Slow down, you move too fast. . .

Slow down, you move too fast. . . .

Some more thoughts about the counter-intuitive benefits of slowing down for neuroemergent people: i.e. ADHD, autistic, and other non-normative neurotypes.

A few days ago I posted about the counterintutive benefits of slowing down for neuroemergent people, and I got some great questions and comments that I thought I would try to answer and share.

First: What does neuroemergent mean?

This is a word I coined as an alternative to neurodivergent. Because I believe that ADHD, autism, and other non-normative neurotypes are not disordered, merely different, I wanted a word that describes what we are, rather than what we are not, i.e. what we diverge from. I am very taken with the the concept of "emergence," especially as developed in adrienne maree brown's book Emergent Strategy. I explain further in my free ebook on Time, link in bio.

Sometimes I still use the word neurodivergent, especially when focusing on the ways our neurotypes do in fact diverge from current social norms, especially when that divergence is disabling for us. 

What exactly do you mean by slowing down?

What does that even look like?

Originally, when I wrote my first post, I meant literally slowing my body down. For example, if I am hanging laundry, and already my mind is racing toward the next thing, my impulse is to work faster so I can get on with whatever is going on inside my brain. Now, when I feel that impulse to speed up, instead, I deliberately slow down. I take one piece of laundry out of the washer (in my studio) and carry it to the line (in the hall) and hang it up. Then slowly walk back to the machine and take out the next piece.

Another example: 

How many times have I dashed out of the house—mind racing, or because I'm running late— without my keys, or my wallet, or some other important thing? Ditto for leaving the car.

I now make it my practice to stop at every threshold—like literally stop—and not only do a mental checklist, but literally touch each thing: keys, wallet, phone.

The metaphor of the woodworker really resonated for many of you, as it did for me (h/t to T @dailydisfunctionn), and you offered a lot of your own examples—not just as metaphor, but actual practices that help you slow your body down: tai-chi, handwork like sewing and knitting, yoga and meditation. As Emily @foodartlife commented to me, those hand-work hobbies we often gravitate to are especially good because they slow us down but are still super tactile and stimmy.

So the first thing I mean by slowing down is literally (not metaphorically), in the moment, moment by moment, slowing down the movements of your body.

But there are other, slightly more metaphorical, ways of slowing down too. And I think this may begin to get at another question: 

How does slowing down our bodies synch with all the movement in our minds? What does that look like in practice?

I think a lot of "maladaptive" neuroemergent practices —daydreaming, rabbit holes, procrastination—are actually the opposite.

I think these practices become maladaptive when they get so associated with shame that they stop serving their purpose of mindfulness. Indeed, I think it is shame that makes our minds race in the first place.

Our minds are busy—thinking outside the box, making weird connections, seeing visions, dreaming dreams. . . . but they don't always need to feel like they are racing. That rushing, out-of-control, desperate feeling we so often have inside our brains—the feeling that makes us rush around on the outside as well, leaving behind messes and missed appointments and lost items in its wake. . . . 

That is not an intrinsic characteristic of our brains. 

That is our brains on shame.

This brings me to another question:

What do you do in the stillness? Do you take notes? Journal? Make lists?

I think engaging in any sort of mindfulness practice in the midst of slowing down, in the moments of your body's stillness, is great, if that is helpful to you. Remember, my motto is "whatever works."

But I think for me, anyway, slowing down, being still is not so much as doing as it is about being. It's about being in a different sort of way than I've been trained—and shamed—to be. It feels a little like magic, actually, the way everything is transformed in that stillness, without my having to do anything at all, except give myself permission to be slow and still.

It's ok to kick down the cobblestones, looking for fun and . . .

feeling groovy!

(with apologies to Simon & Garfunkel)