I’m Entering 2026 Without a Plan and Learning to Trust Myself Instead

On burnout, timelines, and choosing self-authorship over certainty

---

New Year, New Feelings.

Opening a social media app this first week of January is like an assault.

New year, new you! 12-week year! Manifest! Vision board!

Every third post is someone sharing their goals, telling me how I can achieve them better, or recapping their successes from the last year.

It’s like a pop-up ad from hell.

Meanwhile, I’m full of cheese and tea — staring out the window at the trees that are literally sleeping, the soil that is dormant, and thinking... Am I supposed to have the next 365 days mapped out?

That pressure you feel to have it all figured out… it’s suffocating. Especially when you remember that January 1 is a social construct — a date set by some Pope back in the 1500s.

All that to say, we can have as many new year starts as we desire.

• January 1

• Your Birthday

• Lunar New Year

• Spring Equinox

• Some Random Tuesday at 4pm in May

2025 has felt like stumbling out of a groggy sleep to a loud alarm — I should know the path to the light switch; this is my room. But I am stumbling, tripping over random clothes and assortments that tell the tale of my anxiety, exhaustion, and weariness. I am just trying to find my way out.

2025 was my swan song — albeit not a pretty one — it was the end of my current life, one I am glad to no longer live in.

But the thought of 2026 overwhelms me. If 2025 was the end of a life I no longer wish to live, what pressure am I putting on 2026 to be, well, to be… um to be.. God, I don’t even know… To be everything 2025 wasn’t…​

2026 is beginning to feel like the rudder that helps me pivot onto a new trajectory, and is that asking too much?

The Search For Meaning (And Worthiness)

So I am looking to outside explanations to help me make the most of my upcoming year, to help me understand it, to hold it up to the light and dissect it. To prove to myself what the universe already holds true… And maybe to put off the work a bit, because planning is the perfect appetizer for dealing with perfectionism and procrastination. You’re doing just enough, without having to do the big, scary thing.

So let’s chat about it… the universe bit. Will talk about the other stuff later on. (oop, is she procrastinating out of fear?)

According to the Lunar New Year and numerology, 2025 was a snake year and Year 9. This was a year of shedding with a focus on wisdom, introspection, endings, and transformation. A year for letting go of what no longer fits, even when it was exhausting.

And now, 2026 arrives loaded with symbolism: a Year 1, the beginning of a new nine-year cycle, a fire horse year, a solar eclipse on an Aquarius New Moon. Everything about it points to new beginnings, bold action, and rebirth.

My birthday is February 16. I’m an Aquarius. I’ll be turning 33 — a Master Number, the “Master Teacher.”

And Jesus Christ, do you see why I am overwhelmed?

I’m searching for certainty, and I’m not sure I’ll find it. But if we look back, I know what happens when I ignore myself.

• At 21, I studied abroad and discovered a different kind of life.

• At 25, I kept taking jobs that weren’t right, so I left and tried again.

• At 26, my friends were getting engaged while I was bartending and freelancing.

• At 28, I landed the six-figure, fully remote job that looked good on paper; I thought I’d made it.

• At 32, my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I burned out, and I got laid off.

Because here is the thing: Every time I’ve tried to fit into someone else’s timeline or definition of success, it’s fallen apart. And every time it’s fallen apart, I’ve found a more honest, sustainable version of my life waiting underneath.

What 2026 needs to be is a lesson in self-trust and self-authorship.

Radical Transparency & The Invitation

In some ways, I have poured my heart online, and in others I’ve kept silent.
I’ve shared enough, but not everything.
I’ve given you little sprinkles of confessions.
I’ve redirected your attention.
I’ve hidden uncertainty behind insight.
I’ve used soft language to mask certain feelings of fear, judgment, shame, and doubt.

I still stand by what I’ve said, but from wanting to stay private to fearing judgment, I haven’t always been forthcoming.

But to build up my self-trust, I need to be more honest with you.

So, what do you say we try that?

My last corporate job destroyed my love for social media. I worked hard to earn my degree and build a career in marketing, investing years and a lot of money along the way. I’m ashamed to admit that my love of social media was slowly fading before I was laid off. The shame is mostly inward — I would never judge someone else for walking away from something that no longer excites them, but I look down on myself for it. I’m embarrassed by how unclear my desires feel after years of being decisive, strategic, and competent, and I feel ashamed that I don’t have a clear replacement plan.

I don’t want to work anymore. And not in a lazy kind of way, in a way that I don’t want my whole life to be centered around work. It’s that constant question: do you live to work, or work to live?  I have a deep need for stability and an equally strong desire to break from expectations, and I’m stuck in a never-ending loop: needing a good job to support myself while my soul yearns for something unconventional. I don’t want to be tied to a nine-to-five schedule — I want more freedom to explore new facets of myself.

This is the first time I’ve truly slowed down. I’m not chasing the next milestone or the next high, and I’m learning that I don’t have to prove anything — not to a timeline, not to other people, not to my degrees, not to the cities, not to working in marketing because that’s what I’m good at and what people know me for. There’s a part of me that wants to say fuck it all, I want to do what I want and live the life I want because this is my one life. I want to believe that stability doesn’t have to mean self-betrayal. I want to believe that wanting a different shape of life doesn’t make me irresponsible.

I’m afraid people will hear this and think I don’t want responsibility, that I’m lazy or irresponsible, or that I'm romanticizing instability. I’m afraid people will reduce this entire chapter to a lack of grit when it actually feels like grief. I felt the need to call this time something — a gap year or a sabbatical — to make it more palatable to others. It felt easier than saying I have no fucking clue what I want to do next, but I know I need to rest. I don’t want people to think I’m regressing when it feels like the opposite.

And here’s the practical reality that makes this season possible. I am almost 33 and living at home, as I was when I was laid off, and I don’t pay rent or utilities. I had about $45,000 in savings that I’ve been living off for the last nine months and will continue to do so. I have little to no-cost health insurance, a paid-off 2009 car, and no debt. Right now, I spend my money on my bills, travel, expenses, and joy.

The Worth Is In The Telling

So my question for 2026 is this: how do I build a solid foundation while leaving room for exploration? Not choosing one over the other, but letting practicality and creativity dance with each other. I don’t have the answer — and if you do, don’t tell me. I want to find it on my own.

This year, my intention is simple and uncomfortable: to respond to what genuinely excites me, to honor my emotional waves, and to trust myself in every decision I make. Maybe the goal of 33 isn’t mastery or certainty, but being seen trying — exploring, playing, riding the waves, and noticing what brings me joy.

What you can expect from me is this: I’m going to keep telling the truth as I live it. Not the polished version. Not the clean arc. But the messy, honest field notes from the wilderness — because for me, the worth is in the telling.

---

In the in-between, you can find me on Threads, Substack and Youtube .

---

If you liked this essay, you might also enjoy…