It talked about Autistic people having “overactive nervous systems” — and framed that as something we should accept, even lean into.

That we can’t really rest, that we’re wired to keep going, and that’s just how it is.

And I understand where that perspective comes from. But I also feel really uneasy about it. Because there’s a difference between:

• this is how my brain works
  and
• this is a dysregulated state my body has learned to live in

And those two things get blurred far too often.

For a long time, I lived in that constant push.

From the outside, things looked fine. Work was getting done (I was known in various professional circles as ‘the girl who got shit done), and I wasa achieving whatever I set out to do.

Life was moving forward, but underneath it, I was a shell. More times than not, I felt like a shaken soda bottle with the cap on tight, threatening to explode messily at any moment.

I didn’t really stop — I just had to keep going because if I allowed myself to stop, hell, I might never get up again! And when I tried to rest, it never felt restorative. I felt more like a non-funcitonal lump just dragging my meat-suit around.

Eventually, this started to show up in ways I couldn’t ignore or hide anymore. I was stuttering. Struggling to reply to emails or messages, or even pick up the phone. I’d sit at my desk, red-eyed, washed out and looking completely exhausted — and people started commenting on it, often.

Holding a conversation became difficult.

There were times I’d drag myself out of the office without saying goodbye, because I just couldn’t face talking to people. I just didn’t have the energy.

At home, the sensory overwhelm would hit — lights off, silence, needing everything to stop. Unable to make any decisions – dinner, showering, exercise. Ugh.

There were even moments where I couldn’t find words or speak properly – and sometimes, at all.

My body and brain felt like they were buzzing and shutting down at the same time. Lying there, completely spent — not able to sleep, but not able to do anything else either.

Even now, this still happens sometimes.

Recently, I had one of those days — a mix of a full social week, hormones, and having a bit more energy than usual. I pushed a little further than I probably should have, because I thought I could, and I felt good.

That line isn’t always obvious in the moment.

The difference now is that I recognise it sooner, and I understand what I need to do next.

Not perfectly. But differently.

“I can’t rest” — but is that the whole story?

There’s a narrative that comes up a lot in this space:

“I can’t rest.”
“My brain won’t switch off.”
“I need to stay busy.”
“It’s just the way it is because of [dopamine, my brain, my ‘ADHD, and so on].”

And yes — that can be true.

But it’s not the full story.

Because rest isn’t something that just happens automatically for a lot of us. It’s not intuitive. And it’s not always comfortable.

Rest is a skill.

Regulation is something we can learn — in ways that actually work for us.

Not by forcing ourselves into rigid routines or idealised versions of “self-care”, but by understanding our own patterns, our own limits, and what actually helps our system settlen safely.

For me, that has looked like:

• learning to take breaks before I hit the wall
• building in transitions between things — even if that’s just five minutes to sit in the car before walking into the house, or a walk around the block between work and dinner
• capacity planning my weeks and months
• finding forms of rest that actually feel accessible (not just what I think I “should” be doing), such as lying on my bed in a dark room, surrounding myself with soft pillows, covering mysel with a fluffy blanket, and slowly digesting a good book (probably a murder-mystery, which I find oh so comorting!
• establishing and reinforcing strong boundaries, even when it means passing up on something I’d really like to do or someone I’d love to catch up with!
• embracing my quirky interests, such as puzzles and off-the-wall animations and series that amuse and soothe me
• learning to properly unplug – with enforced tech curfews and a ‘no social media on my phone’ rule
• working with my trauma-informed and neuro-affirming psychologist to help identify and adjust certain patterns, like my tendency to overwork, resolve past traumas and to support my nervous system to feek safe – so it could rest!
• and recognising the early signs that I’m pushing past my capacity – and having a plan about what to do (so I don’t have to rely on my brain to solve problems and make decisions when there)

It’s not perfect, and it takes ongoing work and mixing things up every now and again.

And it certainly doesn’t mean I never overdo it. But it’s different, and it’s more sustainable in a way that constant pushing never was.

I also want to say this, because it matters

There is no single way to experience Autism or ADHD.

The “we all…” statements — even when well-intentioned — can flatten a lot of nuance, and can leave people feeling like they don’t quite fit.

I felt this myself when I was first diagnosed with ADHD. At first, there was a sense of relief — like I’d found something that finally made sense. But over time, as I saw more of the messaging and experiences being shared, I started to feel a disconnect. It didn’t always reflect how I experienced things. And for a while, that left me feeling like I didn’t quite belong there either.

