Paul Burrows - Finding Stillness Through Movement
Written by Paul Burrows. Subheadings added by the Neurodiverse Sport team to support readability.
This is Part Two of a two-part blog by Paul Burrows, a lifelong sportsperson who reflects on how his Autistic and Dyslexic identity shapes his experience of sport, performance, connection, and wellbeing. This post explores how physical activity provides calm, structure, and identity in a world that often feels noisy or overwhelming – and how understanding his own patterns and preferences became the key to sustaining mental health through sport. For part one, read ‘Well, We All Need to Be a ‘Gang’ Member, Don’t We! A Personal Reflection by Paul Burrows’.
Paul Burrows, Rowing
Does Sport Re-Define What Social Relationships Can Be?
In many ways, it does. For me, connection through sport wasn’t about close personal friendships. It was about shared goals, mutual respect, and people showing up for each other without unnecessary small talk. That was my version of community—and that reframe helped me understand my social needs in a way that finally made sense.
Calm Waters and Loud Floors
The mental relaxation sport gives me often comes from focus—something to do with my whole body that takes up all the space in my mind. But the environment matters too. Water is calming. I need to be on it rather than in it, but waterfalls, the sea, and flowing rivers all bring stillness to my brain. Squeaky shoes on gym floors, however, set me on edge. I find those spaces genuinely stressful.
The Role of Music and Sound
Music helps. It can either feed or counter my mood. I don’t respond to lyrics—I respond to rhythm. Classical and heavy metal both work; the middle ground doesn’t. If you’re curious, look up The Hu, a Mongolian band whose beat resonates with me. I’ve also tried 8D music; it didn’t work for me, but it might for you. Other times, I crave silence. Music becomes too much and increases the noise in my head. Listening to my own needs in that moment is key.
Quieting the Mind: Breathing and Movement
Meditation and mindfulness don’t come naturally. My brain doesn’t stop—ever. But I’ve found techniques that work for me. Square breathing (in for 4, hold for 4, out for 4, hold for 4) genuinely slows my pulse. I combine this with physical stillness through wall sits or holding a plank. That double focus on breath and body helps me find a grounded state.
Paul Burrows, Golf
Obsession as a Strength?
Part of knowing myself has been recognising that I have obsessive tendencies. I didn’t always realise this was unusual. Take, for example, the time I signed up to a charity event to run 2 miles a day for 125 days. I ended up running 960 miles. Or when I set out to row 1,000,000 metres in a year… and hit that goal by March. By December, I had rowed over 7 million metres—an average of a half marathon a day.
I did this while holding down a demanding full-time job. The earliest I got on the rowing machine to make sure I met my daily distance was 02:50 a.m. I finished the year ranked 28th in the world for distance rowing. That’s not normal. But it does show I have a mind that’s well suited to high performance—if I can use it wisely.
The Cost of the Crash
After both of these personal challenges, I crashed. Not physically, but mentally. The goal was over—and suddenly I had nothing. That’s why I now build in open-ended goals. When the immediate target is reached, I need something else to carry me forward. Otherwise, I risk falling into mental fatigue, or even depression. I don’t want to go back there.
The Cost of Neglecting My Needs
When my children were younger, I stopped playing sports. I thought it was selfish to take time for myself. But that choice cost me more than I expected. It damaged my mental health. I’ve since learned that giving yourself permission to meet your own needs isn’t selfish—it’s essential. You’ll be a better parent, partner, or friend for it.
A Lifetime of Sleeplessness
Another reality I live with is sleep disruption. I can’t sleep well. Once I wake up, I’m fully alert—whether it’s 2 a.m. or 5 a.m. I know others diagnosed as autistic who went to their GP about sleep first. That symptom alone can be life-altering. I live in a state of perpetual tiredness.
Sport helps.
Further Takeaways
So, what have I learned from decades in sport and a growing understanding of my own neurodiversity?
I’ve learned that it’s not about fixing what you struggle with. It’s about finding what reinforces the good parts of you. What energises you. What fits the way your mind works.
For Neurodivergent Individuals:
Know yourself.
Find a sport that aligns with your sensory needs, social style, and energy levels.
Use your strengths.
Obsessiveness or hyperfocus can be an asset in performance, if harnessed well.
Give yourself permission.
Physical activity isn’t selfish—it’s self-sustaining.
For Peers and Supporters:
Respect different versions of connection.
Not everyone needs friendship to feel included—shared purpose can be enough.
Support open-ended goals.
Help your ND friend or family member think beyond the next finish line.
Don’t dismiss obsession.
It may look extreme, but it’s often a way of self-regulating and finding purpose.
For Coaches, Leaders, and Organisations:
Understand that environments matter.
Bright lights, loud floors, and unfamiliar settings can be barriers.
Be open to different motivation styles.
Not everyone wants a social team environment—but they still want to win.
Help plan for sustainability.
If you push athletes to big goals, help them find the next one too.
Final Reflection
Whether you're a coach seeking to better understand your neurodivergent athletes, or a neurodivergent person reflecting on your own patterns, I hope you gained something from reading this blog.
– Paul Burrows