Janine Defontaine

I recently developed a simple worksheet for a client, and figured someone else's brain might need it too!

It's a short, 2-page plain-English explainer on spoon theory and energy accounting — why some days a shower is a triumph (don't get me started about adding 'washing hair' to that list), why pushing through borrows energy from tomorrow (at brutal interest rates), and a simple way to start noticing what drains and restores you.

Because you can't work with your capacity if you don't know where your energy is going. And sometimes the most useful question isn't "how do I get it all done?" — it's:

What's one small change or demand you can take off your plate right now?

[You can read more and download it here: https://janinedefontaine.com/spoon-theory-energy-accounting-adhd-audhd/].

I wrote a blog post about beating the "Sunday Scaries" years before my ADHD diagnosis.

Reading it back now, it screams undiagnosed ADHD. It's all: plan more, prep ahead, time-block your week on Sunday arvo, tick everything off on Monday.

So I've rewritten it — and my thinking has shifted a fair bit.

Here's the thing the old advice misses: for a lot of Neurodivergent brains, the Sunday dread isn't a problem you can plan your way out of. It's about what the week ahead is asking of you.

Anticipatory anxiety running the worst-case reel at 9pm (or 3am for the perimenopausal brain).

The executive-function weight of holding every deadline, appointment and "thing I said I'd do" all at once.

The gear change from weekend freedom back into a full pile of "have to."

The old fix — spend Sunday getting ahead — can quietly turn your one genuine day of rest into another list of demands. And for a nervous system that's already running hot, that's the opposite of what you need.

So the reframe I offer now isn't "optimise your Sunday."

It's "protect it."

And deliberately doing less.

If Sunday nights are consistently rough, that's worth getting curious about. It might be telling you something about your capacity that's worth listening to.

🔗 https://janinedefontaine.com/slow-sundays-a-gentler-take-on-the-sunday-scaries/

Last Friday I took the day off and went to the movies with my mum.

We saw Minions vs Monsters. We giggled. We cackled. We laughed a little too loudly (as we are known to do). And mum had planned a surprise: she was buying me minions. I insisted on seeing the movie first so I could choose my minion properly (this is called due diligence).

I walked out with Henry AND James. I'm late 40-something and I own plush minions now. Zero shame (I love those rambunctious little yellow guys!).

A few years ago I'd have talked myself out of the whole day. Too indulgent. Not productive. 'I have so much to do'.

These days I know better: fun is allowed to be small and silly and it counts.

After a run of hard months, that Friday mattered more than any productive one would have. It was also really nourishing (thanks, Mum!)

What's the smallest, silliest thing that's brought you joy lately?

If your brain wants to curl up in a ball and become a weighted blanket, this one’s for you.

Winter has well and truly arrived, and my ADHD/AuDHD brain has entered hibernation mode.

The cold is rude.
The dark mornings? Uncalled for.
The transitions are dramatic.
The sensory stuff is sensory-ing.

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

Could I take it off? Yes.
Have I? No.
Why? Great question. Please submit it to the executive function department, currently offline for maintenance.

Lunch today was packet soup.
Was it fancy? No.
Was it warm? Yes.
Did I need to be heated from the inside out? Absolutely.

This is your reminder that winter hibernation mode doesn’t mean you’re lazy.

Sometimes your capacity has shifted, and your expectations haven’t caught up yet.

So instead of asking, “Why can’t I do the thing?”

Try:

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

Shower too hard? Wash your face.
Exercise too much? Do one stretch.
Cooking impossible? Packet soup counts (or my personal fave - grilled cheese on toast).
Admin overwhelming? Open one email. Just opening it counts.

Freya, my rescue Doberman and unofficial VA, would like to add that she also has opinions about textures, baths and being asked to transition before she is emotionally prepared.

So, she gets it.

What’s your winter brain making weirdly hard right now? Freya and I are accepting submissions!

Pictured: me, still wearing the itchy cardigan. Because apparently taking it off was too many steps.

This is Freya and me during my recent time off, after her diabetes diagnosis, meditating together on the bed.

Not exactly a glossy “content creation” moment.

But maybe that’s the point.

I’ve been thinking a lot about visibility, writing, marketing, and how to stay connected without self-combusting — especially as someone with an AuDHD brain that can go all-in, disappear into the mist, then return like I’ve been hiding in a cupboard.

So I’ve started writing again.

Not with a grand comeback.
Not with a 12-part content strategy.
Absolutely not with a Reel.

Just reflections.

My first new blog post is called Visible, But Not Combusting — about returning to writing, staying visible without burning out, and building a more sustainable relationship with creativity, marketing, and neurodivergent identity.

