2026

let light be a sweet rebellion in the shadows — morgan harper nichols

daisies by the pacific | photo by the author

And here I am. The first month of 2026 is now in the past. The writer of Ecclesiastes says nothing new is under the sun. Once upon a time, I had a small blog when Blogger was the thing to do (way to write?). And now, here I am more than a decade later with blogging reinvented and people fleeing social media.

I’ve also worked through riots (when protests turn violent) twice. And now five and six years later, here I am again. I’m watching the legitimacy of community policing I’ve fought so hard for crumble while I build it back slowly, one encounter at a time. Like listening to, caring for, and pursuing justice for the immigrant women who bravely come forward to tell me their stories of being abused by their partner or sexually assaulted.

I came out of 2025 more than tired. I realized it about halfway through the year that I was completely burned out. So I sheltered over the summer, tried to catch up in autumn, and landed on 2026’s doorstep with questions.

How do I process 2025? How do I approach 2026?

Processing 2025

2025 held acute illness, deep emotional wounds, occupational stress finally catching up to me, mysterious physical symptoms, and being stretched to my limit over and over again. When the professional side of my life calmed down, the personal side would flare up. I can’t tell you how many times this cycle happened in 2025, while my physical body and tender heart got caught in the middle.

I left friendships behind. I stopped being the person to carry the relationship, to initiate, and keep trying again and again. If someone repeatedly apologizes for being a bad friend but they don’t ever change, then it’s not about me. It’s about them, and I don’t have to keep subjecting myself to the same pattern. I can simply release and step away. If someone continues to make me feel inferior because I’m not in the same season they are in, then that’s not true acceptance. I don’t have to fit someone else’s season to be their friend. (Newsflash, most of the time, we can’t change our season even if we try.)

I grieved those friendships and embraced my life-giving, iron-sharpening, faithful prayer-warrior friends. The older I get, the smaller and more intentional my friend group becomes.

I learned that people who push boundaries the hardest are those who need them the most-est. Keeping boundaries in place until I see genuine change and growth is protecting my heart from their attempts to wound me.

I recognized imposter syndrome and am still learning not to play small.

you are a child of God. your playing small does not serve the world. there is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. we are all meant to shine, as children do. — marianne williamson

I learned that my body, though broken and imperfect, is good and resilient. I learned, even amidst heartbreak and burnout, that God is with me. Immanuel. And He calls me to abundant life, joy, and hope. (Jess Connolly has written two excellent books that I read together this year: one on our bodies and one on burnout.)

I learned a hair routine simplifies my life: some variation of wash, natural, braid, and bun over a four or five day period. I also simplified and invested in my wardrobe, like splurging on two or three good pairs of jeans and a black cashmere sweater for the winter season.

I learned that being an auntie is my new favorite role. The innocence, curiosity, and love of a child is such a hopeful, beautiful gift. They re-open our eyes to the way we used to look at the world. (Something I’m afraid a lot of us have completely forgotten.)

Approaching 2026

As for 2026, my word for the year is tend. The peace and rest I was hoping for has only come in part but I’m already feeling renewal. Despite the chaos. Despite the stress. My body has welcomed the absence of sugar and caffeine. And I drank an herbal blend specifically for gut health every single day of January. I slept, made lots of soup, and embraced hibernation.

And, I finally feel like writing again. The creative spark snuffed out in 2025 is flickering to life again.

How often will I write? Only time will tell. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I’m here. Tell me, how are you approaching 2026?

Lily, if you’re out there reading this, I hope you’re safe. I miss you. You’ll always be the Anne to my Diana. This is for you.

Hugs,

Daisy