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The Neurodivergent Experience
Mindful Mondays With Ashley Bentley: Winds, Waves & Resilience: Nature’s Lessons in Adaptation
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Start Your Week With Presence & Purpose
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The neurodivergent Experience Podcast presents Mindful Mondays. I'm your host Ashley Bentley, and this is your weekly reset for presence, purpose and peace. And if you've been following all along, this month you'll know we've been exploring nature as teacher, nature as healer. A month long journey into how the natural world reflects our inner world. We've walked off the storm, we've learned to let go, and we've practiced allowing. And now, as autumn deepens, we close this month by looking at one of nature's most profound resilience, the art of bending. Flowing and rising again. This episode will move with the winds, we'll sing with the cows, and we'll Rest under the Stars will explore how the neurodivergent brain and body can find safety and flexibility in life's inevitable transitions, drawing wisdom from the rhythms of the natural world. And I want to say a big thank you, truly, for all of the messages, the metaphors, and the reflections that you've all shared throughout this series. One message in particular, from a listener named Alex, touched me deeply, and I'll share her words a little later. But first, let's start here, right where the wind meets the soul. So resilience is often described as the ability to bounce back. But what if it's not about bouncing at all? What if it's more about bending? Like the willow that survives the storm not because it stands firm, but because it knows how to sway. We often imagine resilience as grit or toughness, but in truth, nature shows us it's far more nuanced than that. Trees grow strong through the wind's Dance the march. Gales bend and flex them, coaxing the SAP upward toward the light. The same way our own lymphatic system awakens through movement, rising within us to bring nourishment and flow. And storms, as violent as they can be, always pass, making way for blue skies. In my own life, I've noticed how transitions test the nervous system, especially for the neurodivergent mind and body. We crave predictability, patterns and safety. Yet life insists on change. Doesn't stretches us. It asks us to evolve. And each time it does, we're offered a choice. To resist and break or to yield and grow. And let's remember that our nervous systems are designed to move with life's rhythms. Every inhale is an arrival. Every exhale is a letting go. We are reborn. Each moment, every moment, is a rebirth. Even the heart, the literal pulse of our existence, expands and contracts over and over again. If we can learn to mirror that rhythm emotionally, we discover a form of peace that's alive and flexible. So we've spent a lot of this month really celebrating the beauty of nature, the easy beauty of nature, the kind that soothes us and grounds us and opens our hearts. But of course, nature can also be harsh. Sometimes it stings, sometimes it pushes back. And so the question becomes, how can we let that harshness teach us, too? Because nature is not only gentle, it's honest. It gives us contrast. It shows us both the calm and the chaos and invites us to find our balance within it. And that's where real resilience begins. Let's take, for example, wind. It's invisible, but its effects are unmistakable. You can feel it on your skin. You can see it dance in the trees. You can hear its song through the leaves. It's the great sculptor of nature, shaping dunes and spreading seeds, carving cliffs, cleansing the air. And sometimes, life's winds feel fierce. If you've ever been to the Isle of Man, where I live, you know the wind here doesn't politely whisper. It roars. It rushes down the hills, tumbles through the streets, and slams into you with a kind of honesty that only nature has. And I have a confession to make. I can't stand the wind. And yet I've chosen to live on one of the windiest little islands in the world. My hair is long and very fine. And when the wind picks up, it whips around like it has a mind of its own. It gets in my face, into my lip balm. It's chaos. And the sound of it rushing across my ears can be deafening. For Me, it's not just a mild annoyance. It's overstimulating. And there have been times that it's led straight to an autistic meltdown. But I've learned. I've adapted. These days, I wear my hair in a tight bun, tucked under a hat. And over the hat, I wear earmuffs. And yes, even in summer, if it's windy, I've got my hat and my earmuffs on. Do I look a bit ridiculous? Probably. Do I care? Absolutely not, because it saves me from a sensory nightmare. And this is just one example of what resilience can look like. Not forcing myself to toughen up, but learning what I need to feel safe and comfortable so that I can actually enjoy the world around me. And where I live on a rural country lane, it's especially exposed. I love my gardening, but when I first moved here, it was a crash course in humility. I quickly learned that anything not firmly secured was likely to go flying. And let's just say, a lot of pots were smashed, a few garden ornaments were lost, and