Less isn’t lazy. It’s intentional.
Minimalist websites get a bad rap.
They’re called “too simple,” “boring,” or “not enough.”
Designers dismiss them as under-designed.
Marketing pros worry they won’t “convert.”
But if you’ve ever tried to navigate a website with motion overload, too many CTAs, or paragraph after paragraph of noise, you know: Too much is not better.
Especially if you’re neurodivergent.
Especially if your nervous system is already over it.
When done right, minimalist design isn’t just about looking clean.
It’s about intentional reduction of cognitive noise, decision fatigue, and overwhelm.
It creates space for:
It’s design that respects the user’s capacity.
That doesn’t assume more is better.
That doesn’t pressure you to rush, skim, or decide too fast.
When I first learned that my kids have ADHD, I did what a lot of us do. I dove deep into the research.
I read the books. I learned how to advocate. I fought with schools to get them what they needed.
And one of the biggest things I learned?
You have to break things down.
Not because they aren’t capable, but because an overwhelmed brain can’t process.
Fifty math problems on one worksheet? Shutdown city.
Five at a time, with space to breathe? That’s manageable. That’s progress.
It’s the same with websites.
When your site throws everything at your visitors like dense pages of text, tiny font, loud visuals, ten popups, and twelve decisions to make they freeze, scroll past, or think “ahhhhhh nope” and close that tab real quick.
I know because I’ve done it.
Recently I visited a homeschool website in my area, and listen, I wanted to like it. I tried.
But the text was so small, and there was SO MUCH of it.
No white space. No entry points. No path forward.
There was no amount of chunking or deep breathing that could save me.
I high-tailed it outta there like a thief in the night.
That we have to explain everything, everywhere, all at once.
That attention spans are short, so we should throw everything at them right away.
But the truth is:
Minimalism isn’t emptiness. It’s focus.
It’s generosity.
It’s trauma-informed UX.
And for your clients especially the ones who are neurodivergent, overwhelmed, or on the edge of burnout that feeling matters more than anything you write.
Your website doesn’t have to perform.
It doesn’t need to shout.
It just needs to feel safe, grounded, and clear enough to invite the next step.
So if someone calls your website “too simple,” take it as a compliment.
Because good design doesn’t try to prove itself.
It just works.