(And of course, later I came to learn I was also Autistic and was living with Complex PTSD… and perimenopause!)

Our nervous systems, our capacity, our patterns are shaped not just by neurotype, but by life experiences, environments, expectations, and often trauma.

So when we talk about things like rest, regulation, or burnout — it’s not one-size-fits-all.

What I do know is this

We don’t need to earn rest by burning ourselves out first. And we don’t have to accept constant dysregulation as our baseline.

We are all allowed to build ways of living and working that are more sustainable — even if that takes time, experimentation, and unlearning along the way.

This is the work I do with my clients every day.

Not just understanding how their brain works, but building the strategies, systems and supports around them — in a way that’s actually sustainable.

So things feel more manageable, more steady, and more aligned over time.

The post Rest is a skill (I had to learn it the hard way) appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

She’ll grab her fluffy blanket, take herself to one of two spaces in the house (generally on ‘her’ beanbag), sit herself down and suckle. It’s her way of saying: “I need to regulate. Give me a few moments.”

And honestly? She’s better at recognising when she needs a reset than I’ve been for most of my life.

These days, I’m learning to pay attention to those signals too — in myself, not just my dog.

The Early Days: Trying to “Fix” Myself

When I was diagnosed with ADHD and autism at 45, I did what a lot of newly diagnosed people do.

I went into an information deep-dive.

I researched “ADHD-friendly routines.” I read about sleep hygiene, nutrition hacks, planning tips and time management systems. I bought books, downloaded apps and enrolled in courses. I followed the algorithm which delivered me so much ADHD content. And I told myself if I had ‘all of the information and knowledge’ I’d have everything solved.

Spoiler: You can’t out-plan your neurology.

What I’ve learned since then is that building a healthier life with ADHD isn’t about fixing yourself or forcing your brain into neurotypical systems — something I spent years doing pre-diagnosis.

It’s about finding what actually works for your brain and body — even when it looks different from what you “should” be doing.

And sometimes, it’s about giving yourself permission to stop things that aren’t working, even when you’ve already invested time, money, or effort into them.

The Pilates Story (Or: When “Healthy” Isn’t Actually Healthy)

Last year, I started reformer Pilates.

It seemed like a good idea. Everyone said it would help with core strength, posture, alignment. I wanted to feel stronger in my body after years of burnout.

For a while, I enjoyed it.

But then I started noticing something. I’d leave class feeling… off. Shaky. Sometimes tearful. One day, I found myself crying during a session, and not being able to stop — not from exertion, but from something deeper. This happened a few times.

My body was trying to tell me something.

It turned out that Pilates was making me stronger in some ways, sure — but it was also triggering my PTSD, aggravating my hypermobility, and ignoring my body’s actual needs around proprioception and regulation.

And so I stopped.

And it felt like failure at first. I’d paid for the classes. I’d committed. I’d told people I was doing it. I kept getting told ‘it will be good for your stability’.

But here’s what I know: Just because something is “good for you” doesn’t mean it’s good for YOUR body.

I’ve gone back to basics.

Gentle movement. Walking. Yoga stretching.

Working with a physio and an exercise physiologist who’s teaching me foundational things — like how to actually walk and move my body through space in ways that work with my hypermobility and neurodivergent brain, not against it.

Plus, they show me the exercises, provide me with tactile cues, and videos to follow at home, plus regular check-ins and tailoring.

It’s slower. It’s less impressive. But it’s what my body needs. And that’s what matters.

What’s Actually Helped (The Non-Prescriptive Version)

I don’t have a perfect system. I don’t have 10 steps that will transform your life. What I have is a collection of things I’ve learned through trial, error, and a lot of self-compassion.

Here’s what’s made a difference for me — not because they’re “right,” but because they fit my brain and my body.

Protein and hydration (especially with electrolytes)

This was a game-changer I didn’t see coming.

Protein at breakfast — especially for my ADHD brain — makes everything clearer. Without it, I’m foggy as hell. It’s also good for perimenopausal women, which, surprise, I am.

Hydration with electrolytes has been fairly new for me, but it packs a punch.

I’m learning I’m hypermobile and likely have POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome — something that’s becoming more recognised in ADHDers).

Electrolytes help.

So does a good water bottle that makes drinking water easier and more pleasurable. (I got a Yeti for New Year’s that can go in the dishwasher to accompany my other water bottles on cleaning rotation. It’s one of those small things that actually works.)

