Setting Intentions That Stick
The days between Christmas and New Year’s have their own strange magic. Time feels stretchy. You forget what day it is. There’s leftover pie for breakfast. The group chats are quiet. The world pauses just long enough for you to hear yourself again.
This isn’t the moment for reinvention. This is the moment for clarity.
That’s what December 29 is for.
January 1 comes in hot — fireworks (complete with anxious pups!), pressure, declarations, brand-new planners with color-coded fantasies.
Today has none of that energy. It’s softer. Quieter. More honest.
This is the week where you catch your breath and say: “Oh. This is who I am now.”
Resolutions are written by adrenaline. Intentions are written with awareness.
And this is the week awareness finally has space to land.
A personal honesty: the book I didn’t finish
Back in January, I fully believed Lead With Heart would be finished by December. Edited. Queried. Maybe even on the path toward publishing.
I had the plan. I had the timeline. I had the drive.
But then life took the wheel — and grief does not check your project calendar before it arrives.
I have edits to make and decisions to finalize and a very patient editor waiting for me. But if I’m honest, the book feels too big to touch right now. I wasn’t ready this year.
And instead of rolling those unmet goals straight into 2026, I’m using this in-between week to ask a quieter, more important question:
Were those the right goals for the version of me who exists today?
Because I didn’t fail. (Even though at 2 a.m. it feels an awful lot like a failure.) I changed. My year changed. My center changed.
And the truth is, my intention going forward is to come back to the book with new eyes, not pressure.
A clearer view. Not a louder push.
Intentions that stick are born in stillness
This is the week where the noise fades enough for truth to speak.
Intentions that stick are the ones you craft when you’re not rushing or performing or trying to impress the future.
They come from:
who you’ve become
what you’ve learned
what you can carry
what you must release
what you refuse to abandon
what your heart is gently tugging you toward
Intentions built in this liminal in-between? They last. Because they’re rooted in reality, not fantasy.
A reflection ritual for this in-between week
Light a candle. Wrap yourself in a blanket. Let December end softly.
Then answer these:
In 2026, I want to feel…
Because I chose to…
What I’m leaving behind from this year is…
What I’m carrying forward is…
My very first small step will be…
Just one step. Not ten. Not a plan. Not a 5-year roadmap.
You don’t need a new you when the calendar flips. You just need a clearer view.
