ADHD and the Mindful Path: Making Mindfulness Work for Neurodivergent Brains

Reflections on ADHD and the Mindful Path with Merriam Sarcia Saunders, LMFT (Completed 2026)

I decided to take this course because I work with a lot of clients with ADHD and because I have ADHD myself. I am always on the look out for more understanding and compassion for my own experience. Over the years I've noticed something that has always felt a little contradictory. Mindfulness comes up over and over again as one of the most evidence-based tools for ADHD, yet many of the people I work with have had experiences where mindfulness actually left them feeling discouraged. I can say directly that I have struggled for years with even the idea that mindfulness may be helpful to my mind.

The instructions often sound simple enough. Clear your mind. Sit still. Focus on your breath. Just Be. (Just do it! My brain always wanted to scream in response.)

For many ADHD brains, though, those directions can feel almost impossible to follow. Instead of feeling calmer, they leave people wondering why they can't seem to do something that everyone else describes as relaxing. I've certainly had moments where I was sure I was somehow "doing mindfulness wrong."

This course helped me understand why that disconnect exists.

Rather than asking people with ADHD to force themselves into mindfulness practices that weren't designed with their brains in mind, the training focused on adapting mindfulness so it actually works. That felt much more aligned with how I already think about therapy. Good interventions shouldn't require someone to become a different person before they can benefit from them. They should meet people where they are.

Reading through the research also helped deepen something I've experienced personally. I know what it feels like to care deeply about something and still struggle to begin. I know what it's like to have every intention of focusing, only to notice my attention drifting somewhere else before I even realize it happened. I also know how quickly those moments can become stories about laziness, lack of motivation, or not trying hard enough. These messages can come from inside use just as much, if not more, than from outside of us.

For me, this course wasn't about discovering mindfulness for the first time. I have been on this journey for years now. It was about understanding why it sometimes hadn't worked before, and learning how it could become a practice grounded in curiosity rather than self-criticism.

Understanding the ADHD Brain Changes the Conversation

One of the things I appreciated most about the course was that it started with the science.

So much of the conversation around ADHD still gets framed in terms of effort or motivation. We hear messages that people simply need to become more organized, more disciplined, or more consistent. But neuroscience paints a much different picture.

Executive functioning, things like planning, organizing, emotional regulation, working memory, and time management, relies heavily on the prefrontal cortex. That area of the brain also depends on neurotransmitters like dopamine and norepinephrine to function efficiently. Research has consistently shown that ADHD brains often have differences in these systems, including lower activation during executive functioning tasks and a slower developmental timeline.

None of that means someone with ADHD is less intelligent or less capable. It means the brain is often working much harder to accomplish the same tasks. That distinction matters.

For me, learning more about the neurobiology has been surprisingly compassionate. It reframes years of asking myself, "Why can't I just do this?" into a much gentler question: "What support does my brain need here?"

That shift doesn't remove responsibility. We still have to find strategies that work, practice new skills, and build routines. But it does remove the moral judgment that so often gets attached to ADHD.

As a therapist, I think that's one of the most healing things we can offer. When people begin to understand that their struggles have an explanation instead of assuming they reflect a personal failure, shame often starts to loosen its grip. And in my experience, reducing shame is rarely separate from the therapeutic work. It's often one of the things that makes change possible in the first place.

Are We Treating ADHD, or the Emotional Impact of Living with It?

I found myself thinking about how often people come into therapy wanting help with focus or organization, but those aren't always the things causing the most pain.

More often, I hear people talk about the years they've spent feeling like they were constantly falling behind. They describe wondering why things that seem easy for other people take so much effort. Many have developed perfectionism, anxiety, or an incredibly harsh inner critic after years of missed deadlines, forgotten appointments, interrupted conversations, or being told they just needed to "try harder."

Those experiences leave marks, they shape our responses to the world. By the time many adults with ADHD arrive in therapy, they're carrying much more than executive functioning challenges. They're carrying shame. They're carrying stories about themselves that have been repeated for years. They may believe they're unreliable, lazy, selfish, careless, or somehow "too much." Those beliefs often become just as limiting as the ADHD itself.

I recognize pieces of that experience in my own life as well. I know what it feels like to overcompensate because you're worried you'll forget something important. The fear of “always dropping balls” or “failing” again can keep me vigilant. I know the exhaustion of trying to stay one step ahead of your brain. I know how easy it is to confuse inconsistency with failure, even when you're working incredibly hard.

That's one of the reasons I appreciate approaching ADHD through a compassionate lens. Learning practical skills absolutely matters, but so does healing the relationship we have with ourselves. Sometimes the work isn't simply learning a new planner system or improving time management. Sometimes it's learning that you were never broken in the first place.

For me, the two go hand in hand. We need practical strategies, but we also need to soften the shame that has accumulated around needing those strategies.

Mindfulness Isn't About Having a Quiet Mind

For a long time, I assumed mindfulness simply wasn't for me.