Eating all the colours (and fibre)

This isn’t about rigid meal plans.

It’s about nourishing my body in ways that support my energy, mood, hormones and gut health.

Colours. Fibre. Real food when I can manage it.

And when I can’t? That’s okay too.

Cooking and meal prep (simplified)

Cooking is challenging. Executive dysfunction is real.

So I simplify. Batch cooking. Body doubling with my husband. One-pot meals. List of easy-to-go-to meals to ease decision fatigue.

Sometimes, frozen curries or delivered gluten-free ready meals.

The goal isn’t perfection. It’s feeding myself in ways that don’t drain me.

Movement — my way

I’m not a “class girl” for fitness. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work for me.

What does work:

• Walking with Freya (though I’ve learned to say no when my body is too tired — which makes me sad, but my body matters too)
• Practising walking my new way on my new treadmill at speed 5 or less instead of 6
• Gentle yoga, rotation and stretching
• Working with a neuro-affirming exercise physiologist who understands hypermobility
• Not pushing myself to walk 1-2 hours every day just because I “should” or because Freya wants it or because I love it but I just can’t drive today!

Movement matters. But so does listening to my body.

Capacity planning and energy management

This has been one of the biggest shifts.

I’ve gone back to spoon theory and capacity planning — asking “What do I actually have capacity for today?” instead of “What should I be doing?”

I plan in quarters now, not years. I time-block with flexibility built in. I schedule rest and space first, because if it’s not in the calendar, it doesn’t happen.

And I’ve learned that my capacity fluctuates. Daily. Weekly. Monthly. That’s not a failing. It’s just how my nervous system works.

Understanding my sensory profile

Learning about my sensory needs has been life-changing.

Why fluorescent lights drain me. Why open offices feel overwhelming. Why soft textures, flowy pants, and fluffy blankets aren’t indulgent — they’re regulation tools.

Freya suckles her fluffy blanket to regulate. I have my own version. Comfort isn’t optional. It’s essential.

Building a support team

For years, I tried to do it all myself.

Now, I have a mostly neuro-affirming team: my psychologist, chiropractor, physiotherapist, exercise physiologist, hormone doctor, GP, and my ADHD coach supervisor.

It’s not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign that I’m taking my health seriously.

And honestly?

Having people who understand my brain and body has made all the difference.

The INCUP Framework (Or: Why Things Stop Working)

Here’s something I wish I’d known earlier: If something stops working, it’s not because you’re not trying hard enough.

ADHD brains need novelty. Interest. Challenge. A sense of urgency or purpose.

That’s where the INCUP framework comes in:

• Interest — Does this feel engaging?
• Novelty — Is there something new here?
• Challenge — Is it the right level of difficulty?
• Urgency — Is there a reason to do it now?
• Purposeful — Does it align with what matters to me?

When something stops working — a routine, a system, a habit — it’s often because one of these elements has shifted.

The answer isn’t to push harder. It’s to be curious and experiment. Mix things up. Gamify. Try something different. Or give yourself a break.

Don’t judge yourself. Be curious.

Structure, Systems, Supports, and Strategies

For ADHD, AuDHD, and autistic people, these four S’s are essential:

Structure — Not rigid, but enough to feel held
Systems — That work with your brain, not against it
Supports — People, tools, accommodations
Strategies — Flexible approaches you can adapt

They’re not about fixing yourself. They’re pillars that support a healthier, more sustainable life.

And they’re allowed to change as you change.

Permission to Do Things Differently

If there’s one thing I want you to take from this, it’s this:

You don’t need to do it the way everyone else does.

You’re allowed to:

• Say no to things that don’t work for your body (even if they’re “healthy”)
• Need a support team
• Have routines that look different from week to week
• Rest without earning it
• Mix things up when something stops working
• Build a life that fits your brain, not someone else’s idea of what you should be doing

This isn’t about lowering standards. It’s about setting standards that don’t cost you your health.

What Freya Taught Me

Back to Freya and her blanket.

She knows when she needs to move. She knows when she needs to rest. She knows when her energy is off and what helps her regulate.

She doesn’t judge herself for it. She just… does it.

I’m still learning that lesson.

But these days, when she grabs her blanket or drops that ball at my feet, I pay attention.

Not just to her needs — but to mine too.

If you’re navigating your own journey of building a life that fits your brain — with all the trial, error, and messy reality that comes with it — you’re not alone. Coaching can be a space to figure out what actually works for you. No pressure. Just support when you need it.

