Each mind moves to its own tempo. That’s not disorder — it’s design.
What changes was awareness
Every few years, someone calls it a “tsunami” of neurodiversity — as if a sudden flood of difference has swept across the world. But nothing new arrived. What changed was awareness. The current was always there; people just started hearing the sound of it.
Neurodiversity isn’t a movement or a trend. It’s the natural variation of human minds — each with its own rhythm, timing, and flow. Some steady, some syncopated, some layered and unpredictable. And like any piece of music, no single rhythm tells the whole story.
At a glance
- Person-centred therapy creates space for self-discovery through non-directive conversation and a compassionate presence.
- You’re in the driver’s seat — guided by your own pace, needs, and voice.
- I’m here to reflect and support — helping you find insight, clarity, and confidence as we explore what matters to you.
- This approach nurtures authenticity, awareness, and personal growth — helping you become more fully yourself.
The Myth of the Steady Beat
Most systems — schools, workplaces, even therapy frameworks — are built on a single rhythm: linear, predictable, measured. Productivity and emotional regulation are praised when they stay “in time.”
But not everyone’s nervous system runs on a 4/4 beat. Some surge and stall. Some loop back before they move forward. Others operate in polyrhythms — processing several tempos at once.
Neurodivergent minds often feel these shifts more vividly. ADHD may push acceleration; autism may seek stillness; trauma may overlay both. It’s not inconsistency — it’s complex timing.
To a neurotypical observer, that can look chaotic. To the person living it, it’s perfectly logical. The body and mind are just negotiating what tempo safety requires.
When Awareness Meets the Body
Awareness campaigns made difference visible. But visibility doesn’t equal understanding. After awareness comes embodiment — learning what your rhythm feels like, not just what it’s called.
For many, diagnosis feels like finally finding sheet music after years of playing by ear. Yet the goal isn’t to perform the tune society expects — it’s to rediscover your own timing.
As with time perception, rhythm isn’t fixed. It speeds and slows depending on energy, safety, and connection. What looks like “inconsistency” is often a system keeping itself in sync with changing environments.
The Tempo of Connection
Relationships live in the spaces between rhythms. A therapist who listens for pace instead of performance will notice that slowing down isn’t avoidance, it’s regulation.
A friend who understands that you cancel plans not from disinterest but from depletion is hearing the real beat beneath the noise.
Misattunement happens when one rhythm dominates — when the world demands a metronome pace and calls everything else wrong. But real connection isn’t about matching beats; it’s about staying in time enough to hear one another.
Combined Rhythms
For those with blended neurotypes — say, autistic and ADHD traits together — the rhythm can feel like multiple instruments playing at once. One demands movement, the other stillness. One wants novelty, the other routine. The challenge isn’t to silence one part; it’s to become the conductor who knows when each should lead.
That’s why the old rulebooks often fail. They try to simplify an orchestra into a solo. Real regulation isn’t finding “the right tempo” — it’s knowing how to move between them.
Regulation isn’t finding the right tempo — it’s knowing how to move between them.
Or learning the strengths and weaknesses, then with that understanding balancing it all out.
Therapy as Tuning, Not Training
Good therapy doesn’t aim to fix rhythm; it helps you tune it. It notices when a client’s speech quickens not as chaos but as cognition. It sees long pauses not as avoidance but as alignment. It tracks the nervous system like a drumbeat — following tempo changes until trust returns.
The goal isn’t to normalise, but to harmonise. To let the rhythm be what it is — sometimes staccato, sometimes smooth — and build enough safety that both therapist and client can find the shared downbeat.
Living by Your Own Meter
When you stop forcing yourself to keep time with the world, you start hearing the finer layers of your own composition. You notice when your brain hums best, when your body softens, when stillness heals and when movement saves.
That’s not self-indulgence; it’s calibration. The rhythm you live by shapes your capacity to connect, to rest, and to create.
So if someone calls it a “tsunami” of diagnoses, let them. Waves are rhythm too — they rise and fall, each returning to shore in their own time.
You were never off-beat. The world’s just learning to count differently.
