A New Year Letter: Everything Makes Sense
Dearest Mom,
Happy New Year. Or, as I like to call it, the annual "Performance Review from Someone Who Doesn't Even Work Here."
I see you standing there at the threshold of 2026. You’re likely holding a lukewarm coffee, wearing leggings that may or may not be inside out, and eyeing a new planner as if it’s a magic wand that will finally make you the woman who preps salads in mason jars.
But I have a different proposal. How about: New Year, Nourished You. I’m not talking about a spa day or a kale smoothie. I’m talking about an amplified version of the woman you already are. I’m talking about a woman who finally decides to stop being her own harshest critic and starts becoming her own fiercest advocate.
New Year: NOURISHED You.
Mothering the "Shuilts"
We all know them: Shame and Guilt. I call them the Shuilts. They’re like those uninvited relatives who show up to the party and stay way too long. They’re the ones who find the single, stale, sticky Cheerio fused to your couch cushions and just... stare at it. They offer you that devastating cocktail of pity and concern—a look that says, 'Oh honey, is this really how we’re living?'—making you feel like a guest in your own home.
But here’s the professional truth: Those Shuilts? They aren't just annoying houseguests; they are actually the most wounded, "young" parts of our own stories. They act like judgey relatives because they are terrified we’re going to be rejected or "found out." They’ve been living in our internal basements for years, and they likely aren't moving out.
But—and this is the seismic shift—they don’t have to steer the car. This year, let’s make it our goal to simply forgive ourselves faster. When that wave of "I should have done better" hits you between the ribs with that sudden, heavy thud of a door slamming shut in your chest, take a beat. Don't let the noise of that impact convince you that you’ve actually broken something.
Don't scream back at the judgey relative. Instead, look closer and see the fear underneath the judgment. That "Shuilt" is actually a younger, terrified version of you that is convinced that if you aren't perfect, you’ll be rejected—by your kids, your partner, or the world. It thinks it’s protecting you by being mean to you first.
Address that feeling like the overwhelmed child it actually is. Wrap your emotional arms around that internal ache and say: 'I hear you. I see you’re terrified that if I’m not enough, we’ll be left behind. But I’ve got this.' You can let your shame sit in the backseat—buckle it in if you have to—but don't let it touch the wheel. You’re the one driving now.
When that wave of "I should have done better" hits you between the ribs with that sudden, heavy thud of a door slamming shut in your chest, take a beat. Don't let the noise of that impact convince you that you’ve actually broken something.
The Radical Power of Context
If there is one thing I want you to tattoo on your heart this year, it’s this: All behavior makes sense given its context.
When your child has a meltdown over the "wrong" blue bowl? It makes sense in the context of a nervous system that is still under construction. When you snap because the house is loud and the term “overstimulated” feels like the understatement of the century? That makes sense, too.
You aren't "losing it"; you are a human responding to an environment. This year, may we search for the context instead of the culprit. May we hold ourselves to human standards rather than impossible ones:
The way your home looks? Context.
The way you parent when you are bone-deep burnt out? Context.
The way you show up in your marriage or your friendships? Context.
Maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe if we get curious about the context, we can finally change what we so achingly want to change—not through force, but through understanding.
Befriend Yourself Outrageously
My wish for you, Mom, is that you befriend yourself so outrageously, so lovingly, that it feels a bit radical.
I want you to sit with yourself in the darkest of nights when the house is quiet and the "what-ifs" are screaming. I want you to celebrate your wins with the same fervor you’d use for your best friend.
Recognize that presence is your best and biggest asset. But presence isn't free; it’s a resource. We must find ways to support your ability to be present—by nourishing your body, moving your bones, breathing deep, building a community that actually holds you, and taking the rest you’ve been told you have to "earn." (Spoiler: You don't.)
The Secret of the Chase
Here is the spoiler alert of the century: We never actually chase a "thing." We don't chase the organized pantry, the promotion, or the perfectly behaved toddler. We chase a feeling. We chase the feeling of acceptance, of love, of triumph, and of peace. We think the "thing" will give us permission to feel the "feeling."
But I’m giving you the keys to the kingdom right now: Allow yourself to feel that feeling today. As you are. In the mess. In the middle of the struggle. That coveted feeling of being "enough" is just that—a feeling. And it is available to you, right here, in this context, exactly as you are.
Everything makes sense within context. You are doing a hard thing, and you are doing it better than you think.
With love, warmth, and a healthy dose of "we’ve got this,"
Did this resonate with you?
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