The post What I’ve Learned About Building a Healthier Life with ADHD (The Messy, Real Version) appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

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.

The post Why Quarterly Reflection Matters (Especially If You’re Neurodivergent) appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

It’s not because I don’t care about growth, achieving things or change — it’s because, for me, resolutions have almost always been rooted in pressure and pushing.

They tend to assume unlimited energy, consistent motivation, and a nervous system that can tolerate being pushed.

That hasn’t been my lived experience.

This year, instead of resolutions, I set one overarching intention:

To be more intentional.

Not in a performative or productivity-driven way. But in a listening way.

Why intention feels different (and more sustainable)

Resolutions usually focus on outcomes:

• what you’ll achieve
• what you’ll improve
• what you’ll finally “fix”
• when you will do it by, within the next 12 months.

You see, there’s pressure there already!

Intentions focus on how you want to live.

They create a lens you can return to when energy fluctuates, life intervenes, or plans need to change. For ADHD and AuDHD brains — and for anyone caught in the burnout cycle or recovering from burnout — that flexibility matters.

Intentions leave room for capacity. Resolutions rarely do.

What being “more intentional” looks like

Over the break, I spent time reflecting on how I ended last year — not just what I did, but how I felt.

Tired. Proud. Stretched. Tender and a little brittle.

That reflection shaped how I approached planning for this year. Rather than mapping out everything I should do, I focused on how I want to be.

Being more intentional has meant:

• planning the year in quarters — asking “what does the next three months need?” rather than “how do I optimise the year?”
• scheduling rest, leave, and space first, because if it’s not in the calendar, it usually doesn’t happen
• having clear conversations about time off and priorities (including finally booking a long-awaited Japan trip in May)
• saying no earlier — and with less justification

This isn’t about doing less for the sake of it. It’s about doing things with awareness.

What I’m deliberately not doing

Part of intention-setting is naming what you’re choosing not to push.

This year, I’m being intentional about:

• not overriding my body when it’s asking for rest
• not saying yes out of habit or guilt
• not clinging to routines that no longer fit (goodbye, gym membership and the shame that came with it)
• not treating health as something to “work around” rather than prioritise

Letting go of things can feel uncomfortable — especially for ADHD/AuDHD adults who are used to trying harder to make things work. But sometimes, sustainability comes from subtraction, not addition.

Small, ordinary moments matter

Some of the most meaningful parts of this intention have shown up quietly.

On my first day back at work, I took half an hour for gentle yoga and stretching before opening my laptop. My neck and jaw softened. My body felt more settled. It changed the tone of the entire day.

I bought a six-month planner instead of demanding a full year of certainty from myself (and the guilt that would inevitably come when I forgot about it halfway through).

I allowed myself to rest through a sinus infection — even when my brain tried to convince me that housework would be a “better use” of my time.

And after a late-night trip to pet emergency with Freya (she’s okay), I was reminded — again — that presence, pacing, and care matter more than productivity.

Why this matters for ADHD & AuDHD adults

Living with ADHD or AuDHD often means navigating fluctuating energy, sensory load, emotional intensity, and periods of burnout. Traditional goal-setting frameworks don’t account for this.

Intentions offer something different:

• permission to adapt
• a way to check in rather than push through
• language that supports nervous system regulation
• a reminder that capacity is not a moral failing

This isn’t about lowering standards. It’s about setting standards that don’t cost you your health.

If you’re starting the year tired

You’re not behind.

You don’t need a resolution.
You don’t need a complete plan.
And you don’t need to reinvent yourself.

You might just need an intention that feels steady, kind, and realistic — one you can return to when things feel messy, overwhelming or you feel a little lost.

For me, that intention is being more intentional.

And I’ll keep coming back to it this year, one choice at a time.

—

If you’d like support navigating intention-setting, pacing, or sustainable ways of living and working with ADHD or AuDHD, you’re welcome to explore coaching with me. We start where you are at right now.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: What’s the difference between intention-setting and New Year’s resolutions?

A: New Year’s resolutions tend to focus on goal setting, outcomes and self-improvement, often assuming you will have consistent energy and motivation. Intention-setting focuses on how you want to live — allowing for flexibility, capacity changes, and real life.

Q: Why don’t New Year’s resolutions work well for ADHD and AuDHD adults?

