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On intentional living, gentle reflection, and why New Year resolutions keep letting us down

Every January, the world seems to split into two camps: those who love goal setting and those who silently dread it. Wherever you fall on that spectrum, Jinny Ditzler’s Your Best Year Yet offers something more interesting (and in my opinion, more humane!) than the traditional “New Year New You” resolutions culture.

This isn’t a book about will-power, motivation hacks, or forcing yourself into a shinier, “better” version of you. In fact, Ditzler begins from the opposite premise: that you cannot meaningfully change your year without first understanding the year you’ve just lived.
It sounds obvious, but very few of us do it.

What the book proposes:

Ditzler offers a structured set of ten reflective questions designed to help you make sense of the previous year before deciding how you want to move forward. It’s not complicated,if anything, the simplicity is the point. The questions invite you to look at:

  • What worked
  • What didn’t
  • What you learned
  • What you want to bring with you
  • What you want to leave behind
  • What you’re actually willing to commit to

Rather than resolutions (“I should exercise more”), the process prompts clarity (“What matters enough that I’m prepared to make space for it?”).

It’s a shift from pressure to intentionality, she encourages the reader to consider what roles do I play in my life, which ones do I want to prioritise and how do I want to show up in each.

From a therapeutic perspective, I really like this approach

Much of the self-help world accidentally reinforces the fantasy that life gets better once we achieve something “out there”: the new job, the new habit, the new body, the new mindset.
Ditzler sidesteps that and invites us to turn inwards.

Her questions encourage a kind of psychological honesty:

  • What patterns are repeating?
  • Where did I betray myself?
  • Where did I surprise myself?
  • What beliefs shaped my choices last year and are they even true!?

She isn’t selling the perfect outcome or reinventing yourself to meet someone else’s idea of success, she’s encourages the reader to act in closer alignment to themselves.

As a therapist, what I appreciate most is the way the book helps people come off autopilot. Reflection draws us back into relationship with our own values, desires and limits—something many of us lose touch with while we’re rushing through life.

Where it can go wrong

If you have perfectionistic tendencies (cough), it’s easy to turn Ditzler’s method into yet another project you feel you should complete “properly.”  So please bear in mind you really don’t need to do that.

This isn’t an exam.
You’re not trying to impress anyone.
There is no right way.

Use whatever questions resonate, skip the rest, and hold the whole thing lightly.

What’s in the Book?

The book is based on a day long workshop that Ditzler used to run and it’s divided into three parts.  Part One gives an introduction to the principles on which the method is based and gives illustrative examples from workshop participants, Part Two goes through each of the ten questions in detail with more prompts and examples to help you get your thoughts flowing.  Part Three provides the workshop template – the questions with space for you to answer them

Why I like this book for Therapy Book Club

This book invites a kind of thinking that sits comfortably alongside personal therapy: thoughtful, self-aware, grounded in lived experience rather than fantasy. It helps you look at your year through the eyes of someone who knows themselves, not through the eyes of who you think you should be.

It also pairs beautifully with themes many of us are already exploring: self-sabotage, values, identity, calling, money, and permission to live life on our own terms.

Questions to reflect on as you read

You might want to journal on one or two of these:

  • Which parts of my year am I proud of (and why)?
  • Where did I abandon myself?
  • What belief/s shaped my decisions this year?
  • What am I longing for more of?
  • What pattern am I tired of repeating?
  • What would feel like a kind year, not an impressive one?

Top Tip: Set a timer for 20 mins and see how far you get.

Would I recommend it?

Yes, with the caveat it’s not a productivity tool, but it can be used as a good reflective companion.

The book gives you structure without pressure, and insight without judgement. If resolutions make your shoulders rise, this may feel like the antidote: intentionality without the tyranny of self-improvement.

I picked up Your Money or Your Life because it finally dawned on me that maybe I could sort out my issues with money the same way I tackle everything else: by reading a book about it!

I hoped to feel more in control of my finances. What I didn’t expect was a mindset shift that would unlock areas I’d felt stuck in for years. In truth, this isn’t really a book about money, it’s a manifesto for a better, more intentional way of living.

Money Is Life Energy

Carrie Green recently posed an interesting question:
If you could be gifted Warren Buffet’s wealth, but only if you also took on his age (95), would you take it?

Of course not right, because what’s the point of being rich if there’s no time left to enjoy it?

Time is our most precious resource. And this speaks directly to Robin’s central idea: money is something we exchange our life energy for. That energy is finite.

Every pound you earn costs you time, effort, emotion, and unseen labour (travel, childcare, clothes, lunches, subscriptions, recovery time, out-of-hours emails). Once you take all that into account, you get your true hourly wage.

Which raises two surprisingly confronting questions:

  • Based on that real hourly wage, is the exchange worth an hour of your life energy?
  • And when you buy something, does it feel worth the energy it costs?

