Debunking Productivity Myths That Haunt Neurodivergent Writers

:: Even if you aren’t neurodivergent or a writer, the advice below applies to you. We live in a productivity culture that is built on shame. Let’s fix it.

Dear Friends,

As a neurodivergent writer, I don’t get up at the crack of dawn to write. I don’t write every day. And that’s okay.

There’s a lot of writing advice out there that can be harmful to neurodivergent people.

For example, have you ever seen the hashtag #5amwritersclub? Did it ever make you feel like a failure?

Not to criticize those who participate (many of whom are my friends), but that type of lifestyle isn’t for everyone (obviously).

And for neurodivergent people, getting up early every day can be harmful. We often need more sleep, more recovery time, more quiet time, and greater flexibility in our work.

We have also been slammed with guilt and feelings of inadequacy since birth. Knowing that my friends are out there at 5 a.m. writing books once made me feel terrible about myself—a habit that didn’t need any extra support. (I blocked the hashtag.)

Then, you also see this bad advice in almost every writing craft book out there: “Write every day.”

No. Just, no.

This advice is more shame fodder. Before I learned better self-acceptance, the underlying message to my vulnerable psyche that if I couldn’t write every day, I must not be serious about writing.

Neurodivergent people don’t need any more criticism about how lazy we are, or unable to comply, or inadequate in any other way.

I’m neurodivergent (autism, ADHD, and bipolar disorder). My brain dislikes rigid routines, and that’s okay. I have realized that I can’t sit down and write every day at the same time. Why?

My energy levels change daily. Some mornings, I wake up feeling foggy, while others I’m overstimulated.

Some afternoons, I hyperfocus and write 10 pages without blinking. Other days, I don’t write at all—and crash by 6 p.m.

Trying to force a writing schedule only creates shame. We’ve had enough of that.

So what can we do?

Neurodivergent writers need a different kind of routine—one rooted in self-awareness, rather than self-punishment.

Here are some ideas for what to do instead:

Track energy, not hours. Try noting when you feel most creative, not when you think you should be. Sometimes it’s at 8 p.m. Sometimes it’s during a lunch break.

Create flexible rituals. You may not open your laptop at 5 a.m., but you likely do have go-to cues: music, a weighted blanket, or a fun, specific drink that signals to my brain: “Hey, we’re safe to create, let’s do this.’’

Honor REST as part of the process. Pausing isn’t failure—it’s part of the workflow. Taking a break doesn’t mean you are lazy. Breaks are how we reset and come back stronger and refreshed.

Redefine consistency. You don’t need to write every day. Figure out what consistent means to you and your body. Don’t force yourself into rigid routines that will fall apart.

The most important part of this process is letting go of the internalized shame that so many neurodivergent people possess. Writers already struggle. Let’s take the shame away.

Love to you,

Katie