This year, I choose a different kind of strength—the kind that moves like still water: calm on the surface, steady underneath. I’m no longer begging to be heard or stretching myself thin to be understood. I will speak when someone truly wants to listen, and I will rest in the dignity of quiet when they don’t.
I’m learning to keep my explanations close, like secrets in a closed hand. I will share only when curiosity opens the door, not when fear pushes me to justify myself. I’m letting go of the instinct to project my morals or reshape someone’s worldview. People reach their own clarity the way seeds find their own light—slowly, naturally, without my pulling at their roots.
I will say No more often, without guilt, without long trails of explanation. My time is a garden, and not every request deserves a place to grow.
I will no longer reveal my emotions so quickly or hand my vulnerability to those who treat it like spare change. My insecurities are many, and for a long time I held them out like offerings—hoping someone would say, “You are a good person, You’re kind. You’re safe.” If someone cannot honour the timid places in me or give them the time of day, then I will no longer bend myself toward their understanding.
This year, my validation comes from within—difficult, yes, but necessary. I am choosing to be the one voice that doesn’t misunderstand me.
So in 2026, I will walk forward quietly—lighter, firmer, and finally choose myself.
