Hello 2026, you slightly intimidating clean slate

There’s something about the start of a new year that makes you feel like you should have everything figured out.

Like you should be up at dawn with a colour coded planner, a green juice, and a calm mind that never spirals. Like you should be making huge goals and declaring them confidently to the universe.

In reality, I’m stepping into 2026 in a much more normal way. A bit tired. A bit reflective. Grateful for the quiet moments after Christmas, and still slightly surprised by some of the things 2025 brought with it.

Because 2025 felt like a year of doing things I wasn’t totally sure I could do.

Not with constant confidence. Not in a neat, organised way. More like quietly trying, wobbling, doubting myself, then doing it anyway.

And one of the biggest things I did was launch my book.

Even writing that still feels strange, because it wasn’t one big dramatic moment. It was lots of small ones. Sitting down to write when I didn’t feel like it. Editing when I’d rather have pretended it didn’t exist. Second guessing everything. Then slowly realising that if I kept waiting to feel ready, I might never do it at all.

So I pressed on.

And yes, putting it out there felt exposing. Like walking into a room and introducing yourself, but instead of saying your name you hand over a piece of your life and say, here you go, please be kind.

There’s a particular kind of vulnerability in writing something personal and funny and real, because you don’t just share the polished parts. You share the messy bits too. The bits you might usually keep between you and your closest friends. The bits you might cringe about later while brushing your teeth.

But I wanted it to be honest.

2025 also taught me that honesty does not have to be heavy. Sometimes it can be funny. Sometimes it can be warm. Sometimes it can be a way of making sense of things that were hard at the time.

And if I’m being really truthful, the reason I’m writing this now is because I’m trying to let it sink in that 2025 happened. That it passed. That I got through it. That I did things I’m glad I did, even if I felt a bit sick while doing them.

When I look back, what stands out most is not a list of achievements. It’s the feeling of it all.

The moments I doubted myself and still showed up.

The times I told the truth instead of glossing over it.

The messages that made me feel less alone.

The people who reached out and said they were reading.

The small sparks of, oh, maybe this mattered to someone.

That’s what I want to carry into 2026.

Not a pressure to be better, faster, more productive. Just a quieter confidence that I can cope when things feel uncertain. That I can start things without knowing exactly how they will turn out. That I can be myself and not apologise for it.

So I’m not doing the dramatic new year reinvention. I’m not promising a completely new me. I’m not pretending I’ve got it all sussed.

I’m just pausing for a moment, looking back at 2025, and feeling grateful that I kept going.

And now I’m stepping into 2026 with a bit of hope.

A bit of curiosity.

And the intention to keep making time for the things that feel meaningful, even if they scare me a little.

Hello 2026.

Please be gentle.

And if you can’t be gentle, at least bring snacks.

Here’s to taking it one step at a time, without the pressure to perform.