Planning as a Form of Care

Planning is often talked about as a way to control outcomes. To stay ahead. To manage time, productivity, and progress. For many creative women, planning has been taught as something you do to yourself rather than something you do for yourself.

It’s no wonder it can feel heavy.

When planning is rooted in pressure, it tends to ignore reality. It assumes consistent energy, uninterrupted focus, and a version of life where nothing unexpected happens. When real life inevitably interrupts that plan, the result is often guilt or a sense of failure rather than adjustment.

But planning doesn’t have to work that way.

At its most supportive, planning is a form of care. It’s a way of paying attention to your capacity, your energy, and the season you’re in. Instead of asking how much you can fit in, it asks what would actually help you feel steadier as you move forward.

Care-based planning begins with honesty. Not the kind that criticizes or limits you, but the kind that acknowledges what’s real. How much energy you have. What your days actually look like. What you’re holding emotionally as well as practically. When planning includes those realities, it stops feeling like a demand and starts feeling like support.

This kind of planning doesn’t require rigidity. It allows for change. It makes room for rest without labeling it as lost time. It understands that creativity doesn’t respond well to constant urgency, and that forcing progress often leads to resistance rather than momentum.

There have been seasons where planning helped me breathe again. Not because it created certainty, but because it removed unnecessary pressure. It allowed me to decide what mattered for now and let the rest wait without guilt. That clarity didn’t come from doing more. It came from choosing less.

When planning feels overwhelming, it’s often because it’s disconnected from care. It’s focused on outcomes instead of experience. On what should happen instead of what’s sustainable. Reframing planning as an act of care shifts the entire relationship you have with it.

You’re no longer planning to prove anything. You’re planning to support yourself.

If planning has become another source of stress in your work, it may be worth asking a different question. Not what should I be doing next, but what would make the next stretch feel more manageable. What would help me stay connected to my work without exhausting myself.

Planning doesn’t have to push you forward.  It can walk alongside you.  It can create enough structure to feel held, while still leaving room to be human.

That kind of planning doesn’t demand perfection. It invites presence. And over time, it makes steady progress possible without sacrificing your well-being.