A: Many resolutions rely on rigid routines, sustained motivation, longer term goals and planning, and pushing through discomfort. ADHD and AuDHD adults often experience fluctuating energy, sensory load, motivation and burnout, which can make intention-based and shorter-time framed approaches more sustainable.

Q: How do I set intentions if I’m already burnt out?

A: Start small. Intentions don’t need to be goals. They can be words, values, or ways of being — such as pacing, rest, or listening to your body. The intention should support recovery, not demand performance.

Q: Is intention-setting just “doing less”?

A: Not necessarily. Intention-setting isn’t about lowering standards and expectations — it’s about setting standards that respect your capacity and nervous system, so you can engage with life in a sustainable way.

Q: Can intention-setting help with ADHD burnout recovery?

A: Yes. Intention-setting can create space for reflection, adaptation, and nervous system regulation, all of which are important for recovering from burnout and preventing future cycles.

The post Intention, Not Resolution: A Gentler Way to Begin the Year with ADHD & AuDHD appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

As the year winds down, I always feel a mix of emotions — gratitude, joy, tenderness… and if I’m honest, tiredness.

Coaching is one of the greatest joys in my life. Every session lifts me in a way that’s hard to put into words. Being invited into people’s stories — their growth, their struggles, their recalibration — is a genuine privilege I don’t take that lightly.

This year, I’m ending it tired. Properly tired.

It’s been a year of holding space, expanding my practice, navigating life, family and health challenges, pivoting, learning, and growing.

So as we move into the end of the year, I wanted to share something other than motivational goal-setting or “New Year, New You” energy.

Instead, this is an invitation to slow down and gently reflect on the end of year.

When Christmas Feels Complicated

For many Neurodivergent people, the Christmas period can be a bit — or a lot — overwhelming.

It can be emotionally heavy, socially draining, sensory overloading, and deeply complex due to family dynamics, grief, or expectations.

If that’s you, I want you to know this:

• You’re allowed boundaries.
• You’re allowed to say no.
• You’re allowed to step away, opt out, or keep things small.

“Good enough” really is good enough.

Gentle Supports for the Christmas Period

Here are a few gentle supports that can help you through the Christmas period:

• Choose one non-negotiable that supports your nervous system: a daily walk, a time limit on a social gathering, choosing to skip the booze this year, a consistent bed-time. Choose something that works for your nervous system.
• Build in transitions between events and recovery time after social events.
• Create micro-moments of grounding: a walk, fresh air, bare feet on the earth, a quiet pause in the bathroom, noise-cancelling headphones, a hug with your pet.
• Find moments of joy in your way, not the way you or others think you should.

You Don’t Need to Reinvent Yourself for the New Year

As we wrap up the year, and since I love a good reflection, here’s a few gentle reflections to consider over the coming weeks:

• What do I genuinely have capacity for right now?
• Where can I give myself permission to do less, say no, or rest?
• Where did I surprise myself this year?
• What might support future-me, even in a tiny way?
• What can I gently leave behind this year, and what do I want to carry forward?

There are no right answers, and these aren’t productivity hacks — they’re questions to help you tune in and nurture your nervous system.

And in case you need a permission:

You don’t need a brand-new planner.

You don’t need to overhaul your life.

And you don’t need to emerge from January a “better version” of yourself.

You’re allowed to arrive at the end of the year exactly as you are.

Moving gently into the new year

January doesn’t need to be a sprint. It can be a soft landing.

If planning feels supportive, great. If rest is what’s needed first, that’s valid too.

Me, well, I’m practising what I preach.

I’ll be taking a short break over the holiday period to rest, reset, and recalibrate — following Freya’s (my assistant and rescue Doberman) lead with more naps and a few treats, fewer expectations, and plenty of pauses.

Wherever this season finds you, I hope you can meet yourself with kindness.

You’ve done enough.

You are enough.

Rest is not a reward — it’s a requirement.

— Janine

Coaching to support you in the New Year

If you’re reading this and feeling tired, stretched, burnt out, are crawling to the finish line, or are quietly questioning how to move into the new year, you don’t have to do that alone.

In my work as an ADHD and AuDHD coach in Australia, I see this pattern every year.

Coaching can be a space to slow things down, make sense of what’s been heavy, get clearer on your overall values, needs and priorities in this season of your life, and design the next season in a way that actually fits you.

If and when it feels right, you’re welcome to book a coaching discovery call with me here.

No urgency. No pressure. Just support, when you need it.

