What I Learned About Mindfulness from Neurodivergent Minds

As someone with a deep interest in both mindfulness and inclusive practice, I recently undertook a small qualitative research project, for my undergraduate degree, exploring how neurodivergent individuals in Ireland experience mindfulness. Despite the fact that an estimated 4% of the Irish population have been diagnosed with one or more neurodevelopmental differences (PAI, 2024), there has been little research in this area—particularly within the context of mindfulness or meditation centres.

To explore this theme, I conducted five in-depth interviews with individuals who identify as neurodivergent. The group included people with ADHD, autism, dyslexia, and dyspraxia. The aim was simple: to listen closely to their lived experiences with mindfulness and better understand their preferences, challenges, and emotional responses. What I discovered was moving, insightful, and, in some cases, surprising.

One of the most striking findings was how mindfulness helped participants manage their emotions. They spoke about becoming less reactive, feeling more grounded, and gaining more clarity on their internal states. However, there was another side to this emotional awareness—some participants described becoming overly self-critical or frustrated, especially when they struggled to maintain a regular practice. This reminded me that mindfulness, while deeply supportive, can also bring up discomfort—something we as practitioners and facilitators must hold space for with care and compassion.

When it came to the how of practising, most preferred informal, movement-based mindfulness. Walking meditations, gentle yoga, breath awareness and mindful movement were common favourites. These practices felt more accessible than traditional sitting practices for many. Interestingly, two unexpected findings emerged here: one participant with dyslexia found expressive journaling helpful for emotional processing, and another with dyspraxia (which can affect coordination) found great benefit in mindful movement like yin yoga. These insights challenged some common assumptions and reinforced the importance of not making generalisations based on diagnosis.

The environment in which mindfulness was practised also mattered greatly. Everyone I spoke to highlighted the role of sound—some preferred silence, others appreciated gentle background music. Despite the often-solitary image of meditation, each person valued practising as part of a group. They spoke about feeling supported, motivated, and connected. That sense of shared presence—so familiar to many of us in meditation spaces—clearly held meaning for them too.

One unexpected but important theme that emerged was around body connection. While mindfulness is often spoken about as a way to connect with thoughts and emotions, several participants found that mindful movement helped them reconnect with their bodies in powerful ways. For those who often felt “stuck in their heads,” movement practices helped ground them and foster a sense of calm embodiment.

This research was small in scale, and there’s so much more to explore. But what I learned reinforces something we often speak about in our own practice: mindfulness is not one-size-fits-all. If we want our meditation spaces to be truly inclusive, we need to make room for diverse needs, preferences, and experiences. That might mean offering shorter sessions, allowing flexibility in how practices are guided, or simply listening more deeply to what each individual finds supportive.

As facilitators, teachers, and fellow practitioners, may we continue to meet people where they are—with curiosity, empathy, and openness. Because when we do, mindfulness becomes more than a practice—it becomes a shared path that welcomes everyone, just as they are.

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