Visual Memory, Working Memory, and Living with NLD
Visual memory is something I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember. For many people, remembering where they left their car keys, journal, or toothbrush may be automatic. For me, unless those items are always in the same place, they often feel lost the moment I put them down. This is a common experience among those of us who are neurodivergent, and for me, it connects closely to living with Nonverbal Learning Disorder (NLD).
Even with larger tasks like driving, I notice the same patterns. Unless I’ve driven to a place several times, I have trouble recalling the route. But once something becomes routine—like a path I’ve taken three or more times—it “sticks.” The familiarity helps, and it gets easier.
This connection between routine, visual memory, and learning also shows up in other areas of my life, like running, sewing, knitting, cooking, or even certain work tasks. These are kinesthetic activities, but they also carry visual demands. What’s interesting is that I can step away from many of them for months—or even years—and the skills often come back quickly, almost like riding a bike.
Returning to Familiar Activities
For example, during early COVID, I stopped both skiing and running. The reasons were complicated—healing from my first romantic breakup, dealing with someone who turned out to be a con artist, and managing a knee injury from skiing. Add to that the pandemic itself, and I simply couldn’t keep up. When I eventually returned to these activities, I questioned why I had ever stopped. I had missed them so much, and the muscle memory came back almost effortlessly.
Driving, however, was different. After two car accidents, I stopped for six months. My confidence was shattered. Each time I got behind the wheel, I visualized another accident happening. It wasn’t healthy, but it was hard to stop the images from playing in my head, especially after being knocked out in one of those crashes. Slowly, I had to rebuild my trust in myself as a driver. I still have occasional mishaps—one as recent as last year in a parking lot—but I’ve learned to be more cautious and self-aware.
Other hobbies brought their own challenges. I put down knitting for a while after getting frustrated with a project that didn’t turn out right. I tried to re-knit a top into a different size, but ended up making it too small. In frustration, I threw it away. Later, during the holidays, I picked up sewing and made “kitchen boas” as gifts. Learning to sew in straight lines, iron fabric, and stay patient (especially while my mom taught me) wasn’t easy. But finishing each one was rewarding—I could proudly say, “I made this,” as I gave them to family and friends.
Running, Skiing, and the Role of Visual Challenges
Running has been especially important for me. I’ve completed six half-marathons, one full marathon, a 10k, and a 5k—not to brag, but to show how deeply I enjoy it. Running is therapeutic for me. At the same time, it highlights my visual challenges: keeping myself from tripping, scanning the terrain ahead, or even visualizing the course. The same is true for skiing, where my safety depends on awareness of my environment.
Driving, sewing, knitting, and running all combine physical and visual elements. For me, this blend is often where my difficulties with visual memory surface most clearly. Planning routes, catching mistakes, or trying to multitask can feel overwhelming. I sometimes notice errors in other people’s work more easily than my own—my brain simply processes that way.
Insights from Research
To better understand my own experiences, I’ve looked at research on memory and autism, which often overlaps with NLD.
One article I came across, What is Working Memory and How Does it Relate to Autism?, explained that working memory is not just about recalling information—it’s about applying it. Examples include remembering instructions, paraphrasing conversations, or solving problems. For many autistic individuals, working memory challenges can look like:
Struggling to follow multiple instructions.
Making small mistakes in complex tasks.
Having trouble prioritizing tasks.
Appearing inattentive or easily distracted.
Losing track of belongings almost instantly.
These descriptions resonate deeply with my NLD experience. It isn’t laziness or lack of effort—it’s a working memory challenge that makes executive functioning harder.
Another article, How Memory Helps Us Understand the Neurodiversity of Autism (2021), described two types of memory: episodic and semantic. Episodic memory is autobiographical, helping us recall past experiences and plan for the future. Many autistic individuals struggle here, making it difficult to track time, remember daily events, or plan effectively. Semantic memory, on the other hand, is about facts and patterns—an area where autistic individuals often excel.
This duality mirrors my own life. Episodic memory can be tough for me. Sometimes I can’t easily recall what I did yesterday, let alone apply it to future planning. But semantic memory is a strength: I can memorize numbers, facts, and figures with ease. This helps me manage my budget and track spending categories, something I lean on heavily in day-to-day life.
Turning Weaknesses into Strengths
Over time, I’ve learned to approach my challenges differently. Instead of beating myself up for mistakes, I try to use them as learning points. Whether it’s budgeting, driving, grocery shopping, or doing taxes, each mistake can become a stepping stone toward improvement.
This mindset reflects something important: being neurodivergent doesn’t mean being broken. It means approaching life in unique ways—sometimes harder, sometimes easier, but always different.
Final Reflections
If you’re reading this and living with NLD, autism, ADHD, dyslexia, or another neurodivergence, I hope you see pieces of yourself here. Our differences bring challenges, yes, but also unique strengths. My advice is to practice journaling about your gifts and challenges. Then, ask yourself: “How can I make this task easier than it was last time?”
It’s not about perfection. It’s about progress.
And if you know others with NLD willing to share their stories, I’d love to hear from them. My hope is that by combining lived experience with research, we can create more understanding—not only for ourselves but for the people around us.
