More than words: A new way to set intentions for the new year (especially for HSPs)

There’s something about Christmas that softens the edges of time. Even if the day is filled with family and sparkle - or perhaps with solitude and stillness - it holds a pause. A hush. A moment where the year exhales. And for those of us who feel deeply, this pause can be as tender as it is complicated. The heart may feel full and fragile at once. The past year stirs beneath the surface, while the new one quietly waits.

It’s here, in this in-between space, that we’re often told to “set intentions.” To claim what we want for the year ahead. To declare and design our becoming. But for Highly Sensitive People (HSPs), and those who live through texture, nuance, and intuition, this process needs something gentler. Less forceful. Less word-heavy. More embodied. More honest.

More than words.

Why words alone aren’t always enough

Intentions are often treated like goals dressed in spiritual clothing. We’re told to write them down. Speak them aloud. Affirm them daily. And while that may work for some, many HSPs find that something feels…off. Because intentions, in their truest form, don’t begin in the mind. They begin in the body. The breath. The unspoken knowing. Words can name them, yes. But when we start with language, we sometimes skip the listening. We end up choosing intentions we think we should have - like “be more confident,” or “grow my practice,” or “find joy” - without checking whether our nervous system is ready for those shifts. Without asking our inner landscape what it truly wants to grow.

And so the intentions feel hollow. Or distant. Or like pressure dressed as positivity.

But there is another way.

Letting intention begin in sensation

What if your intentions weren’t something you had to decide, but something you could discover? One of the most transformative shifts I’ve experienced in my own creative and healing work is this: instead of starting with a sentence, I start with a texture. Before choosing a word or writing a single thing, I reach for something tangible - something that feels like the energy I’m craving in the new year. A surface, an object, a material that carries a resonance. Sometimes it’s a soft, worn cloth. Other times it’s rough bark, layered paint, cool ceramic. I sit with it. I breathe with it. I ask: What does this make me feel? And only then - only after I’ve grounded in sensation - do I invite a word to surface. Not a flashy one. Not a performative one. Just one that feels honest. This process doesn’t bypass intention. It deepens it.

Because it doesn’t just ask what you want - it asks what you’re ready to receive.

The body knows what the mind rushes past

The nervous system is often more truthful than the mind. Especially during the holidays, when emotions run high and overstimulation is real, the body can be a quieter, wiser guide. When you hold a texture and let it speak, you’re practicing something deeply reparative: listening without judgment. Feeling before naming. Being with what is. From here, intention becomes less like a performance and more like a presence. Maybe the texture of your year ahead is soft. Or spacious. Or richly layered. Maybe it’s grounded and mossy. Maybe it crackles with aliveness. Let that be your starting point - not the outcome you think you “should” reach, but the sensation that wants to root in you. And then, if it helps, you can shape that sensation into a word. Not to contain it, but to cradle it.

For therapists and sensitive facilitators

As a therapist or healer, you may already be guiding others through end-of-year reflections. But even the most spacious sessions can accidentally stay in the verbal realm. This is an invitation to bring texture into the room - literally. A basket of materials, a sensory board, a piece of client-made art. Let clients touch their intention before they speak it. Ask them what it feels like, not what it means. Invite them to embody it first. Even 60 seconds of holding something that evokes safety, ease, or inspiration can bypass resistance and awaken a deeper knowing. This becomes a co-regulating practice, too - because texture softens performance. It allows truth to arrive on its own time. And for you, dear therapist, this practice can be just as nourishing. Because you deserve intentions that rise from your body, not just your role.

A simple practice for christmas day or year’s end

If today feels like the right moment - or if you’re reading this closer to the 31st - here is a gentle, wordless way to begin: Find a textured object that feels comforting. Something within reach: a scarf, a piece of art you made, a pinecone, a blanket, handmade paper. Sit with it. Breathe slowly. Let your fingers explore its surface. Ask yourself - not with urgency, but with kindness:

What does this texture remind me of?
What feeling does it invite?
What part of me feels seen by it?

Let the answers be sensations, not sentences. Let them be images, memories, longings. And if a word comes - lovely. If not, let the texture be your intention. Let it become a small altar to remind you what you’re cultivating - not just for the next year, but for the next breath.

More than words. Always.

Words are beautiful. But for sensitive souls, they are not always the whole story. You are allowed to build your intentions through sensation. Through slowness. Through soft listening. Through touch. And if all you carry into the new year is a thread of texture, a remembered feeling, a quiet yes - then that is enough. Because real intentions aren’t built through force. They’re shaped in the space where body and spirit meet. Where art and ritual overlap. Where the self is allowed to speak in more than words.

And that space, dear one, is already yours.