Once you start thinking this way, spending becomes much more than habit or impulse. It becomes a conscious exchange of something precious. And that’s where the book becomes both practical and unexpectedly introspective.

There is nothing in your life more valuable than your time, the moments you have left.

The Search for “Job Charming”

Robin offers a liberating reframe: many of us expect our jobs to provide identity, community, meaning, creativity, challenge, and status. When a job can’t deliver all that (and most can’t), we feel like we’re failing, or in the wrong career.

Her suggestion is this:
What if you redefine “work” as your broader life purpose, and “paid employment” as the thing you’re currently paid to do?  Your identity and worth don’t have to be tied to your payslip. Fulfilment can come from other areas of life, without guilt.

Leisure is not an identity crisis if you know you are not your job.

Gazingus Pins and the Stories We Tell Ourselves

Robin introduces the concept of “Gazingus pins” the things you habitually buy, often for emotional reasons. They’re your personal spending triggers.

For me, it’s:

  • second-hand books
  • cosy cardigans
  • and (predictably) courses

Each of these purchases carries a story:
The book might finally contain the idea that unlocks the key to everything; the cardigan makes me look like the serious-but-approachable counsellor I want to be; the course promises the knowledge that will finally make me feel like I belong at the table.  In the moment, these narratives feel compelling. But once you understand the idea of a Gazingus pin, a little voice starts to appear:  Does this really give me what I’m hoping for — or would not buying it serve my values better?

Conscious Awareness as a Superpower

Like most people, I have plenty of narratives about money:

  • “I’m bad with money.”
  • “I’m bad at maths – and money is maths.”
  • “I don’t like talking about money.”

And a few therapy-flavoured ones too:

  • “I can’t fix this until I’ve uncovered all my limiting beliefs about money.”

This reminded me so much of what I see in the therapy room: fears originate from painful experiences, sink below awareness, and quietly shape behaviour in ways we don’t notice. Leaving my pocket money in a public toilet aged 7 becomes “I’m careless with money” for example.  The thing is, when we are avoiding something because it feels uncomfortable, a lot of things that are mentally adjacent to that thing get avoided or ignored too.  Because money is taboo, avoided, emotional, or fraught, our unexamined beliefs replay old patterns of fear, insecurity, or self-doubt and we can end up applying this blanket across the whole subject.

So when Robin said that awareness is crucial, I was all in. I tracked every single expense. Painful? Yes. Cheated sometimes? Also yes. But the insight was powerful. My finances were no longer a mystery. I could finally see where my life energy was going and begin to question whether my spending aligned with my values.

It’s Not About Budgeting

One of the reasons I picked up YMOYL was because it isn’t a budgeting book, and it definitely isn’t about manifesting your way to wealth. Neither approach has ever worked for me, and both tended to reinforce my belief that I was “bad with money.”  As I worked my way through the 9 Steps three realisations began to crystallise:

1. Budgeting didn’t work for me because it’s based on ideals, not reality.

Budgets begin with what you hope to spend, not what you actually do spend. Step 1 of YMOYL – track everything without changing anything – cuts through the guilt and wishful thinking. The unfiltered truth was uncomfortable and also unavoidably real.

2. “Money” is actually four different things.

I’d unconsciously bundled everything together — earning, spending, saving/investing, and debt. No wonder I felt overwhelmed. It seems so obvious but it’s a lot easier when you don’t try to pay off your debts, learn how to master the stock market, work on your negative beliefs about self-worth related to uncharging, cut your expenses and open a new savings account all at the same time!  Who knew?

You can’t fight a war on all fronts.  Each area needs different skills and actions.

3. The noise around money keeps us stuck.

Walk into a bookshop and you’ll find money advice scattered across psychology, business, self-help, finance, productivity, minimalism… No wonder we don’t know where to start.  Each approach has it’s place but ultimately, if you earn less than you need to live, you will find yourself in debt and that’s not a character flaw.   No amount of “money mindset” work pays the electricity bill. But in all the noise it’s easy to be distracted by a topic that might not address the root of YOUR money issue.

This is the power of Your Money or Your Life:
It approaches money with realism, compassion, and behavioural truth, not guilt, shame, or magical thinking.

Key Takeaways

  • No Shame No Blame: Lead with curiosity, not self-judgement.
  • Value your life energy: Money only matters because of what it costs you to earn it.
  • Track your spending: Awareness leads to options.
  • Separate work from paid employment:  Your identity isn’t your job title.
  • Notice your Gazingus pins and the stories they tell.
  • Identify your biggest challenge (earning, spending, saving/investing, or debt) and focus on that first.

TL;DR

Many of us approach money with either hard-edged spreadsheets or magical thinking. One promises control, the other promises ease. But most of us live in the messy middle, where emotion, behaviour, identity, habit, and practical reality collide.