Frequently Asked Questions

The post A Gentle End-of-Year Reflection: Permission to Do Less appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

I recently turned 48.

For years, I wrote annual birthday blog posts – little time capsules of the lessons I was learning (checks notes – my last reflections post was when I turned 46). Somewhere along the way, life got busy, heavy, and complicated, and I stopped. I also misplaced my blogging mojo and, well, blogging changed.

But this year, I felt the pull to write again.

Finding Myself Again

I’ll be honest — this year I’ve wrestled with ageing.

After years of stress (okay, a decade’s worth), I noticed the changes in the mirror – lines around my eyes, muscle that seemed to vanish overnight, and the weight of it all on my face and body.

But here’s what else I’ve noticed since turning 48.

Those lines also tell a different story: a story of laughter, smiling, connection, and joy.

They’re proof of a life lived, not wasted.

And I like the woman who looks back at me now.

I wish younger me had the confidence, knowledge, diagnoses, and self-worth I carry today – but I look at her with kindness, and give her a hug across time.

Rebuilding Strength — Body and Mind

Over the last year, I’ve taken up reformer Pilates and strength training.

My clothes don’t fit quite the same, but my body feels stronger, more capable. It’s both uncomfortable and awesome.

My work has grown, too.

Both sides of my business — ADHD and AuDHD coaching, and marketing — have flourished. I’m lucky to work with the right people, and to make an impact that feels meaningful.

That’s something I don’t take for granted.

Living More Authentically

Personally, I’ve been unmasking more as an AuDHD woman.

It’s a process filled with grief – for the girl and woman I hid away, and for the years spent carrying the exhaustion of masking. But it’s also filled with joy and relief, as I learn to drop the mask in safe spaces and live more authentically.

I’m still learning what that looks like.

Some days it’s messy. Other days, it’s pure freedom.

And despite the hard parts, I’m still choosing joy

Small things. Daily choices.

Walks with Freya, shared laughter with my husband, conversations (and laughs) with clients, and the support of friends and colleagues who boost me up when I need it.

At 48, here’s what I know for sure:

Strength can be rebuilt, even after burnout.
Joy is found in the little things if you look for it.
Authenticity is worth the discomfort it takes to get there.
A good support team makes all the difference.

I don’t know exactly what the next decade holds, but I do know this: I’m looking forward to it – with more strength, more kindness, and more joy.

Here’s to living, laughing, and thriving — one season at a time.

The post Reflections on Turning 48: Strength, Joy & Living More Authentically appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

I took last week off. Properly off.

No emails, no notifications, no endless scroll. Just me, my husband, and Freya the Doberman in Bridgetown — surrounded by trees, misty mornings, and the kind of quiet that gently untangles your brain.

My goal was simple: rest, reset, recharge.

I managed the first two — recharging is ongoing.

The Art of Taking a Real Break

It’s funny how slowing down feels harder than speeding up.

The first few days away, my brain still buzzed with to-do lists, emails, and half-finished projects. But nature has a way of softening the noise.

Long walks under towering trees, quiet afternoons reading, and Freya’s uncontainable joy at being off-lead and in a 100% dog-friendly home away from home reminded me that stillness isn’t laziness — it’s recovery.

When you finally pause, you notice how much tension you’ve been holding. It sits in your shoulders, your sleep, your thoughts. Sometimes, it takes a week in the forest to realise how overdue rest really was.

Rediscovering Joy in the Everyday

As the days went on, I started to notice little things again — the sound of kookaburras, cockatoos and magpies, sunlight through the leaves, the simple pleasure of cooking dinner without rushing.

Being away reminded me that joy doesn’t have to be big or loud. It can be as small as Freya’s muddy paws after a walk, or the calm that comes from breathing air that smells like rain and eucalyptus.

Now that I’m home, I’ve started my mornings with a short stretch and a few minutes of journaling — not as a productivity tool, but as a grounding one.

I work from home, and it’s easy to get stuck in my head or slip back into 12-hour days. Journaling helps me pause, set intentions, and check in with myself before the day runs away.

And because ADHD brains love novelty, I’ve mixed it up a bit — using prompts and even ChatGPT as an accountability buddy to keep things interesting. (So far, it’s working!)

The Reality of Coming Back

Re-entry is always strange, isn’t it? You return home a little clearer, but the world hasn’t slowed down with you.

I’ve realised that recharging isn’t something you tick off a list — it’s something you build into life. It’s in the morning rituals, the breaks between meetings, the slow walks after work.