I'd sit down to meditate, notice my thoughts racing in every direction, remember three things I forgot to do that day, start planning dinner, realize I'd lost the breath completely, and conclude that I wasn't very good at mindfulness.

Maybe you've had a similar experience.

One of the biggest gifts this course offered was helping me realize that I had misunderstood what mindfulness was actually asking me to do.

Mindfulness isn't about emptying your mind. It isn't about forcing yourself to concentrate perfectly or preventing your attention from wandering. In fact, wandering attention is part of being human, and it's certainly part of having ADHD.

The practice is noticing.

Noticing that your attention drifted.

Noticing that frustration showed up.

Noticing that your mind started planning tomorrow's grocery list halfway through a breathing exercise.

And then gently bringing yourself back without turning that moment into evidence that you've failed.

That shift feels small, but I think it's profound.

When mindfulness is presented as another performance to succeed at, it can unintentionally reinforce the very shame many people with ADHD are already carrying. But when it's offered as an opportunity to practice awareness with kindness, it becomes something entirely different.

The course also reinforced that mindfulness isn't limited to sitting silently on a meditation cushion. For many neurodivergent people, movement, sensory experiences, and shorter practices are actually much more accessible.

Mindfulness might look like taking a walk and paying attention to the sounds around you. It might be noticing your feet on the floor before opening your laptop. It might be a brief body scan while you're waiting for your coffee to brew or taking three intentional breaths before responding to an email.

The goal isn't to force your brain into stillness.

It's to become a little more familiar with how your mind naturally works.

For me, that's where mindfulness starts to become less about controlling attention and more about building a kinder relationship with it.

Mindfulness That Works for ADHD

One of the practical takeaways from this course was that mindfulness doesn't have to look the same for everyone.

For years before I even tried it, I pictured mindfulness as sitting perfectly still, breathing quietly, and somehow keeping my attention from wandering. If that was the expectation, it makes sense that I felt like I wasn't very good at it and that I would ultimately “fail” at the task given me. (Honestly, why would I want to start something I already felt destined to fail at?)

This course offered a much more flexible understanding that I wish someone had told me a decade ago.

For someone with ADHD, mindfulness might involve movement instead of stillness. It might mean choosing practices that are brief enough to feel approachable, changing them often enough to keep them engaging, or using sensory experiences to anchor attention. Walking meditation, body scans, box breathing, spending time in nature, listening to a short guided practice, or simply pausing to notice what your body is feeling can all be forms of mindfulness.

What matters isn't finding the "perfect" practice. It's finding practices that work with your brain instead of against it.

That idea has shaped how I think about mindfulness both personally and professionally. I rarely encourage clients to force themselves into a practice that feels inaccessible simply because it's the version they think they're supposed to do. Instead, we get curious together.

What helps you slow down?

When do you naturally feel present?

Where does your attention settle most easily?

Those questions often lead us somewhere much more useful than trying to fit ourselves into someone else's idea of what mindfulness should look like.

I've also found it helpful to think about mindfulness as a skill rather than a destination. Some days it's easier than others. Some days my attention wanders every few seconds. Other days I notice myself settling more naturally into the present moment. Neither experience means I'm succeeding or failing. They're simply different moments of practice, they are a chance for me to get curious. For me, that shift from performance to curiosity has made all the difference.

Self-Compassion Might Be the Most Important Part

If there's one theme that quietly ran through the entire course, it was compassion. (One of my favorite words.)

Not as something extra. Not as a reward once you've learned enough skills. As part of the foundation.

Many people with ADHD have spent years receiving messages about what they should be doing differently. Even when those messages are well-intentioned, they can accumulate into a belief that something is fundamentally wrong with the way their brain works. Over time, that internal dialogue often becomes far harsher than anything someone else could say.

I think that's one of the reasons mindfulness can sometimes backfire. If we're paying closer attention to ourselves but responding with criticism every time our attention wanders, we've simply created another place where shame gets to speak.

The course reminded me that awareness and compassion really need to go together. Noticing is important, but what happens after we notice matters just as much.

Do we respond with frustration? Do we tell ourselves we're failing again? Or can we practice responding with the same patience we might offer someone we care about?

That isn't always easy, and I know it certainly hasn't been for me. Like many people with ADHD, I've spent a lot of my life tying my sense of worth to my productivity. If I could get everything done, stay organized, and keep up with all the moving pieces, I felt okay. When I couldn't, it was/is easy to slip into self-criticism.

I'm still working on untangling those two things. Some weeks I notice that I've made a lot of progress, and other weeks I catch myself falling back into old patterns. But when I step back and look at the bigger picture, the overall direction has been toward slowly decoupling my worth from what I accomplish in a day.