Check it out here: https://janinedefontaine.com/visible-but-not-combusting/

This week I had the privilege of delivering two Neurodiversity workshops for MIFWA.

Monday: Supporting Neurodivergent Staff — a 2-hour workshop for people leaders. Eight managers showing up genuinely curious, asking honest questions, and leaving with real things to take back to their teams, like ‘Checking in with people who go under the radar’ and ‘Being more curious and open to different brains’.

Thursday: Thriving at Work — Neurodivergent Style. A 3-hour session for peer workers and staff. Twelve people. Feedback like 'mask less' and the value in ‘real conversations’ and people sharing their lived experiences … that I'll be sitting with for a while.

Across both sessions, what stood out most wasn’t just the strategies or frameworks — it was the honesty and openness in the room.

We talked about things like:

• overwhelm and burnout
• masking and exhaustion
• unclear expectations and hidden labour
• capacity vs capability
• sustainable ways of working
• practical supports that actually help

But we also talked about strengths, self-understanding, flexibility, curiosity, and the importance of creating workplaces where people feel safe to work differently.

Personally, I left both workshops feeling incredibly grateful. AND I'm not wiped out, brain-fried. or non-verbal. I'm feeling tired but also pretty damn uplifted!

Working with MIFWA always feels like coming home — I’ve worked with them for a number of years across my career in varying capacities. And it really lifted my heart to see some familiar faces in the room :)

Thank you again to everyone who attended, contributed and supported so generously.

Two workshops. Twenty people. One very full heart 💝

Freya doesn’t always rest perfectly.

She’ll push through if there’s a ball involved; high drive, easily distracted, and carries her own history.

But over time, she’s learned what helps her settle:

- A fluffy blanket.
- Sensory roles on the grass.
- Snuggles on the couch.

She comes back to those things, again and again.

Not perfectly. But consistently.

And I think that’s what regulation actually looks like. Finding what works for you. Not getting it right all the time. Just learning what helps, and returning to it.

Still learning from her, every day!

“Just push through.” It’s one of those phrases that sounds helpful. Motivating, even.

And sometimes, it can be.

But as a long-term strategy? It’s not particularly sustainable.

And especially if “pushing through” isn’t something you do occasionally, but something you’ve built your life around. Which plenty of us ADHD and AuDHDers have done - through no fault of our own (been there, many times!).

The issue isn’t effort or capability.

The issue is what happens from the constant pushing and ignoring any warning signs.

You end up with:

• bigger crashes
• longer recovery time
• multi-systemic symtpoms (think whole of body and mind)
• and a cycle that becomes harder to interrupt

There’s a different way to approach this. And it's not by removing effort altogether.

But by identifying and working with your capacity, not against it. And by building in strategies and supports that mean you don’t have to rely on pushing through just to get by.

Pics from a recent long weekend.

Exploring somewhere new on an impromptu lunch date with hubby, trying Korean tapas for the first time (highly recommend Seoul Hoppers - Korean Tapas Bar Leederville), and walking into a place where the service was so warm we left feeling like family.

Followed by a wander through a record and bookstore… which is a slightly dangerous combination for me.

Came home with:

– a small stack of books to add to my reading collection
– a Nina Simone album
– and a growing curiosity for jazz and blues

There’s something about these slower, more tangible moments lately — good food, music, books, time together — that just feels… grounding and so good!

I’ve been thinking a lot about something I saw recently — the idea that Autistic people “can’t rest”… that we’re wired to keep going, to push through, and that’s just how we are.

And while that can feel true, it’s not the whole story.

The “we all…” statements, even when well-intentioned, can flatten a lot of nuance, and leave people feeling like they don’t quite fit or that this is the only way to be.

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, I started to feel a disconnect. What I was seeing didn’t fully reflect my experience… and I found myself feeling like I didn’t quite belong there either. (Later came some more answers in the form of Autism and C-PTSD)

(And honestly, more exhausted than before.)

What I’ve learned since is this:

Rest is a skill.

It’s not always intuitive.
It doesn’t look the same for everyone.
And it’s not about forcing yourself into rigid routines or idealised “self-care”.

It’s about:

✔️ understanding your patterns and capacity
✔️ building supports and tools around you
✔️ creating space to regulate, restore and reset

Slowly. Safely. In ways that actually work for you.

Because pushing through isn’t sustainable.

And we don’t need to earn rest by burning ourselves out first.

Full post on the blog:

Rest is a skill (and I had to learn it the hard way) - Janine Defontaine There's a difference between "this is how my brain works" and "this is a dysregulated state." On learning rest as a skill, not through burnout.