So, I’m trying to bring a little of Bridgetown home with me — more fresh air, more pauses, more presence.

Rest as Resistance

This year has been heavy for so many of us. The noise, the constant change, the world feeling too much — it all adds up. Taking a break from the digital noise and the daily grind isn’t indulgent; it’s essential.

Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is rest.

Step back.

Let yourself breathe.

Because when you return, you come back with more clarity, more compassion, and a little more space to be yourself.

So here’s your reminder — it’s okay to step away.

The world will wait.

The post Recharging, Rediscovery, and Returning: Lessons from a Week Among the Trees appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

I remember the day I stumbled upon the concept of a self-soothe box. It was during a time when I was grappling with health issues and feeling overwhelmed.

My life coach suggested I put together a self-soothe box, a simple go-to box filled with items that could help me feel better on rough days.

The impact was profound.

Not only did it help me manage my stress, but it also became a staple in my life, especially after discovering my sensory sensitivities and ADHD.

As someone who runs her own business and dabbles in many things, I found that having a small self-soothe kit in my handbag was a lifesaver during moments of anxiety or overwhelm. Perfect for a day in the office, when feeling bombarded by people, lights and noise in a shopping centre, pre or post-networking events, and more.

The Magic of a Self-Soothe Kit

A self-soothe box or kit is a personal sanctuary that you carry with you.

It’s a collection of items that can help you calm down, relax, and manage stress. It’s perfect for those days when you’re feeling bombarded by sensory overload, pre or post-networking events, or just having a case of the Mondays (or Wednesdays in true hump-day style).

Crafting Your Own Self-Soothe Kit

Think of creating your self-soothe kit as an exercise of self-reflection and self-care.

Take time to put all of the components together thoughtfully, keeping in mind that you want it to be functional, appealing, memorable, and easily accessible if and when you need it.

Here’s a step-by-step guide to help you create your little piece of sanctuary.

Step 1: Choose Your Container

Choose something that resonates with you and is functional.

You could reuse an old basket, jewellery box or a gift box, or even a small crate.

Alternatively, you could use a bowl, make-up pouch, purse, or even a nice bag.

I have a couple of self-soothe kits. I have a colorful unicorn-covered makeup pouch that I carry around with me when I’m out and about. And I have a small pretty box that I keep within reach in my home office. When I worked in an office, I kept go-to items in my desk drawer.

Side note: as I have been known to leave the lid loose on my water bottle which I keep in my bag, I now have a waterproof pouch I carry around with me.

Step 2: Get Decorating

Decorating your self-soothe kit is a chance to express your creativity and make it soothing to the eye. This can also help your memory recall. Just seeing your creation can trigger you to remember to use it!

If you choose the box option, you could paint it with different colours, draw on a design, or cover it with material, stickers, bows and the like. For the inside, consider stuffing it with some soft material that you enjoy touching. i.e. felt, bubble wrap, fluffy materials.

You get the idea!

Step 3: Decide What Items to Include

Next, choose items that will work well when you are feeling in need of soothing.

A great rule of thumb when putting the contents of your self-soothe kit together is to choose items that appeal to your five senses, and can help you to centre yourself or soothe you when and if needed.

When deciding what items to include in your self-soothe box, consider the following:

• Choose items that appeal to your five senses. Touch, taste, smell, sight and sound.

• The items should help YOU calm down when you need them (not anyone else). For example, some people find that certain activities or objects, such as colouring books, affirmation cards, chocolate, or scented candles, help them relax and keep their anxiety at bay.

• The items should be easy to access. For example, if you are experiencing a panic attack, you don’t want to panic because you can’t find your self-soothe box or struggle to get something out of it. You might also want to create a portable self-soothe kit you can carry around in your car or bag.

• The contents of your self-soothing box should work well for different situations, such as when you’re feeling irritable, overwhelmed, anxious, or sad.

Here are some examples of what you could include in your self-soothe box:

• Self-care items like an eye mask, glasses, ear plugs and noise-cancelling earphones
• Coping tools like fidget toys, soft textures, fluffy socks or a smooth rock
• A go-to playlist of tunes to lift you up or soothe you down
• A journal to write, accompanied by a nice pen
• An uplifting book to read
• Your favourite tea
• Words to inspire (quotes or affirmation cards)
• Scented items such as bath salts, pulse points in scents you love, scented candles, and nasal remedy inhalers.

