Note: This writing was pre-written to keep things active on my blog. I’m still recovering from my surgery. Thank you for being here while I rest.

Rethinking New Year’s Resolutions for C-PTSD with Journaling Template

Every January, I watch the world light up with resolutions. Social feeds fill with big declarations such as: promises of gym streaks, strict diets, savings goals or complete reinventions. Everyone seems so certain that this year they will become someone entirely new by December. I used to try to join in but living with C-PTSD has shown me how rigid yearly goals rarely work for me. They feel too heavy, too demanding and when life inevitably throws unexpected challenges, those resolutions collapse under the weight of reality. For people like me, carrying trauma in our bodies and minds, perfection mapped out for twelve months straight simply does not hold.

What I’ve found far more compassionate is approaching the year through seasons. Nature already shifts my energy. Winter makes me slower and more inward while spring pulls me into lighter routines. Summer carries both pressure and play while autumn grounds me before the end-of-year rush. Instead of clinging to a single plan that fails the moment I stumble, the seasons give me four natural opportunities to reset. It feels more compassionate; less like failure and more like breathing space.

***Winter: Rest, Reflection & Soft Structure***

Winter has always been the hardest season for me. The short days, chill in the air and heaviness in my body make even the smallest tasks feel like mountains. In the past, I would pressure myself into ambitious resolutions during this time, only to burn out quickly. Now I see winter differently. I treat it as a season of rest, that is, a time when it’s enough to simply survive with small rituals of comfort.

Lighting candles or using warm lamps helps me soften the darkness. I pick one evening a week for a calming, quiet space like a hot shower, writing or just music in the background. Sometimes I make a small grounding practice part of my day like sipping a warm drink slowly or stretching before bed. The goals I set are deliberately gentler such as stepping outside for fresh air feels far more achievable than demanding myself to walk kilometres daily. In winter, I remind myself that slowing down is not laziness but a survival strategy.

***Spring: Gentle Growth & Rejuvenation***

When the light returns, I feel myself exhale. There is something about spring that feels being alive or rejuvenated like a quiet invitation to try again. In my trauma patterns, failure often feels final, as though one misstep proves I can’t succeed at all. Spring teaches me otherwise. It allows me to re-enter routines without shame, to test what works without the pressure of permanence.

Sometimes, I try a new activity like learning a new artistic form or rearranging my living space to feel cozier and lighter. I no longer make ten goals at once; instead, I focus on one intention. Maybe it’s to spend more time outdoors or maybe it’s to create a calming morning ritual. I also use spring to reflect: what do I want to keep from winter and what can I release? Instead of reinventing myself, I simply choose to grow gently in ways that feel manageable.

***Summer: Connection & Exploration***

Summer used to overwhelm me. Everyone seemed to have endless energy for bar-be-ques or travel plans. For me, social pressure often feels like a demand to overextend, when I know overstimulation will leave me drained. Over time, I’ve learned to reframe summer as a season of connection on my terms.

I allow myself small adventures like a picnic in the park or exploring a new café. I prepare for the heat with sensory comforts: cool water bottles, shaded walks or soft, light clothing. Summer is also when I remind myself that joy doesn’t need to prove its worth like colouring just for fun or enjoying the fresh air with the balcony door open can be just as valuable as ticking off “productive” goals. Most importantly, I practice saying no. Boundaries are not only acceptable; they are vital to protecting my nervous system in a season that can feel socially demanding.

***Autumn: Reset & Grounding***

By the time autumn arrives, I feel both tired and ready to reset. The cooler air and shorter days bring me inward again but in a way that feels reflective rather than heavy. Autumn has become my natural checkpoint, a time to pause and ask what has worked this year and what hasn’t.

I often reflect and, sometimes, journal about my experiences but introduce grounding rituals for longer evenings like drinking bubble milk tea, listening to calming music or writing short reflections. I also take this season to set boundaries before the end of year holidays which can otherwise overwhelm me. Deciding in advance which events I will attend and which I won’t also helps me hold onto stability. Creativity feels grounding in autumn too whether that’s colouring, creating things with magnetic tiles or writing in small creative bursts. This season reminds me that resetting is not starting over, however, it is choosing what to carry and what to release.

***Seasonal Journal Template***

If daily checklists feel suffocating and monthly reviews feel relentless, a seasonal journal can be a gentler alternative. Instead of tracking progress every day, you simply pause four times a year, once for each season, to reflect and realign. 

This is a simple template you can adapt for yourself:

1. How do I feel as this season begins?
   
2. What feels safe or grounding right now?
   
3. Which theme or word might guide me over the next three months?
   
4. What three intentions feel realistic and supportive?
   
5. What do I need less of? What do I need more of?
   
6. Who can I lean on for support this season?
   
7. Which rituals or activities would bring comfort?
   
8. What small moments will I celebrate when this season ends?
   

There’s no right or wrong way to use it, however, it’s simply a framework for gentle reflection. Some people may write paragraphs for each prompt while others might jot down a few words. The purpose is not perfection; it’s about giving yourself space to notice what you need and where you are.

Ultimately, living with C-PTSD has taught me that healing is rarely linear. My energy, focus and capacity move in waves and trying to force myself into a twelve-month plan only sets me up for shame. Seasons offer a different rhythm. Each one becomes a doorway rather than a deadline, an invitation to adjust instead of a punishment for faltering.

I no longer expect myself to be an entirely new person by December. Instead, I let the year unfold in cycles by resting in winter, experimenting in spring, connecting in summer and resetting in autumn. This rhythm feels more compassionate and, for me, self-compassion is the only resolution worth keeping.