Your Money or Your Life sits beautifully in that middle. It isn’t about manifesting wealth or restrictive discipline. It invites you to notice your conditioning, your values, your energy, and your patterns; and to make decisions from clarity rather than fear or fantasy.

It’s a rich book, and I’m still integrating it all,  but it’s already shifted the way I think about money, meaning, and energy.

Journalling Prompts:

Take your time with these, they’re not “tasks” to complete but invitations to notice what’s already quietly shaping your relationship with money.  Awareness is often the first profound step.

  • What’s one money story I’ve carried for years? Who did I learn it from?
  • When I think about looking at my finances, what emotions arise? Where do I feel them in my body?
  • What part of me is trying to protect me from financial awareness? What might it be afraid of?
  • Of the four areas — earning, spending, saving/investing, debt — which one feels like my biggest sticking point right now?
  • Looking at my last 10 purchases, what values do they reflect?  Can you identify your Gazingus Pins?

Next time, I’ll explore the psychology of money and the concept of money trauma.
Subscribe if you’d like to follow along, head over to my substack to join in the discussion.

How to heal

In this therapist-recommended book, clinical psychologist Lindsay Gibson explores how emotionally immature parents (EIPs) affect the psychological wellbeing of their children, often leaving lasting scars that carry through into adulthood. Gibson provides compassionate, practical guidance to help adult children understand and heal from these early relational wounds.

One of the central themes Gibson discusses is the profound and often confusing sense of loneliness experienced by children of EIPs. Although these parents may have met their children’s physical needs, they often failed to provide the emotional connection and attunement essential for secure attachment. This creates what Gibson refers to as a “gaping hole where true security might have been.”

She differentiates between the loneliness of losing someone we love and a deeper, lifelong feeling of emotional isolation; one that stems from not being truly seen, heard, or comforted during childhood. True emotional intimacy, she explains, comes from knowing there’s someone you can open up to without fear. It involves being seen and accepted for who you truly are.

To foster that intimacy, a parent must be comfortable with both their own emotions and those of others. Emotionally mature parents are naturally curious about their child’s inner world. EIPs, by contrast, are often self-preoccupied and emotionally reactive. They may fear emotional expression, dismiss feelings, or become upset when emotions are displayed. This emotional shutdown stifles a child’s instinctive need for connection.

Characteristics of emotionally immature parents

  • Low stress tolerance; poor emotional regulation
  • Impulsivity and short-term decision-making
  • Self-referential: they make everything about themselves
  • Role-reversal tendencies (e.g., confiding in their child as if the child were the parent)
  • Low empathy and emotional insensitivity
  • Difficulty holding mixed emotions or seeing nuance
  • Black-and-white thinking; rigid belief systems

Common adult challenges

Gibson also outlines the common adult challenges faced by children of EIPs:

  • Puzzling unhappiness: You feel unfulfilled but can’t pinpoint why, since your basic needs were met.
  • Distrust of your instincts: You doubt your own feelings and defer to others because your emotional responses weren’t validated.
  • Low self-confidence: You struggle to believe others genuinely care or that your needs are worth expressing.

The book includes powerful case studies that make these issues relatable and real. Particularly impactful is Gibson’s discussion of the “healing fantasy” and the “Role-Self.”

The healing fantasy and role-self

Children often construct hopeful stories or “someday” fantasies, imagining they will eventually get what they need by changing themselves or others. While protective in childhood, these fantasies become maladaptive in adulthood, built on two flawed beliefs:

  1. That we are fundamentally unlovable as we are.
  2. That we can change others if we try hard enough.

In tandem with this, children develop a “Role-Self” – an identity constructed to gain parental approval, while the “True-Self” is hidden away. This True-Self contains the child’s authentic feelings and aptitudes, repressed in favour of relational survival.

Gibson offers a simple yet powerful exercise to help readers identify their healing fantasy and Role-Self, providing a path toward rediscovering their hidden True-Self. This insight opens the door to breaking painful relational patterns and fostering more authentic ways of being.

Breaking down and awakening

Gibson describes how, in adulthood, a life event often triggers the collapse of the Role-Self, an emotional crisis that can feel disorienting but is actually a wake-up call. It’s an invitation to reconnect with the True-Self we’ve long kept hidden. The book offers strategies to support this vulnerable but vital process, which Gibson refers to as “Breaking Down and Awakening.”

Final thoughts

Gibson acknowledges how confronting it can be to examine your parents through this lens. It may feel disloyal or even cruel. However, she emphasises that this work isn’t about blame or betrayal, it’s about healing. Most emotionally immature parents aren’t malicious; they’re simply unaware of the impact they’ve had.

Gibson’s hope is that by reflecting honestly on our experiences, we can gain emotional freedom and live more fulfilling, self-aware lives.

