Why I Stopped Making New Year's Resolutions (And What I Do Instead)
Like every human, I've tried (and mostly failed) the "new year, new you" approach too many times.
Sometimes it stuck for a while. Running every day worked for a few years. But most of the times, my grand plans fizzled out faster than they started.
I've tried the word-of-the-year thing. I even made a bracelet with my word once. I didn't wear the bracelet a single time. And honestly? I had such a hard time getting down to one word that I chose four. It wasn't great.
In my 20s, I tried choosing a theme at my birthday in July instead. At 28, the theme was "28: It's gonna be great!" That year turned out to be a complete and total dumpster fire. At 29, I went with "29: The year of wow!" And it was a very "wow" year, in literally every worst way possible… not only did I end up going to a funeral on my birthday but my house inexplicably lost power so I got ready for the funeral in semi-darkness and had really weird hair that day.
So, after having an actual “year of wow” I stopped trying to choose a theme of the year too.
The Year Everything Changed
Winter has always been a hard season for me. Over the years, I've learned not to put big expectations on myself while it's still cold and the weather feels heavy because it feels unlikely that I’ll even attempt any of the big dreams about this “new you” I’d love to become. But last January was different.
On January 13th, I had surgery. Not the kind where you’re just kind of out of it for a few days, the kind where my doctor said I couldn’t drive for a few weeks.
Instead of spending the first few weeks of the year hustling toward some aspirational version of myself, I spent them meal prepping, getting enough rest and water, and just trying to stay healthy before my body went through something big. And then I spent the next eight weeks recovering.
I couldn't work. I couldn't push. I couldn't attempt the "new you" thing through lofty goals or dreams of waking up at 5am to workout.
Instead, I rested. I read. I watched a lot of movies. I did cozy things at home. I even crocheted a blanket.
It was weird. It was hard. And also? It was really nice.
What I Learned About Over-Functioning
That forced slowdown did something I hadn't expected: it showed me how difficult it actually was for me to rest. After the first few days, I started feeling like I should be doing things to keep my home and family running despite the fact that I couldn’t even sit up without help.
After a few weeks of wrestling with why it was so hard for me to just rest, I realized I had been over-functioning for a really long time. Constantly on the go. Constantly doing. Constantly striving. Constantly treating rest like something I had to earn rather than something my body genuinely needed.
When I physically couldn't attempt to become a "new me" through willpower and goals, I actually learned how to become a new me in a completely different way: by taking the pressure off.
And that's when something clicked.
All those years of trying to force transformation in January? I was fighting against the season itself. I was demanding spring energy from myself in the middle of winter.
Winter Isn't Unproductive. It's Preparation.
Here's what I've come to understand:
Winter seems like nothing is productive. It seems like everything is dead. But under the surface, trees and life all around are doing things. Quiet, invisible things. Storing up. Settling in. Preparing so that in spring, everything can burst forth.
Over-functioning is the opposite of that. It's refusing to let yourself have a winter. It's demanding bloom when your roots need rest.
Not every season is meant to look productive. Some seasons are for integration. For storing up. For letting things settle before the next big bloom.
From a nervous system perspective, this makes so much sense. When we're constantly in "go" mode (setting goals, making plans, pushing toward the next thing) our nervous system stays activated. That low-grade stress keeps us braced and on-edge, even when we don't realize it.
But rest isn't the absence of productivity. Rest is what allows our nervous system to regulate. It's how we move from that survival-mode activation back into a state where we can actually think clearly, feel connected, and show up for the people and moments that matter.
Winter is doing exactly what it's supposed to do. And maybe we're allowed to do the same.
What I Do Instead of Resolutions
I don't have a grand plan for you. No five-step framework. No word for the year.
What I do instead is this: I slow down and pay attention.
I notice when my body is asking for rest. I notice when the pressure I'm putting on myself is coming from old patterns rather than what I actually need right now. I notice when "productive" has become a way of avoiding something uncomfortable. Winter this year has looked a lot more like an emptier-than-usual calendar, more nights with earlier bedtime, more time and space for creating and resting and recovering from the chaos of December.
And I give myself permission, over and over, to let this season be what it is.
If you're feeling the pull to set big goals right now, I'm not here to talk you out of it. But if something in you is whispering that maybe this isn't the year for that, I want you to know: you can listen to that whisper.
You don't have to force spring in January.
A Gentle Invitation
If this resonates, if you're someone who's been over-functioning for a long time, or if winter always feels harder than it should, or if your body has been asking for something you haven't quite been able to give it, I'd love to stay connected.
I write about nervous system support, somatic healing, and simple ways to show up for yourself when life feels like too much. My newsletter, Lab Notes, is where I share gentle reminders and practices like this one. If you're in the Kansas City area or around the globe and looking for support, I'm here.
