If you’ve ever noticed that your child takes longer to transition between tasks, becomes completely absorbed in an activity to the point of losing track of the world around them, or seems to struggle with keeping pace in the classroom—it might not be because they’re unmotivated or inattentive. It might be because they’re experiencing a very different kind of time.
The philosopher Henri Bergson offered a way of understanding this difference. His theory of lived time (what he called durée) gives us language for the ways in which autistic and ADHD children often engage with the world: not through the mechanical ticking of minutes and hours, but through a more internal, affective, and embodied rhythm.
Understanding this concept can fundamentally shift how you see your child’s attention, learning, and relationship to the world around them.
Time That is Measured vs Time That is Felt
Bergson (1910) argued that there are two ways of knowing time. The first is measurable time—the structured, segmented version we see on clocks and calendars. This is the time schools are built around: start times, end times, lesson periods, and productivity measured in neatly defined intervals.
But the second kind of time—durée réelle, or lived time—is different. It’s experienced from within. It flows according to how one feels, how deeply one is engaged, how much meaning is present in a moment. It stretches when your child is emotionally invested, and contracts when they’re under pressure. It speeds up when they’re immersed in something joyful, and slows to a halt when something is confusing, overwhelming, or distressing.
If your child becomes dysregulated by abrupt transitions, needs more time to process before responding, or seems out of sync with the pace of the classroom, they may be living more in durée than in measured time. And that’s not a deficit. It’s a different relationship to time—one that is deeply intelligent, if we know how to listen to it.
Deep Engagement and the Affective Tempo of Learning
Bergson’s theory tells us that real learning doesn’t happen in uniform time blocks. It happens when a child becomes absorbed—when they enter into duration. This kind of attention isn’t manufactured by discipline or deadlines. It arises from affect, meaning, and personal resonance.
You may have seen this in your child when they’re focused on a special interest, deep in creative play, or building something in Minecraft. In these moments, they’re not distracted—they’re immersed. They are attending through feeling. Their attention is not fragmented; it’s flowing, just not in the direction the world might expect.
Many educational models still treat attention as something that must be trained and externally controlled. But from a Bergsonian perspective, attention is something that emerges organically, through connection, curiosity, and intuitive resonance.
For neurodivergent learners, this distinction matters. It tells us that their apparent inattention may not reflect disinterest or incapacity. It may reflect the fact that the structure doesn’t match their natural rhythm of engagement.
Intuition as a Way of Knowing
Bergson placed enormous value on intuition as a legitimate, even superior, form of knowledge. He believed that some truths could only be accessed through direct experience, rather than analysis or abstraction. Where rational thought cuts and categorises, intuition synthesises and absorbs. It allows for a deep, felt sense of what matters.
Autistic and ADHD children often demonstrate this kind of intuitive intelligence. They may not always be able to explain why something feels wrong—or why something else pulls them in—but their emotional response is immediate, embodied, and consistent. They often “just know” when something’s not safe, not fair, or not meaningful.
This can sometimes be misread as rigidity or sensitivity. But what Bergson helps us see is that this intuitive form of knowing is not less than logical thinking—it’s another kind of thinking. It’s nonlinear, affective, and grounded in time as it is lived.
If your child needs to feel their way into a task, if they respond emotionally before they respond cognitively, if they process meaning through movement or play, they are engaging with the world through intuition. This is not something to eliminate—it’s something to support.
Why Mainstream Schooling Often Fails to Meet Lived Time
Mainstream education is largely built around measurable time. There’s little space for absorption, for slowness, for non-linear progression. Learning is treated as output over time: how much work was completed, how long it took, how quickly it can be replicated. But for neurodivergent learners, learning is rarely experienced this way.
They may require more time to enter a task—not because they don’t understand it, but because their nervous system needs time to settle. They may need to move, stim, or build something in order to “think.” They may return to the same idea repeatedly, circling it, absorbing it, before it finally clicks.
This doesn’t mean they are behind. It means they are learning in duration—not in segments.
Bergson’s theory offers you, as a parent, a different framework. It gives you permission to advocate for learning that unfolds over time, not through pressure. It helps you recognise your child’s deeper engagement, even when it doesn’t look like standard participation.
How This Informs the NPA Model
The Neurodivergent Pedagogical Alchemy (NPA) model I’ve developed is strongly informed by these philosophical insights. It is built to honour the learner’s internal timing—not override it.
It does not rely on performance or productivity. It does not rush. It listens for the rhythm of attention. It works withimmersion, rather than against it. And it invites learners to make meaning in ways that are sensory, affective, and intuitive—because these are not barriers to learning. They are learning.
Learn more about the NPA Learning Model here.
The Quiet Power of Slowness
One of the most radical implications of Bergson’s work is the revaluation of slowness. In a culture obsessed with speed, slowness is often misread as delay, as resistance, as failure to keep up.
But Bergson insists: slowness can be precision. It can be the time required for something to be felt, understood, and made one’s own. It is often the tempo of depth, not dysfunction.
If your child takes time to move between tasks, to absorb feedback, or to express their understanding in their own way, that is not a flaw. It is a form of wisdom—and one that deserves respect, not redirection.
In brief…
Bergson’s philosophy reminds us that intelligence is not always linear, visible, or fast. Sometimes it unfolds quietly, in lived time. Sometimes it doesn’t announce itself in the classroom, but appears in a gesture, a drawing, or a question that arrives days later.
If your child has ever been misunderstood for being “slow,” “unfocused,” or “difficult to teach,” know this: their time is real. Their way of learning is valid.
And there are models of support that are designed for learners like them.
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