even now, I'm in a constant battle with my poor potted eucalyptus tree, which insists on toppling over every time the wind picks up. The island has taught me that nature will always have the upper hand, but we can still meet it halfway. Over time, I learned how to dance with it. The wind didn't change, but I did. And in that adaptation, something shifted. The very thing that once overstimulated me began to strengthen me. That's resilience. It's not just pushing through, but finding new ways to stay in harmony with life as it is. In many ways, the wind became my teacher. It reminded me that nature never apologizes for being intense. It just is. And maybe we, too, are allowed to take up space, to express, to move through life with power and honesty. Neuroscience tells us that the most resilient nervous systems aren't the ones that stay calm all the time. They're the ones that can move between states fluidly. Just like the wind, our energy needs to circulate and shift and release. When we resist that movement, we become brittle. But when we let life move through us, even when it's chaotic, we grow flexible. Just think of trees in a storm. Their survival depends not on their rigidity, but on their ability to bend. That flexibility doesn't make them weak. It makes them last longer. So let's pause and ask, where in your life are you trying too hard to stand perfectly still? And what might happen if you allowed yourself to bend just a little? The winds of change can be fierce, but they are also cleansing. They blow away what no longer serves us, clearing space for what's next. They teach us that stillness isn't the absence of movement, it's the peace within it. So as you head out into your own slice of nature, whether it's a walk, a garden, or just opening the window to let in fresh air, think about how you can set yourself up for success. If you hate getting wet, pack a small walking backpack with a towel and dry socks and maybe even a clean undershirt for midwalk changes. And if you're sensitive to sound, bring your noise canceling headphones or some earmuffs to soften the roar. Meeting nature on its terms doesn't mean suffering through discomfort. It means collaborating with it, letting it teach you, and also learning what you need to stay grounded in its presence. That's resilience too. It's not about conquering the elements, it's about befriending them. But as a counterpoint to everything I have just said about setting ourselves up for success, I want to share another story. One about getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. Because sometimes the stories we tell ourselves are the very things keeping us trapped. So for most of my adult life, my eyes were incredibly sensitive to sunlight. If you saw me outside, guaranteed I'd be wearing sunglasses even on cloudy days. In fact, sometimes the glare on overcast days was even worse. Then about seven or eight years ago, whilst I was retraining and studying neuroscience, I started seeing more and more research about the benefits of natural light. Not looking directly at the sun, of course, but simply allowing sunlight to reach your eyes without sunglasses. Study after study showed that natural light exposure helps to regulate mood, digestion, metabolism, and especially sleep. And I remember thinking, gosh, I wish I could do that. It's so unfair that I can't. So I kept reading about these benefits. And over time, one day I thought, you know what? These benefits are too important to ignore. So I decided to try it. I left my sunglasses by the front door, I walked outside, and you know what happened? I was absolutely fine. The sun was out and bright and I was fine. I couldn't believe it. What had happened? Well, what had happened was my story had changed and my physiology changed with it. And this isn't woo woo, it's neuroscience. It's something often referred to as the biology of belief. The understanding that the stories we tell ourselves can influence how our bodies respond physically. Now, it's really important that I say this. Not everyone with light sensitivity will have the same experience. There are many reasons why we might be sensitive to light, and all of them are valid. But the takeaway here is that it's worth exploring safely, with curiosity and compassion, whether some of our challenges might be shaped, at least in part, by the stories we've built around them. And it's a bit of a chicken and egg situation, isn't it? Does the story create the issue or does the issue create the story? And we may not always know, but what matters is our willingness to test safely and gently and to question and to see what's possible. Sometimes resilience isn't about avoiding discomfort, it's about experimenting with it. Small, manageable ways that we choose until comfort begins to expand. And there's a technique in yoga, Nidra, which is simply a guided body scan, one that we've explored here before on Mindful Mondays. And this technique at the beginning of the practice is intentionally tensing up your entire body. You clench your fists and scrunch your face and tighten every muscle from head to toe until you're really uncomfortable. And then you release. And in that release, you sink so much deeper. Why? Because you have the contrast. And that's exactly what resilience