The cold? Rude.

The dark mornings? Uncalled for.

The transitions? Suddenly a full strategic operations meeting.

The sensory stuff? Very much present.

Side eye to the woolly cardigan I threw on today that has been itching my neck for hours, while I have mostly ignored it, despite knowing my neck will probably end up red with claw marks later.

Anyone else might simply take the cardigan off.

My brain has instead chosen: “Notice discomfort. Do nothing. Suffer. Continue task. Become quietly furious.”

Very innovative. No notes.

The Trouble with ‘All the Things’

And then there’s food, movement, hydration, getting dressed, leaving the house, replying to messages, existing in fabrics. All the tiny things that suddenly feel about twelve steps too long.

So today, lunch was packet soup.

Was it glamorous? No.
Was it warm? Yes.
Did I need to be heated from the inside out like a sad little Victorian orphan? Also yes.

This is the kind of thing I talk about a lot with ADHD/AuDHD coaching clients: sometimes we assume we’re being lazy, inconsistent, or dramatic, when what’s actually happening is a capacity shift.

Winter can make everything feel harder because there’s more friction.

More sensory discomfort.
More transition resistance.
More “I know what I need to do, but unfortunately my body has voted no.”
More needing to negotiate with yourself like a hostage situation over a shower.

And when our capacity changes, our expectations often do not get the memo.

So we keep trying to run the same routines, hit the same goals, and complete the same tasks in the same way — while our nervous system is quietly saying, “Absolutely not, bestie.”

Hibernation mode is not laziness

When motivation drops, it’s easy to slip into the old familiar shame spiral.

“Why can’t I just do the thing?”
“Why am I like this?”
“Why was I fine last month and now folding laundry feels like preparing for battle?”

But ADHD and AuDHD brains are often highly sensitive to context.

Temperature, light, clothing, food, sleep, routine changes, sensory input, stress, hormones, grief, life admin, pet medical crises, general capitalism — it all counts.

Annoying, yes. But also useful to know.

Because if the issue is friction, then the answer is not always “try harder.”

Sometimes the answer is:

make the thing smaller.

Ask: what’s the smallest version that still counts?

The question I keep coming back to is:

What’s the smallest version of this that still counts?

Not the perfect version.
Not the impressive version.
Not the version you planned when you had sunlight, optimism, and a functioning nervous system.

The smallest version.

Exercise might be one stretch.
A shower might be washing your face and changing clothes.
Cooking might be packet soup.
Admin might be opening the document and then walking away because apparently that was enough bravery for one day.

This isn’t giving up.

It’s reducing the friction enough to stay connected to yourself and your life when your capacity is lower than usual.

Freya’s official position

Freya, my rescue Doberman and unofficial VA, would like to add that she also experiences strong feelings about temperature, textures, routine changes, and being asked to do things before she is emotionally ready.

So, frankly, she gets it.

Her official productivity framework appears to be:

Honestly? There are worse systems.

Smaller, warmer, softer, more realistic

Winter hibernation mode doesn’t mean you’re broken.

It might just mean your systems need to become smaller, warmer, softer, and more realistic.

That might look like:

• changing into the least offensive clothing
• eating the warm, easy thing
• doing one stretch instead of a workout
• moving a task to tomorrow without making it a personality flaw
• putting the heater on before attempting the shower
• opening the document instead of finishing the document
• asking, “What support would make this less awful?”

The goal is not to force full-capacity output from a low-capacity nervous system.

The goal is to stay gently connected.

To your body.
To your needs.
To your routines.
To the life you are trying to build.

Even if today’s version includes packet soup, questionable knitwear, and a Doberman who thinks transitions are a human rights violation.

Over to you

What’s one thing your winter brain is making weirdly hard right now?

Freya and I are accepting submissions.

I’m currently at capacity with coaching clients and closed to new discovery calls until late July, but I’m getting back into writing and sending the occasional useful, quirky email about ADHD, AuDHD, capacity, and making life less feral. You can join my email list below.

