>> Labyrinth walking with a mantra

>> Circular drawing or spiral doodling or coloring

>> Knitting or crochet with chunky yarn (once a practiced skill)

These are the quiet rituals of self-repair. They’re rhythmic enough to bypass executive dysfunction and calming enough to rebuild coherence.

3. When You’re Overstimulated and Need Soft Sensory Saturation

Burnout, shutdown, or post-meltdown states often call for gentle immersion, not more withdrawal.

These practices provide just enough sensation to soothe the system without overwhelming it:

>> Floating in a pool or tub with ears underwater

>> Humming/toning/chanting in an echoey bathroom or resonant space

>> Watching fire or candle flame flicker

>> Gazing at rippling water, crystal or light reflections

Like a sensory hug, these experiences saturate without smothering, helping your body trust that it’s safe enough to release tension and return to a regulated state.

4. When You’re Dissociated or Disconnected and Need Awe to Re-Anchor

For moments of numbness, blankness, or psychic drifting—what you may need is not focus, but wonder.

This one’s simple:

>> Watching the flight of bugs, butterflies, or birds (especially while sitting or laying on grass or dirt)

There’s something sacred about following the erratic beauty of another life form. It reorients your attention gently, like a string pulling you back into presence.

These practices aren’t spiritual bypass or productivity processes. They’re certainly not “life hacks” for people who can’t sit still. They’re adaptive meditations for people whose nervous systems don’t always fit the mold—and shouldn’t have to.

For those of us who are sensitive, sensory-aware, and neurodivergent, even the smallest variables can make or break a practice. Before deciding that meditation isn’t for you, it’s worth asking:

Is it the practice that doesn’t work?

Or the environment it was delivered in?

For some, closing the eyes triggers panic.

For others, it’s the buzz of a refrigerator, the glare of overhead LEDs, or the scratch of a shirt tag that makes calm impossible.

Maybe you need to face a wall or open a window.

Maybe you need a weighted blanket.

Maybe it only works if your cat is on your chest and you can hear the sound of rain (IRL or on a youtube playlist).

These things matter.

Stillness or silence aren’t the goal—connection to flow state and a feeling of peace is what we’re after regardless of how it looks. Meditation that achieves this can happen at midnight, in a rave twirling in motion, just as it can happen seated as a Bodhisattva-in-training. You don’t need to contort yourself into someone else’s version of peace.

You get to build your own portal.

So here’s your invitation:

Try one of these practices.

Tweak it. Reset it. Modify it until it feels like an exhale instead of an obligation.

Then come back and tell me what worked.

Your way in might just be someone else’s way home.

~