I’ve always had a complicated relationship with routines – in fact, I’ll be honest, I suck at sticking to them. Even when I genuinely try, my focus behaves like a butterfly, landing gently on one thing before fluttering off toward something new and colorful.
Growing up, I hopped from passion to passion as if life were one big talent buffet: one year I was fully committed to volleyball, competing in school events, then suddenly I was all about gymnastics with ribbons, then swimming, then dance, where I even won a competition then drawing, theatrical performances, singing at school events, and eventually writing. I wrote stories, kept journals I hid from the world, and poured into them teenage drama, school crushes, and emotions that felt so big at the time. Every new interest felt like the great love of my life – until it wasn’t, and a few months later I would drift away as quietly as I had fallen in. The only thing that ever stayed was music. Music has been the thread woven through every version of me, grounding me, awakening parts of me I can’t express in words. My taste shifted constantly, soul, R&B, hip hop, old-school beats, piano melodies, country, chilled house but the connection never changed. As a teenager influenced by Western American culture, I absorbed soul and jazz deeply. The music made me emotional, sad, happy, reflective. It became my anchor in a mind that rarely stands still. And yet, despite everyone insisting that consistency is key, I was never consistent not because I was bored, but because my brain seemed wired for novelty. Once something stopped feeling new, my motivation vanished. Only later did I realize how closely this resembled traits we associate with ADHD or high sensitivity.
I didn’t explore my HSP side until my 30s, when feeling different, thinking differently, and being easily overstimulated finally started to make sense. Sometimes I’d walk into a room and instantly feel the energy shift – my mind loud, me quiet – seeing and sensing things others didn’t. Over the years, I’ve noticed certain patterns: I dive into new passions like they’re lifelong callings, then drop them when the spark fades, and if I stick with something longer than a year, it’s basically a milestone. I need constant stimulation, yet I also get overstimulated easily. Routines start exciting and quickly become “ugh, again?”while people, places, or habits that no longer align with my energy drain me completely. I’m emotionally sensitive and a bit of a perfectionist, my environment always had to feel right, from tidiness to clothes to smells that triggered vivid memories another trait I later learned ties to sensitivity. And routines, even now, frustrate me. Gym plans, supplement schedules, sleep routines, they work beautifully until suddenly they don’t. Taking supplements regularly? Almost impossible. Doing the same drive to work, the same tasks, the same evening routine? It becomes a burden. I get uncomfortable, irritated, disconnected. It’s part of why I’ve always loved traveling – new places, new food, new sights, new sounds, something fresh every day.
Routines are exciting… until they aren’t. And everywhere you look, you’re told: wake up at 5:30, eat clean, be grateful, exercise, meditate, walk. Successful people have routines, successful people do this and that. I’ve tried it all, and yes, it works… for a while. But eventually I get tired because not every routine fits my work life, my energy levels, or simply put my time. And when I can’t keep up, disappointment creeps in, what was meant to help becomes a burden. The truth is not everyone is built for rigid structure, our minds are wired differently, and neurodivergence is real. You do you. You learn, adapt, experiment. You are your biggest ongoing project. Dive into yourself. Track what works. You might be surprised by what you discover.
Ironically, when it involves someone else, I’m incredibly consistent I’ll push through exhaustion if there’s responsibility or accountability but when it’s only for me, the spark fades. Maybe that’s adulthood: more responsibility, less freedom to change direction overnight, higher stakes. And reflecting on this helped me understand the deeper forces behind adult motivation: external accountability activates a different motivational system, adulthood narrows our margin for chaos, misalignment between values and “shoulds” creates natural resistance, self-directed effort requires self-trust, and consistency itself needs more than willpower, it needs supportive environments, clarity, identity, and energy.
So showing up for others but struggling to show up for yourself isn’t hypocrisy – it’s human wiring. What fascinates me is how old passions resurface unexpectedly, like old friends knocking. Writing, drawing, music, going places – they return when they want to, reminding me they were never gone, just resting. I often feel like I want to do everything at once, but I’m learning they don’t have to compete, they can take turns.
So how do I work with my restless mind?
I use small, flexible routines that shift with my energy. I rely on external reminders – alarms, apps, notes, multiple diaries I keep searching through, wishing one perfect journal existed (maybe I should just make one). I balance novelty with grounding habits, embrace hyperfocus when it arrives because when I’m in that mode nothing can stop me. I practice self-compassion when things don’t go to plan. I may never be someone with a perfectly structured day, and that’s okay. My path is circular, seasonal, fluid. If you struggle with routines too, remember: consistency doesn’t have to mean doing the same thing every day. Sometimes it means returning to yourself again and again, in your own way, in your own time.
Life isn’t linear, it’s a series of rediscoveries, each bringing back a piece of who you are. Maybe the goal was never to tame my mind, but to understand it, to stop forcing myself into shapes that were never meant for me and instead build a life that flows with who I am. My mind may be restless, but it’s imaginative, intuitive, and fiercely alive, and I’m learning that honoring it rather than fighting it is my version of consistency.