The post If Your Brain Wants to Curl Up in a Ball and Become a Weighted Blanket appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

I’ve been thinking about content and visibility lately.

Mostly because I have a long history of starting strong with my marketing, throwing myself in, oversharing, disappearing into the mist, then returning with the emotional energy of someone re-entering society after hiding in a cupboard.

The funny thing is, my coaching business has grown anyway. Quite a lot, actually.

Which has made me wonder whether the goal is really to “market myself more” — or whether it’s to create a way of staying visible that doesn’t require me to self-combust, run for the hills, or burn out completely.

So this is me coming back.

Not with a grand announcement.

Not with a 12-part content strategy.

Absolutely not with a Reel. The mere thought makes me cringe.

Just with reflections.

Which, when I think about it, is what has always come most naturally to me.

From Reflections of a Redhead to Reflections

For years, I wrote Reflections of a Redhead. That blog was a huge part of my life and identity. It gave me a place to think out loud, make sense of things, share honestly, and connect with people through lived experience. It also rebirthed my love for writing.

I loved that space. I still do.

But that was before my AuDHD diagnosis.

And while the heart of me is still the same, the lens has changed.

I understand myself differently now. I understand my energy differently. I understand the start-stop patterns, the intensity, the vulnerability hangovers, the burnout, the sudden urge to flee the internet and live quietly in the bush with a dog and zero notifications.

So this new space, simply called Reflections, isn’t a replica of the old blog.

It’s the next step.

A continuation, but not a copy.

Marketing, Visibility, and the Pressure to Be “Consistent”

What’s been interesting is that my business has grown organically without me forcing myself into some high-output personal brand machine.

That feels important.

Because I don’t think I need to market harder.

And I definitely don’t want to build a content machine.

Honestly, I hate the word “content” sometimes. Which is deeply inconvenient, given I’m also a freelance marketer. I can do marketing for other people. I can see the strategy, the audience, the message, the structure.

But when it comes to my own work, the word “content” can start to feel like pressure. Like production. Like another demand. Like something I need to churn out to stay relevant, visible, credible, useful, consistent, algorithmically acceptable, and spiritually unwell.

My AuDHD demand-avoidant brain hears that and immediately runs for the hills.

So I’m trying something else.

I want to write in a way that feels honest, authentic, more consistent, and sustainable.

Not perfect.

Not constant.

Not polished into something so professional it loses its pulse.

Just sustainable.

Maybe Consistency Can Include Coming Back

For a long time, consistency has sat uncomfortably with me.

There was this expectation that you had to show up every day, week or month, again and again. You had to perform. And that involved a lot of energy and masking.

These days, I’m embracing something gentler.

It includes pauses and time off.

It includes changing seasons, moods and minds.

It even includes leaving, returning and reinvention.

Writing About AuDHD Without Turning It Into a Superpower Story

I want this space to hold lived experience without glorifying it. I’m not here to wrap neurodivergence in shiny “superpower” rhetoric and pretend everything is fine if you simply buy the right planner and drink more water.

Some parts of being ADHD or AuDHD are creative, intuitive, intense, insightful, funny, and deeply human.

Some parts are exhausting and grief-filled.

And the there are the parts are inconvenient at best and disabling at worst.

I want to make room for all of that.

What Reflections Will Be About

Reflections will be a place for honest writing about ADHD/AuDHD, life, work, identity, burnout, self-awareness, wellbeing, business, and building a life that actually fits your brain.

There will be resources and tips, because those can be helpful.

There will be honest examples from my real life, because theory without reality makes me want to stare into the middle distance.

There will be coaching-adjacent thoughts, but this won’t only be a coaching blog. I’m more than a coach, and I don’t want to flatten myself into one neat professional category for the sake of being easier to market.

There will probably be contradictions.

There will definitely be tangents.

And Freya, my assistant and rescue Doberman, will likely swing by every now and then with insights delivered in the only way she knows how: intensely, emotionally, and with a love for all things sensory soothing.

Staying Visible Without Self-Combusting

Mostly, though, this is me returning to writing.