I don't think mindfulness has magically changed that. What it has given me is a way to notice those moments with a little more compassion and a little less judgment. Instead of immediately believing the story that I'm not doing enough, I have a better chance of recognizing it for what it is: a familiar narrative that I don't always have to follow. I've had to learn that struggling with executive functioning doesn't say anything about my intelligence, my character, or how much I care. Those lessons weren't things I learned overnight, and they're still practices I return to.

I think that's part of why I appreciate bringing mindfulness into therapy. Not because I want people to become calmer or more productive, although those things can certainly happen, but because mindfulness creates opportunities to relate to ourselves differently.

When we can notice our experiences without immediately judging them, something begins to soften.

Instead of asking, "What's wrong with me?"

We start asking, "What do I need right now?"

For me, that question feels much more likely to lead toward healing.

What This Course Strengthened in My Practice

One of the things I appreciate most about continuing education is that it doesn't always teach me something completely new. Sometimes it gives language and research to ideas I've already begun to notice through my work with clients and through my own experience.

It strengthened my understanding of the neuroscience behind ADHD, particularly the role of executive functioning and emotional regulation. It reinforced that mindfulness can be a meaningful support for many people with ADHD, but only when it's adapted thoughtfully rather than presented as another way to "try harder."

It also reminded me that therapy isn't just about reducing symptoms. It's about understanding the person who has been living with those symptoms, often for years, and the stories they've had to tell themselves along the way.

That feels especially important with ADHD.

Many adults don't simply arrive carrying executive functioning challenges. They arrive carrying years of self-doubt, comparison, perfectionism, and the belief that they're somehow falling short. Understanding the neurobiology matters, but so does helping people rebuild a kinder relationship with themselves.

I also appreciated that the course continued to reinforce something that has become increasingly important in my own practice: flexibility. There isn't one right way to practice mindfulness. For some people it may be meditation. For others it might be movement, gardening, walking the dog, knitting, washing dishes, noticing the warmth of a cup of tea, or simply pausing long enough to recognize what their body is trying to tell them.

As a therapist, I hope clients leave our work together with more than just new coping skills. I hope they leave with a different relationship to themselves. More curiosity. More self-understanding. A little less shame. Mindfulness, when it's taught this way, can become part of that process.

Not because it makes ADHD disappear.

But because it helps us notice our experiences without immediately deciding what they say about us.

A Personal Reflection

One of the reasons I continue taking courses like this is because our understanding of ADHD continues to evolve. Every year we learn more about neurodivergent brains, executive functioning, and what actually helps people thrive. I want my practice to keep evolving alongside that knowledge.

Living with ADHD also means this learning is personal. I know what it feels like to care deeply about something and still struggle to begin. I know what it feels like to have your attention pulled in ten directions and to wonder why tasks that seem simple for others can feel surprisingly difficult.

Mindfulness hasn't "fixed" that for me. Instead, it's slowly changed the relationship I have with those moments. Rather than immediately assuming something is wrong with me, I'm learning to respond with more curiosity and a little more kindness. That shift hasn't happened overnight, and I imagine it will always be something I practice.

That's ultimately what I hope to offer my clients too. Not perfection. Not another strategy for trying harder. But a space where they can understand themselves a little more deeply, soften some of the shame they've been carrying, and discover ways of working with their brains instead of constantly feeling like they're working against them.

Digging Deeper

If this post resonated with you, you might also enjoy exploring some of these related topics. Many of these ideas build on one another and reflect the way I think about therapy: with curiosity, compassion, and an appreciation for how our brains, bodies, and environments all shape our experiences.

Learn More

ADHD & Neurodivergence
Explore a neurodiversity-affirming approach to understanding attention, executive functioning, and self-compassion.

Mindfulness
Mindfulness isn't about having a perfectly quiet mind. It's about noticing our experience with curiosity and learning how to work with our nervous system instead of against it.

Anxiety & Panic
ADHD and anxiety often overlap. Learn more about how racing thoughts, overwhelm, and nervous system activation can interact.

Trauma Therapy
Trauma changes how our brains and bodies respond to the world. Understanding those patterns can help us replace self-blame with self-understanding.

Internal Family Systems (IFS)
IFS offers another way of understanding the many different "parts" of ourselves, including the perfectionist, the inner critic, the procrastinator, and the part that desperately wants to get things right.

Reducing Shame in Care: Trauma, Addiction, and Meeting People Where They Are (Blog Post)
Many of the same principles that support addiction recovery also support ADHD care: reducing shame, meeting people where they are, and recognizing that behaviors often make sense when we understand what they're trying to accomplish.

Technology, AI, and Ethical Practice (Blog Post)
A reflection on using technology thoughtfully in therapy, including my own experience of using AI as an accessibility tool while maintaining strong ethical boundaries.

Interested in Working Together? Contact Me

If you're looking for a therapist who understands ADHD from both a professional and lived perspective, I'd love to connect. My approach combines neuroscience, mindfulness, self-compassion, and practical strategies while recognizing that there isn't one "right" way for every brain to work.