I Don’t Have ADHD—I Have a Dreamfield

A Spiritual Framework for Inattentive ADHD and the Art of Nonlinear Living

In my last essay I shared a spiritual framework for understanding PDA autism. Plus, I wrote more broadly about my quest to find—and use—a new, more alive language for discussing neurodivergence.

Now, with that same lens, I want to talk about another form of neurodivergence, my own, commonly diagnosed as the inattentive type of ADHD. But sometimes diagnosed as autism or AuDHD. Most often, I suspect, not diagnosed at all.

It’s a design that many artists, HSPs, and introverts share. I call it the Dreamfield architecture…because I can. And I think being a Dreamfield (a field of dreams) sounds much more romantic—and truer to my being—than having ADHD. (But I get why you’re rolling your eyes right now, I really do.)

What’s architecture, Molly?

Architecture, at least in the way I define it, is the energetic structure that governs how the infinite (soul) expresses through the finite (form).

You might think of it as the geometry through which your light condenses into matter.

Your architecture determines how you process time, sensation, language, thought, emotion, and more—not at the level of personality, but at the higher level of structure.

For neurodivergent people, this structure takes on different geometries.

Architectural divergence isn’t a flaw. These are purposeful designs built to hold, sense, and transmit consciousness in new ways. They challenge the idea that there’s only one correct way to be human and open the door to new forms of awareness.

They aren’t pathologies. They’re invitations into new or different ways of being.

About The Dreamfield Architecture

The Dreamfield architecture is a porous, nonlinear design, attuned to intuition, beauty, and symbol.

In this field, attention moves like mist, gathering impressions others don’t notice.

It doesn’t track well with clocks or checklists, but it senses what’s beneath the surface.

When supported—when allowed to drift—the dreamfield awareness wanders freely, following threads of meaning across all layers of the unseen world.

At our very healthiest, we return from our sojourns with creative souvenirs—like poems, new ways of teaching, or even just rad outlooks on life that seed new possibilities in the collective.

But it is rare to be supported.

Because the dreamfield is a soft and docile divergence. Flexible, too. And while it costs us a lot, we can and often do bend ourselves to fit the shape of the world.

For these reasons, we’re not often supported in healthy ways that encourage coherence. Instead, we’re guided to squeeze our creative beings into capitalistic pursuits and linear ways of living.

Ultimately, under this pressure, our gentle fields fragment and become overwhelmed.

Then one day, we wake up and the idea of getting dressed seems impossible. This is when many of us make the psychiatry appointment (a herculean effort), desperate to prove we’ve been different all along and are deserving of help.

This is when, to our great relief, we are pathologized and (sometimes) offered stimulant medications.

For a lot of us, this is the last push, the last attempt to make ourselves fit, before we begin to reawaken to our truth.

The World We’re Here to Birth

The dreamfield architecture is not new. It’s ancient. In fact, I’d argue that this style of diffuse awareness and nonlinear time perception is as old as the earth itself. It lives in the wind and in plant and animal intelligences. One foot in the divine, the other in the physical.

It’s no stretch to think that at times in history it has been the dominant human way of being. And has since been honored and held as a frequency in the collective by great artists, mystics, and everyday dreamy people.

Today’s dominant culture and systems—linear, growth-obsessed, and wildly unsustainable—are hostile to the dreamfield. In our attempts to survive within them we distort ourselves and disappear.

When I am feeling the pain of not having a single ounce more to give, it is helpful to be reminded that we are not here to fit. We are not here to force ourselves to focus. Or abandon our rhythms.

We are here to attune to the way energy naturally moves through us, and to live from that place of coherence.

When we do that, when we stop masking our architecture and start honoring it, our energy returns. Our creativity returns. Our presence returns.

And from this place, we become something the world doesn’t yet know how to measure: A possibility.

From here, and only here, we help dream a new world into being.

With love,

Molly