Not because I have a grand strategy or have finally figured it all out.

And not as a promise that I’ll never disappear again.

Just because writing still feels like home.

Visibility doesn’t have to mean being constantly available. And writing one honest reflection at a time is enough.

If that sounds like your kind of thing, you’re welcome to read along.

No productivity bro nonsense. No girlboss gloss.

Just reflections.

The post Visible, But Not Combusting appeared first on Janine Defontaine.

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.

Like this kind of reflection?

Join my email list for occasional notes on ADHD/AuDHD, life and work, identity, burnout, self-awareness, and building a life that actually fits your brain.

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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 My 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 Has 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.

Not just on the year I’ve had personally, but on what I’ve learned along the way.

This year, some very clear themes showed up again and again — particularly through my work with ADHD and AuDHD adults, leaders, and professionals.

Here are the main things I’ve learned this year. They’re not insights you’ll find in typical ADHD hacks or productivity tips.

People don’t need more hacks — they need less friction

People rarely struggle because they “don’t know what to do” or are unmotivated.

More often, people feel stuck because:

This is usually a systems, process, and communication issue — not a motivation problem.

When friction is reduced, people don’t need to be pushed. They naturally move forward.

Capability is often mistaken for capacity

One of the biggest contributors to burnout I see is this mismatch.

People are capable, intelligent, experienced, and skilled — and they work bloody hard. Many are high performers, so more gets added to their plate.

More work. Additional responsibility. More emotional labour. Constant context switching. And unspoken expectations.

But capacity isn’t considered. The friction shows up when:

Capacity fluctuates based on stress, health, sensory load, hormones, life circumstances, energy patterns, time of day, and nervous system state.

Burnout happens when capacity is ignored simply because someone can.

The Hidden Cost of Communication Fatigue

People are drained, not by the work itself, but by the constant effort of translating their experience.

Explaining. Re-explaining. Finding the ‘right’ words. Managing tone.

Masking reactions. Anticipating misunderstandings. Reading between the lines. Interpreting intentions and unspoken rules.

Even well-intentioned workplaces can be cognitively expensive.

This relational load is one of the most underestimated contributors to ADHD and AuDHD burnout.

Transitions are real work

Another quiet but consistent theme is transitions.

Meeting to meeting.

Work to home.

Task to task.

Masking to unmasking.

One environment to another.

Transitions require processing time, emotional regulation, and nervous system adjustment. When rushed or ignored, stress accumulates — even if the workload itself looks reasonable on paper.

Designing for transitions is one of the most powerful (and overlooked) supports.

Burnout isn’t dramatic — it’s quiet

Burnout doesn’t always look like collapse.

More often, it looks like:

This kind of burnout is easy to miss, especially in high-functioning, capable people.

ADHD and AuDHD Awareness Is About Fit, Not Fixing

What this year has reinforced for me is this:

ADHD and AuDHD awareness isn’t about productivity tips.

It’s about designing lives, workplaces, and expectations that fit the nervous system.

Less forcing. More empathy — for yourself and others. More permission to do things differently. And time for rest, recovery and restoration.

As I close out the year, I’m holding these reminders for myself too.

Growth doesn’t have to hurt.

Support and reasonable adjustment shouldn’t have to be a fight.

And intentionally doing less can sometimes be the most simple and effective change of all.

— Janine

P.S.

In my coaching work with ADHD and AuDHD adults, these patterns show up regardless of role, industry, or success.

If these reflections resonate, it may be because you’re navigating similar patterns — burnout that doesn’t look dramatic, expectations that don’t quite fit, or a sense that “doing more” isn’t the answer.

Coaching isn’t about fixing you. It’s about understanding how you work — and building support, systems, and boundaries that honour that.

If you’re curious about working together, you can learn more or book a free discovery call with me here.

We start where you are.

The post What ADHD Coaching Has Taught Me This Year (That You Won’t Find in Productivity Tips) 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:

“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:

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:

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.

Some stories take years to make sense — mine started to fall into place at 45.

