There’s a particular kind of overwhelm that shows up at the start of a new year.
The “new beginnings” energy that’s meant to feel refreshing can land differently if you’re neurodivergent.
Instead of clarity, there’s pressure. And instead of excitement, there’ ‘s the loop:
How do I make this year different?
Where do I even start?
What do I prioritise out of all the things?
And underneath it all — exhaustion before you’ve even begun.
I’ve never been someone who loves resolutions. The idea of setting big goals or mapping out year-long plans has always felt more overwhelming than helpful.
The idea of setting big goals or long-range plans has often felt more overwhelming than helpful — like being asked to map out a future I can’t quite picture yet.
Some years, I’ve leaned hard into planning. Other years, I’ve avoided it altogether — quietly hoping things would just work themselves out if I kept my head down.(Full ostrich mode. Head in the sand. You get me?)
Last year, my business went well. Really well. But by the end of it, I felt strangely unmoored.
Busy. In demand. Pulled along by momentum. And also not fully in control of my time, my energy, or the direction things were heading.
That feeling — of being pulled along rather than choosing — is subtle, but it matters. Especially if you’re already navigating a busy brain, fluctuating capacity, sensory overload, and the mental effort of holding a lot together.
The problem wasn’t a lack of ambition or discipline. It was a lack of regular pause.
And so I’ve come back to something that once worked well for me: quarterly reflection and planning.
Neurodivergent time moves differently
If you’re ADHD or AuDHD, your relationship with time is… complicated.
Some seasons feel expansive and energising. Others feel foggy, heavy, or strangely stalled. You might do a month’s worth of work in a week — and then need several weeks to recover.
This isn’t a failure of consistency.
It’s a nervous system reality.
Traditional planning assumes steady capacity, consistent energy, and linear progress.
Many neurodivergent people don’t experience life that way. It’s more of an ebb and flow. Periods of ease, then a hard slog.
Quarterly reflection works with this reality rather than against it. It creates moments of pause long enough to actually notice patterns.
Reflection isn’t about fixing yourself
Done well, reflection is about sense-making, not self-improvement.
It can help you notice things like:
- When your energy naturally rose or dipped
- What kinds of work felt nourishing versus draining
- Where you over-committed, people-pleased or comprimised your values (often with good intentions)
- What quietly worked, even if it didn’t look impressive
- How you felt — physically and mentally
This kind of reflection can be regulating. It reduces the constant mental load of trying to hold everything in your head. And it interrupts the urge to reinvent your entire life every January.
(Ask me how I know.)
Why quarterly — not monthly, not yearly
Monthly reflection can feel too close to the action. Plus, a month goes by just like that.
Yearly reflection can feel overwhelming and emotionally loaded — especially if the year included burnout, change, or grief.
A quarter sits in a gentle middle ground.
It’s enough time to see patterns without requiring you to summarise your entire existence. It creates a natural checkpoint — a place to pause, rest, and recalibrate if needed.
For ADHD and AuDHD brains, this matters. Quarterly reflection offers:
- a container
- a rhythm
- permission to pause
It’s structure that doesn’t feel like rigidity.
Planning from capacity, not aspiration
One of the biggest shifts quarterly reflection has offered me is this:
I no longer plan according to who I think I should be on my best day. I plan from capacity.
Reflection grounds planning in reality:
- Where did I feel stretched too thin?
- When did I feel stressed or overwhelmed?
- What supported me to function — not just produce?
- When did I feel more easeful?
- Where did I need more space, not more effort?
For me, that’s meant blocking time off each quarter — and even planning a holiday to Japan in May. Not as a reward for productivity. As part of the structure that supports my capacity.
(Because I’ve also realised: if I don’t plan my time off, it doesn’t happen.)
How do you want to feel this season?
When I sit down to reflect now, I don’t start with goals. I start with a simpler question:
How do I want to feel this season?
Not in an aspirational, “best version of myself” way — but in a grounded, nervous-system-aware way.
My overarching intention this year is exactly that: to be intentional.
And when I get specific, the feelings I’m orienting toward are simple:
- healthy — in my mind and body
- connected — in ways that feel meaningful, not rushed
- joyful — not constantly, but savouring more moments
Those become my filter. They guide how I schedule my time. What I commit to. How much structure I need, and where I need more space.
Instead of asking, “Is this the right decision?”
I ask, “Does this support how I want to feel this season?”
That shift alone has helped me start the year feeling more regulated — with space to actually play.
You don’t have to figure this out alone
I don’t love rigid plans. I resist anything overly prescriptive.
But quarterly reflection has given me something I was missing: a sense of agency.
I’m no longer a rudderless boat, pulled along by momentum and other people’s needs.
There’s structure now — with flexibility built in.
Direction — without pressure.
Space — for pause and purpose.
One thing I see again and again is how much easier reflection becomes when it’s externalised.
Thinking out loud.
Being witnessed.
Having someone help you name what you’re noticing — without rushing to solutions.
Quarterly reflection doesn’t have to be a solo journaling marathon. Sometimes it looks like a conversation, a brainstorm, or just space to think with someone who gets it.
If you’re curious about creating a more intentional quarterly rhythm — through reflection, structured thinking space, and planning that actually fits your brain — this is work I support.