is built upon, contrast. So, yes, set yourself up for success. Yes, question your stories, but also learn to get comfortable with being uncomfortable sometimes. This is how we build resilience in safe, manageable ways. If I'm ever out walking and for some reason I've forgotten my earmuffs or hat and the wind whips up, or it starts raining and I don't have my raincoat, I have a choice. I can spend the rest of the walk home miserable, spiraling deeper into frustration, or I can think, oh, my goodness, how amazing am I going to feel once I get home when I'm dry and warm again? That contrast alone ensures that I'm going to enjoy it even more when I arrive. Even things like cold water therapy, which I'm a huge proponent of, are based on the same principle. And nature, especially in winter, offers us free cold water therapy in abundance. When we lean into that edge intentionally rather than fearfully, it becomes medicine for the mind and body. So acceptance of the moment, even the uncomfortable ones, is where resilience is born. And remember, every moment is temporary. The more we resist it, the more we spiral. But the moment we soften into what is, we reclaim peace. And that brings me to that message I mentioned earlier from Alex, one of our listeners. She wrote, the sun never competes with the moon and the stars never argue for more light. They all simply shine in Their time. And isn't that stunning? Resilience is simply remembering that we, too, are part of that same choreography. So often our exhaustion comes not from life itself, but from trying to control its timing, from resisting the flow. But nature is not in a hurry, and yet everything is accomplished. And for those of us who are neurodivergent, this can be a radical reframe. And there's a beautiful little comic that I ran across recently called Alight. And it asks, how do the birds decide where to alight? How does an idea choose which mind to ignite? And then it answers. A flock seeks outstretched branches. An idea seeks attentive ears and eyes and a heart that is open. And I love that last line. A heart that is open. Because openness, not certainty, is the foundation of resilience. When we soften into the winds of life, we make room for new ideas, new directions, new ways of being. We stop forcing outcomes and start participating in them. We become part of the great choreography that Alex described. The sun, the moon, the stars, each doing their part without grasping. That's resilience. It's not about becoming unshakable. It's about learning how to sway and still stay rooted. We don't always have to endure difficult situations in nature to build resilience. In this week's Microdosing, meaning, we remember to find the unexpected joys all around us. So I have a confession to make. Sometimes I sing to cows. Yes, really. I am surrounded by cow pastures where I live, and a couple of years ago, I began singing to the cows on my walks. I even made up my own special song to sing to them. They didn't ask for it, but I felt compelled nonetheless. And you know what? They always stop, lift their heads, and listen. Cows are incredibly curious and make wonderful audiences. And there's something deeply human about being a little silly with life. Because playfulness is medicine. And neuroscience tells us that when we do something playful, whether it's singing to the cows or skipping a stone or dancing barefoot in the grass, it releases oxytocin, the hormone of connection and trust. And singing causes vibrations in the mouth that activates the vagus nerve, which helps to regulate our heart rate and calm the nervous system. And if you really want to add an extra dose of calm, try looking up. Yes, literally tilt your head back and gaze at the sky. Stargazing, in particular, is incredibly regulating for the neurodivergent brain. When we look upward, when our eyes widen and our head gently lifts, we stimulate the vagus nerve and shift into a state of openness and safety. It's why stargazing and cloud watching and even tracing the outline of trees against the night sky feels so soothing. Over and over again, nature offers us medicine. And researchers studying fractals, repeating patterns found in leaves and shells, waves and clouds, discovered that looking at them calms the brain and reduces mental fatigue. And our minds recognize those patterns as home, as safety. These tiny mindful acts, singing, gazing, noticing, reconnect us with the simple joy of being alive. And that joy, that awe that we've spoken about before. Nature's built in antidote to anxiety. It reminds us that we belong here, part of something vast and mysterious and beautiful. So this week, your invitation is to find a microdose of meaning. Hum to a bird, sing to a cow. Look for fractals and leaves. Gaze up at the stars. Whatever you do, let it bring you back into connection, because that's what meaning really is. Connection. So as we close this month of nature as teacher, remember, the winds will always blow, the tides will always shift, and still you are carried. You are guided. You are part of it all. And let's take these final moments to anchor that truth into your body through breath, imagery and stillness. And if you are driving or operating heavy machinery, please ensure to pause the recording until you