For most of my life, I thought I was just a bit of an anxious mess. A little (or a lot) sensitive. Someone who never quite fit in but kept trying anyway. And lost.

Wanting to do all the things — but ending up overwhelmed, exhausted, and wondering why everything felt hard. How did others manage to function and look so put-together?

I was always running on empty (or fumes, really…). And I had so many feelings all the time.

When I was diagnosed with ADHD and autism (AuDHD) at 45, it was like someone had lifted back a curtain.

It turns out, I wasn’t broken. My brain (and body, to be honest) just worked differently — beautifully, chaotically, sometimes brilliantly, mostly exhaustingly, and sometimes just bafflingly!

Behind the Curtain

From the outside, I looked fairly successful. But behind the curtain, I was working twice as hard to maintain that illusion.

Every day was a game of mental logistics — keeping track of my keys, planning driving routes with built-in buffer time, not losing my laptop, managing the overwhelm that came with something as simple as running errands… and remembering to eat.

It wasn’t that I lacked discipline. I was managing executive dysfunction, anxiety, sensory overload, and trauma — all without knowing their names.

I was also heavily masking — after years of experience, conditioning, and messaging that told me to hide the real me.

I didn’t realise how much energy that took until I started to unmask… and finally felt how deeply exhausting it had been.

Before I Knew

Looking back, the signs were there; they were just hidden really well.

The endless lists. The constant mental noise.

The way I could be laser-focused on one thing for hours, but unable to start a “simple” task.

How I could lead complex multi-million dollar projects with confidence — but melt down from a sudden change in plans or too many competing priorities.

How much time, energy and effort I put into just getting somewhere while feeling riddled with anxiety – even if I knew the person I was meeting or had been there before.

At the time, I chalked it up to stress, sensitivity, anxiety, or not being able to handle stress. I thought if I worked harder, organised better, took antidepressants, or learned the next life hack, I could fix myself.

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

Diagnosis & Relief

For years, I believed that:

Getting my ADHD and autism diagnoses at 45 was equal parts grief and relief.

Grief for the years I’d spent feeling broken, for all the times I pushed past exhaustion, for the masking and fawning I didn’t even know I was doing.

And relief — because finally, things made more sense.

It was the first time I could look back on my life with compassion instead of criticism.

The Sensory Story

One of the biggest light-bulb moments was realising how deeply sensory experiences affect me.

The panic I felt in crowded shopping centres.

The way fluorescent lights, office chatter, and background radios made me feel like I was vibrating from the inside out.

The relief of soft fabrics, flowy pants, fluffy blankets, and buying the same top in five colours because comfort matters.

These weren’t quirks — they were my body’s way of saying, “This comforts and feels safe to me.”

Understanding my sensory needs has been one of the most life-changing parts of unmasking and finding peace.

Here are a few things I wish I’d known sooner

Productivity doesn’t have to hurt. It’s about learning when you work best, how your energy ebbs and flows, and finding something sustainable (with the occasional 200% hyperfocus burst).

Rest, structure, silence, and downtime aren’t indulgent — they’re essential.

And equally, there’s nothing wrong with craving diversity, spontaneity, loud music, and freedom.

Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

The right people won’t think you’re “too much.” They’ll get you.

My brain works differently — and that doing things differently is where the magic is. Systems, good boundaries and the right degree of structure can support freedom — not stifle it.

Sensory experiences are real and powerful — and honoring them isn’t indulgent, it’s essential.

Working With (Not Against) Your Brain

These days, I help other late-diagnosed ADHD and AuDHD adults do the same — learning how to build lives and work patterns that honour their brains, rather than fighting against them.

There’s a lot of compassion, curiosity, and laughter involved — sometimes a few tears — and always the occasional Freya-approved nose bump .

If you’re somewhere on that path — discovering, processing, learning to unmask safely, or just trying to make sense of it all — you’re not alone.

I see you.

If you’d like to explore what working with your brain might look like, you can book a free exploratory chat here or learn more about ADHD & AuDHD coaching here.

The post Some Stories Take Years to Make Sense 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.