Speaking from my own experience, it can be deeply uncomfortable to reconsider our parents in this light. But that discomfort often marks the beginning of meaningful change. With courage and clarity, the insights gained can free us from repeating painful patterns, whether in our own relationships or with our children.

TLDR

This book is deeply insightful and deservedly recommended by therapists. It offers a compassionate and eye-opening look at how emotionally unavailable or preoccupied parents can impact their children. Gibson’s writing is accessible and full of relatable case studies. It’s a powerful read, though not always an easy one, especially for those whose childhoods resonate with these themes.

Reflections

Regardless of whether the term “emotionally immature parent” resonates with you, the distinction Gibson makes between emotional intimacy and emotional loneliness is universally relevant. All children need caregivers who are emotionally attuned and curious about their inner worlds.

If you’re a parent, this book may stir discomfort. But it’s essential to remember: children don’t need perfect parents, they just need “good enough” ones. Research suggests that being emotionally attuned just 30% of the time is enough to foster secure attachment.

Sometimes emotional disconnection isn’t caused by immaturity, but by life’s many stressors: mental health issues, grief, separation, job loss, or illness. Whatever the cause, children in these situations often grow up with a core sense of emotional loneliness and develop a Role-Self to cope.

Adapting to belong is part of being human and therefore drifting from our True Selves is possible for any of us, irrespective of our early childhood experiences.

If you’d like to reflect on this book with me—either one-to-one in therapy or in a therapeutic book group—please get in touch.

In review

I was drawn to this book having read and very much enjoyed Wintering.  I was a little bit fascinated by Katherine and the glimpses of her life and interested to track back to an earlier iteration of herself. Like Wintering, the pace is slow and the reader ambles alongside May as she reflects on her inner landscape—frustration, confusion, and the dawning clarity that she may be autistic.

There are no dramatic twists or cliff hangers here, just the profound difficultly of learning to accept oneself as best one can. May’s writing is beautifully evocative, capturing both her experience of the landscape on the coastal path and her pervasive low mood – that unsettling feeling of things somehow wrong in an undefinable way that is hard to pin down.  Her travels on foot, become a metaphor for her psychological journey of coming to terms with her suspected Autism and we listen in, whilst she reverse interprets her experiences, through the lens of that possible diagnosis.

Each chapter pairs a segment of her physical journey with memories, insights, and emotional revelations. We walk with her from the lightbulb moment (sparked by a podcast) through the tentative process of seeking diagnosis, the vulnerability of ‘coming out’ to loved ones, and her grappling with the question of whether she’d rather have a ‘disorder’ or simply be misunderstood.

Her honesty around motherhood is particularly brave. She names what many cannot: the gap between cultural ideals and lived experience, the sharp edges of maternal ambivalence, and how being a mother challenges one’s role-self. One passage I found particularly affecting was her description of her ‘whiteout” when struggling with getting her son in a buggy, a total meltdown which leaves her afterwards struggling to recall what happened.  I found it moving not just for its rawness, but because it conveys how difficult it is to make ourselves and the depth of our experience understood, even to those you love us and know us best.

The book powerfully explores the tension between traits that may be markers of neurodivergence and those that may be universal to the human condition, such as the feeling of being ‘different’, alone and misunderstood.

Part memoir, part travelogue, the narrative style reflects the fragmented, looping way self-understanding actually unfolds.

Another theme in the book which stood out to me is Self-Acceptance. As May walks, she gains not only increased insight but makes space for a different way of relating to herself, that feels more compassionate, less judgemental and more accepting.  It’s potent reminder of how much changes when we stop being angry at ourselves for being who we are. Even if we can’t yet celebrate certain parts, accepting them—however disappointing they may feel—creates space. That simple act of self-acceptance opens up a more forgiving, expansive way of relating to ourselves.

Questions and reflections

Throughout the book, May describes experiences of being out of kilter with others and of realising she is different.  One particular painful experience where she describes realising she perceived herself quite differently to her classmates.

  • What are your recollections of feeling ‘different’ or ‘other’ as a child?
  • How has this impacted on you in adulthood?

One of the books theme’s is coming to terms with the changing identity of motherhood.

  • If you are a parent, how has your identity changed as a result?
  • If you do not have or do not want children, how does that impact on how you see yourself?
  • In both instances, how are you effected by others reactions to your changing status/choice?

In the book, May compares walking to meditation in its ability to quieten her mind.

  • How do you experience your inner world and what do you do to find peace?

There are passages in the book when Katherine reflects on her previous understanding of herself and what she told herself about her ability to socialise, her enjoyment of parties etc, that she now realises was false.

  • What “stories” do you tell yourself to account for things that don’t feel quite right in your life?

If these experiences resonate with you and you’d like a space to reflect on them, either one-to-one in therapy or in a therapeutic book group, please get in touch.