Going all out with fancy aromatherapy oils and expensive candles can be tempting—but remember, you don’t need to spend much money.

The fewer items in your self-soothe box, the less likely you will get overwhelmed by all the options when you need to reach your box.

Embrace the Journey

Creating a self-soothe kit is a beautiful act of self-care. It’s a tangible reminder of the importance of looking after yourself.

Whether you’re juggling lots of balls, feeling overwhelmed, or stressed, creating a self-soothe kit of your own can support you in navigating day-to-day life with ADHD.

I’d love to see your self-soothe kit. Share it with me on Instagram over at @janinedefontaine.

Remember, this is your journey, and every step you take to nurture your ADHD self is a step towards a healthier, less overwhelmed you.

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The post A Guide to Creating Your Own Self-Soothe Kit appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

At the age of 45, I found myself grappling with a life-changing diagnosis: ADHD.

It was a revelation that came at a time when I was struggling to do the things I usually did.

I’d been questioning my sanity, if I was ill, and wondering if I was developing dementia.

I had left my job earlier that year and was working full-time in my business. I had worked so hard to change my life and was living the life I wanted, so why was everything falling apart?

The Journey to Discovery

The path to my diagnosis was not straightforward.

It began with sharing my struggles with close friends and noticing a pattern in the TikTok videos I was being shown about ADHD in women.

After some hyperfocus research and self-enquiry, I decided to get an ADHD assessment. The result? I was not only diagnosed with ADHD, but I was also in severe ADHD burnout and possibly Autistic.

Reflecting on the Past

Looking back, I can see how ADHD and a whole lot of sensory processing challenges have been a constant presence in my life.

The feeling of not fitting in, being called weird, sensitive, quirky, different, or that I laugh too loudly.

Struggling through school and university.

Misinterpreting my hyperactive racing mind and constant feelings of overwhelm as anxiety.

Constantly losing things, bumping into things, and never remembering people’s names.

The urge to do many things, different things, for change – but also craving security, safety, and stability.

And working so hard. I was known as ‘the girl who gets shit done’… which I thrived on for a time but was always followed by burnout.

The Impact of Living Undiagnosed & the Power of Understanding

Living life undiagnosed, masking to fit into the neurotypical world, working so hard, and unable to escape the burnout cycle, with the breaks between burnout getting shorter each time

I was left feeling like a shell of a human being.

I was exhausted.

Once I was diagnosed, I felt a lot of grief, anger, disappointment, and sadness for all the years I believed something was wrong with me.

I had spent years trying to ‘fix’ myself through counselling, psychologists, naturopaths, doctors, tests from specialists, and self-help books and classes, believing I couldn’t handle life like a ‘normal’ person.

Why had no one picked up on this?

On the other hand, my ADHD diagnosis was validating. It has led me to understand the what, why, and how I do what I do. By viewing life through a different lens, I’m exploring my neurodivergent self and allowing myself to do things differently.

It has opened a new world of possibilities and allowed me to do things in a way that works for me. I’m discovering who I am. I love who I am. I feel happier. And I feel so much more whole.

The Road Ahead

There is so much more to my story.

Navigating the medical and mental health systems, waiting lists, and other non-helpful things has been cumbersome and frustrating.

Successfully trialling ADHD medication and having to deal with medication shortages was confronting and triggered more trauma.

I have shared my news with friends, family members, colleagues, and the world, and the reactions have been mostly positive, some invalidating or plain gaslighting, and a few disappointing.

Collecting other diagnoses along the way in the form of Complex PTSD, Raynaud syndrome, and the like. Today I call them the other pieces to my puzzle.

But building my support team of a great psychologist, psychiatrist, coach, mentor, GP, chiropractor, and more, along with the support I’ve received from friends, family, and my networks, has been a blessing.

And honestly, that’s why I am here doing what I do.

Let’s Connect

I hope hearing part of my story about my late diagnosis of ADHD will inspire you to be gentle with yourself and each other and to accept and celebrate your differences.

If you’re looking for an ADHD coach who understands your struggles firsthand, I’d love to connect.

My lived experience with ADHD, alongside my learning, professional experience and qualifications, has equipped me with a unique perspective and tools to help others navigate their own journeys.

Let’s explore the possibilities together and celebrate our neurodivergent selves.

Reach out to me, and let’s start this empowering journey together.

Janine

The post Unmasking Myself: My Journey to an ADHD Diagnosis at 45 appeared first on Janine Defontaine.