How People with ADHD Can Practice Stillness Before God
A therapist once challenged me to be still before God. His assignment: go to the chapel at the nearest hospital and sit in silence for 30–60 minutes.
So I did it. Twice.
It was awful. Torturous.
My mind immediately started wandering—ruminating on unfinished tasks, people who were upset with me, all the ways I was failing as a husband, a father, and a pastor.
I felt like a spiritual failure. Why couldn't I just be still for 30 minutes?
Years later, I found out why: I have ADHD.
You're Not a spiritual failure
Any person with ADHD will tell you that sitting still with zero stimulation is torture. And there's a reason for that.
It's not a willpower problem.
It's not a faith problem.
It's not that you don't love God enough.
It's that your brain is wired differently.
The ADHD brain is wired to avoid boredom and under-stimulation. Sustained attention in quiet, unstructured environments isn't just hard for us—it can actually increase anxiety.
When I finally told my therapist that his version of stillness was making things worse, his advice was the same advice many of us have heard:
"Try harder. Keep at it. You'll get better with time."
I tried. I didn't get better. And the shame kept piling up.
Stillness Is Possible — It Just Looks Different
Does this mean people with ADHD can't practice stillness before God?
Absolutely not.
It just means our stillness looks a little different. Here are four guidelines that actually work for the ADHD brain.
Guideline 1: Start with Brevity
Short and honest beats long and miserable.
Research shows that people with ADHD benefit most from short practices that gradually lengthen over time. Starting with 30-minute blocks of silence will generate more anxiety than spiritual growth.
Start with three to five minutes.
Don't feel guilty. Don't compare yourself to the person who can sit in silence for an hour. Start where you are—and know that God is just as pleased with your three minutes as He is with their sixty.
Guideline 2: Include Gentle Movement
Gentle movement is far more powerful for us than forced stillness. This is called embodied stillness.
When we move our bodies, our brains quiet down. That low-level stimulation keeps us from the kind of under-stimulation that sends our minds scrambling for something—anything—more interesting.
Embodied stillness might look like:
Slow walking
Holding a tactile object (fabric, stone, prayer beads)
Swaying or rocking
Gentle stretching
These small movements give the brain just enough input so that your attention can actually be directed toward God.
For the ADHD brain, gentle movement protects inner stillness.
Guideline 3: Use Anchors to Steady Your Attention
No surprise here: the ADHD mind wanders—often toward unfinished tasks, unresolved conflicts, and old worries. Left unstructured, that drift can quickly spiral into anxiety, guilt, and shame.
The solution isn't to stop your mind from wandering. It's to give yourself a structured way to notice the wandering and return.
That's what anchors do.
Some anchors that work well:
A breath, a mantra, a short prayer, or a single Bible verse
Sensory cues—feeling your feet on the floor, your weight in the seat
A visual focal point—a candle, a cross, a piece of art
Your mind will wander. That's not failure. The practice is noticing it wandered, and gently bringing your attention back.
Anchored attention beats unstructured rumination every time.
Guideline 4: Be Kind to Yourself
This one matters more than most people realize.
Research on ADHD consistently points to self-compassion—non-judgment, self-acceptance, a kind inner voice—as essential to lasting change. This is true whether you're building a productivity habit or a faith practice.
Don't come to your time with God as someone who has to earn their place.
Let grace be the foundation, not the reward.
Kind curiosity will always take you further than harsh self-talk.
What This Looks Like for Me
I combined guidelines 2 and 3 and stumbled onto something that changed my mornings: coloring while I listen to my Bible plan.
Coloring gives my hands gentle movement. It anchors my attention. And it frees up my mind to actually hear Scripture in a way that passive reading never did.
At first, I felt like I was cheating God—like I wasn't giving Him my full attention. But here's the truth: I was giving Him more attention than I ever had before. I just had to stop pretending the old way was working.
The Bottom Line
Spiritual practices are a means to an end—not the end themselves. The goal is connection with God, and His ongoing work of transforming us into the image of His Son.
It took me decades to figure that out. For years I forced myself into practices that worked for everyone around me but not for my brain—and I carried a quiet shame about it the whole time.
Today, I love my time with God. I wouldn't trade it.
Don't apologize for how your brain is wired. Don't feel like you have to justify why your time with God looks different than someone else's. Figure out how you best connect with Him—and make those your practices.
