Perspective

Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who notices these things.

Like how the weeks I carry my backpack to work seem cursed with a string of minor catastrophes—spilled coffee, tense meetings, missed deadlines, that feeling of being perpetually one step behind. Then I switch to my briefcase, and suddenly there’s an inexplicable pep in my step. The sun feels brighter. People smile more. Ideas flow freely.

Is it the bag? Of course not. Probably. Maybe? My rational brain knows better, but pattern-recognition is what neurodivergent brains excel at, sometimes to our detriment.

The Ghosts of Rejection Past

The trouble is, my past experiences have clouded any sense of rational judgment. Years of being told I’m “too sensitive” or “making connections that aren’t there” have made me doubt my own perceptions. When you’ve spent a lifetime having your reality questioned, you start questioning it yourself.

Maybe that’s why I can’t help cataloging these patterns, these superstitions, these tiny causalities that neurotypical people would dismiss without a second thought.

The purple shirt that preceded three good meetings in a row.
The specific route to work that somehow makes the day flow better.
The precise wording in an email that seems to get faster responses.

But are these genuine patterns or just my brain’s desperate attempt to impose order on a chaotic world? When your nervous system is constantly overwhelmed, finding patterns—even imaginary ones—feels like building a lifeboat in a stormy sea.

The Exhaustion Economy

My typical day: Drive to work (already mentally rehearsing conversations that might happen). Calm down anxious coworkers (absorbing their emotions like a sponge). Troubleshoot everyone else’s crises (because pattern-recognition makes me good at that). Try to squeeze in actual learning or work (if there’s energy left). Drive home (reviewing every interaction, looking for hidden meanings).

And then the thought of journaling—that universally recommended practice for mental health—feels like someone suggesting I climb a mountain after running a marathon. Where in our overstimulated brains is there room for one more thing? Where in our days is there time for one more practice?

I know it would help. I know all these recommended practices would help. But knowing and having the capacity are entirely different things.

The Mindfulness Paradox

“Just practice mindfulness!” they say, as if it’s simple.

“Try meditating!” they suggest, as if I haven’t been attempting that for years.

Here’s the thing about mindfulness and meditation for the neurodivergent brain: they’re simultaneously more essential for us AND more difficult to achieve.

I remember when I first discovered meditation years ago. I felt this profound release—like a wave of relaxation traveling through my vagus nerve, calming my entire nervous system. It was transformative, life-changing, revolutionary.

And now? Trying to recapture that feeling is like attempting to climb Mount Everest wearing flip-flops. The harder I try to relax, the more elusive relaxation becomes. The more I focus on my breath, the more my brain helpfully supplies a running commentary on my breathing technique, interspersed with random song lyrics and tomorrow’s to-do list.

What Actually Works (Sometimes)

After years of trial and error, here’s what I’ve discovered about finding moments of calm in a neurodivergent life:

1. Stolen moments trump scheduled practice. Waiting for the elevator? Three deep breaths. Stopped at a red light? Quick body scan. Microwave running? Thirty seconds of focused attention on one object. These add up more effectively than trying to carve out 30 sacred minutes that my brain will rebel against.
2. Movement matters more than stillness. Walking meditation. Dancing alone in my living room. Gentle stretching. My body needs to be in motion for my mind to find stillness.
3. Nature resets what nothing else can. Ten minutes with my bare feet on grass, watching clouds move, or listening to birds communicate does more for my nervous system than an hour of formal meditation practice.
4. Different days require different approaches. Some days, I need intense sensory input—loud music, spicy food, weighted blankets. Other days, I need sensory deprivation—darkness, silence, minimal input. Learning to read my own system’s daily needs has been crucial.
5. Finding my “flow state” activities. When I’m deeply engaged in writing, cooking, or solving a complex problem, I accidentally achieve what meditation promises: present-moment awareness, quieted internal chatter, altered sense of time.

I’m not saying these approaches would work for everyone. That’s the point. The standardized, one-size-fits-all approach to mindfulness often fails those of us with non-standard nervous systems.

The Question Remains

What do you do when conventional wisdom about self-care doesn’t work for your unconventional brain? When the practices that are supposed to help feel like one more impossible task on an already impossible list?

I don’t have a definitive answer. Just a lot of questions and an ongoing experiment with one subject: myself.

Some days I carry the backpack and accept whatever strange curse comes with it. Other days I choose the briefcase and hope for that mysterious boost of confidence. And on my best days, I recognize that neither object controls my destiny—but acknowledging these patterns helps me make sense of a world that often feels designed for someone else.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “I thought I was the only one who noticed these things,” know that you’re not alone. Your patterns, superstitions, and struggles to find calm are valid. Your neurodivergent perception of the world might be different, but it’s not wrong.

And maybe that recognition is its own form of mindfulness—being present with our unique reality, without judgment, even when that reality includes backpack curses and briefcase blessings.

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Do you notice strange patterns in your daily life? What unconventional mindfulness practices work for your neurodivergent brain? Share in the comments below.

#NeurodivergentLife #ADHD #MindfulnessMyWay #PatternRecognition #SelfCareReality