What a compassionate reset looks like in life with Huntington’s

January is loud.

It shows up with fireworks, fresh calendars, and the not-so-subtle message that you should reinvent yourself by Monday. There’s a whole culture built around before-and-after photos and big declarations, as if being human is a project you can complete with enough discipline.

Living with Huntington’s disease has taught me that my body doesn’t follow neat timelines. It doesn’t care what month it is. It doesn’t sync itself to the energy of a new year or the expectations of people who believe progress is always visible and linear.

For a long time, that made January feel like a confrontation. Everywhere I looked, people were chasing certainty. Meanwhile, I was learning how to live with a condition that refuses to make promises. I would start the year with good intentions, only to feel ashamed when my plans didn’t come to fruition. This wasn’t because I didn’t want to care for myself, but rather because my capabilities could change overnight. I’d watch other people set big goals with confidence and think, “What’s wrong with me that I can’t do this, too?”

Nothing was wrong with me. I was just trying to use a system that wasn’t built for bodies like mine.

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Resets over resolutions

Resolution culture loves extremes. It tells you the only way forward is to push harder, cut more, hustle longer. It rewards the idea that you can “fix” yourself if you’re willing to be uncomfortable enough.

So now, when I need a fresh start, I don’t make a resolution. I do a reset, and it’s compassionate on purpose.

A reset, for me, starts with telling the truth about where I am, not where I wish I was, nor where I think I should be. Where I am. If I’m tired, I name it. If my symptoms are loud, I don’t pretend they’re not. If my mood has been heavy, I don’t shame myself for it. I remind myself that my experience is real, and my body is doing the best it can with a complicated disease.

The next part of my reset is letting go of the perfect routine fantasy. People love to talk about routines like they’re moral achievements. Wake up at 5 a.m. Drink the water. Do the workout. Journal for 20 minutes. Meal prep for the week. Meditate. Manifest. Grind. It all sounds so clean. But Huntington’s has made me appreciate something messier and more honest: flexible structure.

Flexible structure means I have anchors, not chains. I have a few things I return to when life feels shaky, but I don’t punish myself when I can’t do them the same way every day. I let my routine bend with my symptoms, with fatigue, with appointments, with whatever my brain and body are doing that week. Some days, my self-care looks like movement and fresh air. Other days, it looks like sitting down before I fall down. Both count.

I also learned that a reset doesn’t have to be dramatic to be real. It can be as simple as cleaning off a surface in my home so my mind feels less crowded. There is a kind of relief that comes with shrinking the focus.

I used to treat my limitations like personal failures. If I needed to rest, I felt guilty. If I canceled plans, I felt weak. If I couldn’t keep up with a routine, I judged myself as inconsistent. But Huntington’s doesn’t respond well to shame. Shame doesn’t calm my nervous system. It doesn’t improve my balance. It doesn’t make my brain process faster. It just adds another layer of suffering on top of what I’m already carrying.

Now, my reset includes practicing a different internal voice. One that sounds more like compassion and less like a drill sergeant. One that says, “You’re allowed to take care of yourself without proving anything.” One that says, “You can start over as many times as you need.” One that says, “You are not behind; you are living.”

And yes, I still set goals. I still want growth. I still want to feel strong in my body and clear in my mind. But my goals are built around sustainability, not punishment. The truth is, Huntington’s forces you to become practical. You learn quickly that motivation is unreliable, and perfection is a trap. A compassionate reset isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about coming back to yourself, again and again, with less shame and more care.

That’s my version of a fresh start. Not loud. Not performative. Not built on a fantasy of control. Just a steady decision to meet my life as it is, and still choose tenderness.

Because in a body that doesn’t follow neat timelines, the most radical resolution I can make is this: I will not abandon myself.

Note: Huntington’s Disease News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Huntington’s Disease News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Huntington’s disease.