Sanctuary in the Syntax:

Why Rules Feel Like Home to Neurodivergent Brains

For many neurodivergent people, the world isn’t just “a bit much.” It’s a place of relentless, grinding ambiguity.

Whole conversations seem to run on invisible code: unspoken social cues, shifting expectations, and rules that everyone else seems to know without ever being taught. A coffee with colleagues can become a quiet assault course of micro‑calculations:

• Am I making enough eye contact?

• Did that joke land, or did I just overshare?

• Is it my turn to speak, or am I interrupting?

The content may be light. The cognitive load is not. For many people with ADHD, this uncertainty comes with an extra sting: the prickling sense that you’ve already messed up, you just don’t know how yet.

That’s one way Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) can show up, the body braced for impact, waiting for the moment your worst fear is confirmed: you’re “too much,” “not enough,” or simply “wrong.”

In that context, “just relax and be yourself” doesn’t help. It ignores how much work your brain is quietly doing just to stay in the room.

When the Rules Are on the Table

This is one reason why Tabletop Role‑Playing Games (TTRPGs) can feel like such a profound exhale for many neurodivergent brains. They don’t magically fix everything, but they do something very specific and very important:

They make the implicit explicit.

Instead of a fog of unwritten rules, you get a rulebook, a shared structure, and often a deliberate conversation about how you want to play together.

• Many groups start with a Session 0, an upfront chat about:

• What kind of story are you telling

• What themes are welcome and what’s off‑limits

• How you’ll handle conflict, safety, and consent

If you’re used to constantly guessing the rules on the fly, that alone can be a huge relief.

At the table:

• The social contract is named

  You don’t have to reverse‑engineer the group’s values by decoding tone and body language. You talk about them. You write them down. You can ask for clarification.

  
  

• Roles are defined

  You’re not a vague “guest” trying to work out how to be acceptable. You’re the cleric, the tank, the face, the strategist. Your contribution has a clear shape: heal, protect, negotiate, scout.

  
  

• Interaction has a skeleton

  There are turns. There’s an initiative order. There are mechanics for insight, persuasion, deception, and perception. You still bring creativity and emotion, but you’re not doing it in a social vacuum; there’s a system to lean on.

You’re still relating. You’re still improvising. But you’re not doing it against the backdrop of anything could be wrong, and no one will tell me how.

Feeding the Hungers: Structure and Stimulus

Transactional Analysis talks about two core psychological needs that map neatly onto this:

• Structure Hunger – the need for predictability, a sense of what happens when, and a reliable frame for our time and relationships.

• Stimulus Hunger – the need for interest, novelty, and engagement.

TTRPGs, when they’re run thoughtfully, are unusually good at feeding both.

For many autistic brains

Structure isn’t a quirk; it’s often a regulation strategy and a way of reducing unnecessary uncertainty. Clear rules and routines can lower baseline anxiety, reduce the energy spent on guessing, and free up capacity for connection and creativity.

In-game terms:

• The system and rulebook offer a consistent internal logic: if X, then Y.

• The session rhythm, we meet at this time, for this long, with these people, creates a predictable pattern

• The shared goal (survive the dungeon, solve the mystery, protect the village) gives you something concrete to orient to.

Structure Hunger is fed. The nervous system can drop out of constant threat detection, making it easier to enjoy being with people rather than just surviving them.

For many ADHD brains

For a lot of people with ADHD, attention is interest-based. Importance doesn’t automatically generate focus; stimulation does.

TTRPGs are rich in exactly that kind of stimulation:

• Dice rolls and random outcomes

• Tactical decisions and sudden twists

• Worldbuilding, lore, character builds and combos

• Emotional moments, jokes, and shared drama

The game keeps offering fresh input. Instead of fighting boredom and zoning out, many ADHD players naturally track details, remember plot threads, and anticipate the next scene, sometimes a little too well. At the right table, those interruptions, fidgeting, stimming, or moments of inattention are understood and welcomed as part of how you are, not a problem to be fixed.

Stimulus Hunger is fed. And instead of walking away with that familiar “I let people down again,” you can leave feeling useful, creative, and woven into the group.

Of course, not every autistic or ADHD person will experience games this way, but for many, these ingredients line up in a very supportive way.

Lowering the Barrier to Connection

When structure and stimulus are both in place, something subtle shifts: connection costs less.

You don’t have to spend all your processing power on deciphering the situation. The “rules of engagement” are clearer, so there’s more bandwidth left for:

• Caring about your party members

• Letting yourself be affected by the story

• Taking small interpersonal risks such as: “Can I share an idea?”, “Can I check in on you?”

Intimacy, in this sense, isn’t just about deep confessions. It’s about feeling safe enough to let your mask slip a little while staying in contact with others.

A well-held TTRPG table can become a kind of social sanctuary: not because nothing difficult ever happens, but because difficulty is named, negotiated, and handled together, instead of silently weaponised.

You’re not working overtime to pass as “fine”, a word I hear from almost all my ND clients at some point. You’re allowed to show up as a full, gloriously inconsistent human who sometimes forgets rules, sometimes hyper-fixates on them, and is still wanted at the table.

Your Turn

If you’re autistic, ADHD, or otherwise neurodivergent:

• Where in your life do clear rules and structure actually help you feel more yourself, not less?

• If you game, what parts of the TTRPG setup (Session 0, safety tools, initiative order, roles) make it easier for you to relax into connection?

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I’d love to hear what “sanctuary in the syntax” looks like for you.

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Note: Dungeons & Dragons is a trademark of Wizards of the Coast, and other TTRPGs do exist. I am not affiliated with them. TTRPGs can be a helpful support for mental health, but they are not a substitute for professional care. If you’re dealing with trauma or significant distress, consider seeking support from a qualified mental health professional.