So, there I was, staring at the same bloody page in my book for what felt like the 837th time, when my mind decided to casually remind me that I forgot to text Mum back about Sunday lunch.
And did I remember to pay the Telephone Bill?
And wasn't there something important I was supposed to do yesterday?
Oh right—FOCUS ON THE MEDITATION.
💭 Why is this so hard? Other people just... do things.
They sit and chant and their brains don't ping around like a caffeinated pinball.
This, my friends, is what happens when Buddhism collides with an ADHD brain. It's been 25 years since I first encountered Nichiren Daishonin Buddhism, and about 15 of those years were spent in a spectacular cycle of enthusiasm followed by forgetfulness, followed by guilt, followed by renewed determination... rinse and repeat.
The Beginning (Or: That Time I Tried to Fix My Life with Buddhism)
I found Nichiren Buddhism quite by accident—if you believe in accidents, which after 25 years of Buddhist practice, I'm not sure I do anymore. I was in my twenties, gloriously disorganised, perpetually late, and my flat looked like it had been ransacked by particularly untidy burglars who had also, apparently, stolen my ability to complete anything I started.
A friend invited me to a meeting. "It'll centre you," she said.
💭 Centre me? Mate, I don't even know where the bloody centre is.
But I went. And there was something about the chanting of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo that resonated with me instantly. The rhythm. The collective energy. The simple yet profound focus on the Lotus Sutra and the belief that we all possess Buddhahood—that perfect state of being that's been there all along, just buried under heaps of my unmade to-do lists and forgotten appointments.
The 15-Year Gap (AKA: My Buddhist Gap Year... Times 15)
Here's the thing about having ADHD and trying to establish a spiritual practice: consistency is about as elusive as matching socks in my laundry. For 15 years, I practiced in bursts. Enthusiastic, passionate, all-consuming bursts.
I'd chant for hours, attend every meeting, read Nichiren's writings until my eyes burned. Then... nothing. For months. Sometimes a year or more.
💭 Why can't I just be normal? Why is daily practice so impossible for my brain?
I remember sitting in meetings, looking around at everyone who seemed to have their spiritual shit together, while I was just trying to remember if I'd turned the hob off before leaving home.
I'd go back with renewed determination.
"This time will be different," I'd tell myself, with all the conviction of someone who has told themselves this exact same thing approximately 749 times before.
💬 "I'm really going to make it stick this time," I'd tell my local Buddhist group members, who would smile encouragingly while probably thinking, "Sure, love. See you again in 8 months when you remember we exist."
The Turning Point: When Buddhism Actually Met Me Where I Was
About 10 years ago, something changed. Not dramatically. Not in a lightning-bolt-from-the-sky kind of way. But in a quiet, persistent way that somehow managed to penetrate my ricocheting thoughts.
I started reading about how Buddhism views suffering and impermanence. And suddenly, I realised something profound: my ADHD brain was not an obstacle to enlightenment—it was simply another expression of the impermanent, ever-changing nature of reality.
Anicca—impermanence. My fluctuating attention? Impermanent. My overwhelming emotions? Impermanent. My inability to stick with a practice? Also impermanent.
Instead of fighting against my brain's natural patterns, I started to observe them with curiosity rather than judgment. And in that observation, I found something approaching acceptance.
💭 What if I don't need fixing? What if all those years of inconsistent practice weren't failures but just... how my particular path looks?
Finding My Rhythm (Finally, After 25 Bloody Years)
It's been about 10 years since that realisation, and I now practice Nichiren Buddhism daily. DAILY. Did you hear that? EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
For someone whose brain once categorised "daily" activities alongside "optional suggestions" or "things other people manage to do," this is nothing short of miraculous.
But here's what changed: I stopped trying to practice Buddhism like a neurotypical person would.
My practice doesn't look like sitting in perfect seiza position for an hour of pristine, focused chanting. It often involves:
Setting 17 reminders to actually do it
Chanting while pacing around my flat because sitting still makes my brain itch
Breaking it into smaller sessions throughout the day
Occasionally having to start over because I realised I'd been making a shopping list in my head for the past 5 minutes
And you know what? It still counts.
The Science Bit: Why This Actually Makes Sense
The research shows why Buddhism and particularly mindfulness practices can be helpful for ADHD brains, even if we come to it differently. Studies have found that mindfulness meditation can help regulate the default mode network (DMN)—the part of our brain that's overactive in ADHD, making it hard to focus.
💭 So all those years when I thought I was rubbish at Buddhism, my brain was actually being rewired? Well, that's a plot twist.
Meditation also impacts the prefrontal cortex—the exact region that's underactive in our ADHD brains. It's like my daily Nichiren practice has been quietly working on the precise circuits that needed the most help.
The Real Impact: Beyond the Fancy Neuroscience
But the true change hasn't been neurological—it's been in how I view myself. Nichiren Buddhism has given me:
Self-compassion: Instead of berating myself for forgetting to chant, I've learned to gently redirect myself back to practice.
Acceptance: My brain works differently, and that's not a moral failing—it's just how I'm wired.
Community: Finding other Buddhists who understand neurodiversity has been life-changing.
Purpose: The Buddhist concept of helping others find their own enlightenment gives my scattered energy a focus.
Rhythm: Chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo provides an anchor that my drifting mind can return to.
The Messy Reality (Because It's Still Me We're Talking About)
Let me be clear: I haven't magically transformed into some zen master of focus and organisation. I still lose my keys approximately thrice daily. I still sometimes find myself halfway through chanting and realise I've mentally redecorated my entire flat.
But the difference is I no longer see these moments as failures. They're just... moments. Impermanent, like everything else.
💭 Buddhism hasn't "fixed" my ADHD. It's taught me to stop trying to fix what isn't broken.
I practice every day now, but "every day" looks different depending on, well, the day.
Sometimes it's an hour of focused chanting and study.
Sometimes it's 10 minutes squeezed in before I dash out the door (late, obviously). And sometimes it's chanting while I fold laundry because multitasking is my brain's love language.
What I Wish I'd Known Earlier
If I could go back and tell my younger self anything about this journey, it would be this:
Your path to consistent practice won't look like anyone else's, and that's perfectly OK.
Buddhism isn't about forcing your square-peg brain into a round-hole practice. It's about finding the truth that resonates with YOU, in all your neurodivergent glory.
And most importantly:
The fact that it took you 15 years to establish a consistent practice doesn't mean you wasted 15 years. Those were 15 years of learning how YOUR brain connects with Buddhism.
Where I Am Now
Twenty-five years after first encountering Nichiren Buddhism, and 10 years into a daily practice that actually works for my brain, I can honestly say this path has transformed my life.
Not by making me less ADHD (still very much that, thanks).
Not by making me perfectly organised (my desk would like a word).
Not by removing all suffering (still human, last I checked).
But by teaching me that my neurodivergent brain isn't an obstacle to enlightenment—it's simply another path to the same destination.
And as Nichiren Daishonin himself wrote, "Winter always turns to spring."
Even if, in my case, winter lasted 15 years and spring arrived wearing mismatched socks and 10 minutes late to the party.
💭 But hey—at least I showed up.
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