can safely come back into stillness and just find a comfortable position. Position either seated or lying down. And ensure that your body is fully supported in whatever way that it needs. Right now, it's worth making the extra effort to ensure that you are warm and fully supported. And whenever you're ready, feel free to gently close your eyes and take a deep breath in. And as you exhale, allow the body to soften, the shoulders to melt and the jaw to release and feel the ground beneath you steady, ancient, unwavering. And imagine that beneath this very ground, the roots of trees, the stones and the water veins of the earth all hum with quiet intelligence, a rhythm that's always supporting you. And can you now just imagine, only imagine now, standing on a quiet shoreline. The sky is painted in twilight colors, indigo, rose and gold. And the wind brushes your skin like a whisper. And the waves curl and retreat, leaving silver trails of foam. And you begin to walk. Each step presses into cool sand, each footprint soon erased, not lost, but returned. The rhythm of your breath joins the rhythm of the sea. And up above, clouds drift like thoughts, forming, dissolving and reforming again. This is the sky of your mind. You don't have to chase it or control it. You just watch, allow. And as you walk, you notice something. Stars beginning to appear one by one, faint at first and then brighter, each one a reminder. Light is never lost. It only hides until the time is right to shine again. And now a breeze begins to move through you. It doesn't disturb, it clears. It carries away the heaviness you no longer need old worries, old stories, old expectations. You feel lighter, freer, open. And imagine standing tall like a tree rooted at the edge of this ocean. Your feet are the roots, drinking in nourishment. Your heart is the trunk, strong and alive. Your arms are the branches reaching to the stars. And the wind moves through you, not against you. And you sway with grace. You yield, but you do not fall. Notice a deep stillness spreading through your body, like the moment between waves, like the pause between seasons, like the silence after the wind has passed. Just stay there for a moment, bathed in that stillness, rooted, present, infinite. And can you bring your awareness back to your breath? Notice how you begin to breathe with the earth, this already happening breath. Nothing to do or change, just noticing. And can you now imagine that with each inhale, you're drawing breath up through the soles of your feet, up through your body. And as you exhale, let that energy travel up and out through the crown of your head like a fountain of light, and watch it cascade down again around you, returning to the earth to be breathed in again through the soles of your feet, up through the body and exhaling out through the crown of your head, a continuous loop, the rhythm of life itself. You are the wind, rising and falling. You are the tide flowing in and out. And you are the earth, breathing through form. The same wind that moves the waves is moving through your lungs. The same starlight that burns across galaxies is reflected in the pulse behind your ribs. You are nature. You are resilient. You are rhythm. Let this mantra rise within you. I bend. I flow. I rise, repeating it silently inside, feeling each word land like a wave on the shore. You are the wind. You are the tide. You are the stars. And when you're ready, bring awareness back to your heart. Feel the gratitude for your breath, for this body, for this earth that sustains you. The wind, the tides, the storms and the stars, all teachers, all reflections of your own becoming. Slowly wiggle your fingers and toes. Begin to bring small movements into your body, moving your head from side to side. And when you're ready, not a moment before, feel free to gently open your eyes, carrying this presence back with you. Thank you so much for joining me in this final episode of our Nature as Teacher Month. I hope you feel grounded and uplifted and part of something vast and alive. And if you'd like to continue exploring mindfulness, yoga, NIDRA guided meditations, you can find me on Insight Timer, where I share regular recordings and bedtime stories and courses to help you reconnect with presence and purpose. And next week we begin a brand new series for November, Neuroscience and the neurodivergent Nervous System Understanding the Body's Language of Safety. All throughout November, we'll explore how to recognize your nervous system states and work with them gently and cultivate balance from the inside out to reduce overwhelm and meltdowns and bring more presence and connection to your life. Until then, may you meet the winds of life with grace, the tides with trust, and the transitions with an open heart. Start soft, stay steady, and I'll see you next Monday. Walmart Business is in the business of helping your business, regardless of whether you're building bridges, building spreadsheets or building lesson plans. Ooh, that looks fun. Walmart business can help save you time, money and hassle so you can focus on what you're building instead of what your supply closet is missing. In short, we take care of business so you can do more with yours. 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