There’s a strange pause that happens right after the holidays. It’s the time when most people are excited for their New Year’s Resolutions, but for me, it’s all about a New Year Reflection.
The decorations are still half up. The house feels a little off. The calendar suddenly gets very loud. Everyone else seems ready to sprint into January with planners, goals, and declarations about becoming a “new version” of themselves.
I’m not there yet.
This moment — the in-between one — doesn’t feel like a fresh start. It feels more like noticing. Taking inventory. Sitting still long enough to tell the truth.
I’m not ready to reinvent myself.
But I am ready to be honest.
This New Year reflection isn’t about resolutions or reinvention — it’s about noticing where I am, what I’ve survived, and what I’m gently carrying forward.
What This New Year Reflection Taught Me About Survival and Growth
2025 was hard for me.
After my mom passed, I dissociated for a while — a response that’s actually common during periods of grief and emotional overwhelm. I lost touch with the good parts of myself. I spiraled. I self-destructed in ways I’d never gone before. I spent a lot of the year waiting for the next bad thing to happen, wondering why I wasn’t enough, why life felt so heavy, and why I was carrying so much.
It felt like losing, and losing, and losing again.
And yet — I pushed through.
I showed up for my kids, even when I felt emotionally wounded and defeated. I asked myself what they needed, because no matter how low I felt, they needed their mom present, steady, and trying. My oldest started middle school this year — an 11-year-old sixth grader navigating a whole new world when it seems like just yesterday I was writing a letter to my firstborn as he started kindergarten. Watching him grow, change, and find his footing has been both overwhelming and incredibly beautiful.
Motherhood didn’t pause while I fell apart.
So I didn’t either.
Somehow, despite everything, I made it through the spiral. I stayed determined. I worked constantly — sometimes as a distraction, sometimes out of necessity — and ended the year with my biggest financial year yet. I overcommitted and stretched myself thin as a way to stay busy, to keep the hard feelings from catching up.
But in the quiet pauses, clarity started to form.
I noticed that I am capable — even when I question myself.
I noticed that I am still good — even after making major mistakes.
And I noticed that I am worthy — whether or not I’m proving it to anyone.
There was growth that didn’t come with announcements. Healing that didn’t look pretty. Progress that only showed up when I slowed down enough to notice it.
What I’m Leaving Behind After This New Year Reflection
I’m not setting goals so much as I’m letting things go.
I’m leaving behind old expectations — about doing it all, proving my worth, and running myself into the ground to feel “enough.” I’m releasing guilt for seasons that required survival mode. I’m letting go of the idea that I have to keep up with anyone else’s timeline.
I allowed people into my life this year who didn’t align with my values or my season. I tolerated disrespect longer than I should have. I believed words I knew, deep down, weren’t true — because they were what I wanted to hear.
I also came close to making major life changes before realizing I didn’t have the capacity for them yet. It wasn’t the right time. And that doesn’t make me weak — it makes me human.
What I’m Carrying Forward
Instead of resolutions, I’m choosing intentions.
My word for the year is intentional.
I’m protecting peace and growth. I’m doing less of giving myself to people who don’t deserve it, and less of stretching myself thin while getting nothing in return. I’m saying no without long explanations. I’m building a more systemized life — one that supports financial stability, healing, and joy instead of chaos.
I want slower mornings.
More journaling.
Less time on social media.
I want to live a real-life vision board — not a perfect one, just an honest one. Maybe that looks like journaling pages, a few printed reminders, or something simple taped inside a notebook. Nothing fancy. Just visual cues that point me back to the life I actually want to live.
A Quiet Companion for This Season
January doesn’t feel like a month for racing ahead — it feels like a month for sitting with things.
That’s why our Mom Wife Wine Book Club is starting the year with My Friends by Fredrik Backman. It’s not a hustle-through-it kind of book. It’s reflective, emotional, and grounded in the kinds of relationships and moments that shape us quietly over time.
If this season of life feels tender, complicated, or a little unresolved, this is the kind of story that meets you there. No pressure to read fast. No pressure to analyze. Just a shared pause and a reminder that connection still matters — especially in years that stretch us.
You’re always welcome to join us if you’re craving something gentle and communal this January.
A Toast to the Year Ahead
I don’t know exactly what this year will bring.
But I do know this: if you’re here, reading this, still trying — you’re doing fine.
So here’s a quiet toast:
To less perfection.
To boundaries that protect us.
To showing up as we are.
Here’s to the women doing their best with a half-full cup and a very full heart. 🍷
If You Want to Sit With This a Little Longer
You don’t need a goal list—but maybe a pen and a few honest questions to focus on your new year reflection:
- What are you proud of that no one else noticed?
- What are you tired of pretending you want?
- What do you want more space for this year?
