Let me tell you about the time I literally scheduled a crying session in the shower.
Yes, you read that right. I planned to cry. In the shower. Like it was a meeting. With tears.
This wasn’t always my life. Once upon a time, I thought people who scheduled emotional breakdowns were… dramatic. Maybe a little too Type A. Maybe they needed to chill out.
Then I became a mom.
Before my little guy arrived, a sweet and slightly mischievous friend of mine (who had already crossed into motherhood) said something that made me laugh out loud.
She told me, “Whenever you need a good cry in the shower, let me know and we can find the time.”
I remember thinking, What? Crying in the shower? I’m good. That sounds… intense.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t long before I texted her with the words, “You free for that shower cry soon?”
She showed up. I cried. We both laughed. And weirdly, it felt like one of the most healing, soul-lifting things I’d done in weeks.
The power of planning the unexpected
It wasn’t just the crying that helped. It was the fact that I planned for it. Amidst sleepless nights, spit-up-stained everything, and the relentless loop of feeding, burping, swaddling, repeat—I created space for release. On purpose. I wrote “shower cry” in my planner. Like a normal, emotionally stable adult.
That little moment sparked something in me. Planning—something I already leaned on heavily—suddenly became a life raft. But not in the traditional way. Not in the color-coded, every-second-scheduled kind of way. More like a quiet, flexible structure that helped me feel a little more in control when everything else was upside down.
So today, I’m sharing a few of the “weirdest” things I’ve scheduled. They may sound silly, but they worked. And if you’re in a season where planning feels rigid or impossible, I hope this inspires you to embrace your planner in a new way—tears and all.
1. Shower cries (obviously)
Let’s start with the OG. I’m not saying this should be a recurring event on your calendar (although… maybe?). But what I am saying is that intentionally carving out time to process your emotions isn’t indulgent. It’s necessary.
We spend so much time scheduling productivity. Why not schedule pause? Or release? Or ugly crying under hot water with your bestie on speakerphone?
Highly recommend.
2. Sit and stare time
For 15 minutes each Sunday, I sit on the couch and do absolutely nothing. No phone. No music. No book. No podcast telling me how to optimize my life.
Just… silence.
It’s uncomfortable at first. My brain tries to solve things, remember things, fix things. But then it softens. I start to breathe deeper. And I get up feeling like I just came back from a 2-hour spa treatment.
Plot twist: this is one of the most productive things I do all week.
3. Weekly gratitude
During Sunday dinner, I ask my family: What was the peak of your week? It sounds simple, but it’s quickly become one of my favorite rituals.
And after every trip or vacation, we do a quick “top three” moment rundown—what we loved, what surprised us, and what we want to remember.
Gratitude is easier to feel when you slow down enough to name it.
4. the “to-drop list”
Once a month, I open my planner and make space for one of my most sacred rituals: the "to-drop" list.
What am I carrying that I no longer need to? What expectations, pressure, mental clutter can I let go of?
This practice inspired one of the most popular stickers in my shop—and for good reason. Sometimes I whisper “you are free” as I delete tasks. Sometimes I yell it (dramatically). Either way, it’s deeply satisfying.
And it’s not about quitting. It’s about choosing wisely.
5. Scheduled nothing
I literally write “Do NOTHING” in a giant rectangle and color it in. No backup plans. No errands. No productivity guilt. Just spaciousness.
It’s harder than it sounds, and with a toddler means probably an end-of-day ritual. But wow, does it reset my nervous system.
And guess what? The more I practice planning for nothing, the more I notice how much I actually need it.
Planning isn’t just for doing—it’s for being
When people hear “digital planner,” they often think hustle, goals, daily checklists. And yes, I love a clean weekly spread and the thrill of checking things off. But the deeper truth is: planning helps me feel safe. It helps me cope. It helps me show up with intention when I’d rather hide in a blanket burrito and forget adulting exists.
During that early postpartum phase, planning didn’t make life easier. It made life bearable. I couldn’t control anything (least of all my baby’s nap schedule), but I could control this one small thing: creating a little space to breathe, cry, laugh, and just be.
Whether you’re navigating motherhood, burnout, big transitions, or just regular old “life is a lot” energy—give yourself permission to plan the weird things.
The crying showers. The blank space. The staring contests with your ceiling fan.
It’s not about being efficient. It’s about being human.
And sometimes, being human means penciling in your breakdown so you can make room for your breakthrough.
Your turn
So here’s my challenge: what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever scheduled?
Crying? Dancing? Screaming into a pillow?
Whatever it is, I want to hear about it. Follow me on Instagram @myminimalistplanner or drop a comment below. Let’s normalize planning for the real stuff.
Because behind every color-coded week, there’s a human just trying to feel okay.
And that, my friend, is worth scheduling.
The drawer of helpful things (aka my resource stash)
1. The Baby Whisperer by Tracy Hogg
This became our family’s blueprint for structure. It’s not the only way to do things, but it’s the one we committed to—and it worked for us.
2. The Little Book of Self-Care for New Moms
A tiny book with a big message: if I wasn’t okay, my baby wouldn’t be either. I read this in 5-minute chunks and kept it close like a life raft.
3. My minimalist digital planner
The planner that held me together. I used it for everything from meal tracking to mood logging to writing down mantras that kept me afloat.
4. The “to-drop list” sticker
Straight from my shop and part of my planner inserts edition. A weekly permission slip to stop caring about things that don’t serve you. It’s tiny but mighty.