To the One Who Wants 2026 to Be Different
Dear friend,
If you’re honest, you can feel it already.
The life you’ve been living is thinning.
Not collapsing. Not failing.
Just…no longer able to hold you in the same way.
This time of year has a way of bringing that truth closer to the surface.
As the calendar turns, many people rush to make plans for what’s next—new intentions, new goals, new versions of themselves—hoping that forward motion alone will be enough to change things.
But what often gets missed is this quieter, more uncomfortable truth:
Before anything new can take root, something old has to be allowed to end.
We are not taught how to do this well.
In Western culture especially, we are encouraged to build, expand, and optimize—to move quickly toward what’s next without pausing to notice what has already completed its cycle.
We plant new seeds in January without ever turning the soil. We stack new intentions on top of old beliefs, old patterns, old ways of surviving that have long since hardened beneath the surface. And then we wonder why nothing truly changes.
Winter does not ask us to begin again.
Winter asks us to clear.
This season is not about reinvention. It’s about recognition. About listening closely to the symptoms that tell the truth before our minds catch up.
The restlessness that won’t resolve no matter how much you plan. The exhaustion that feels deeper than burnout.
The quiet grief that surfaces when something familiar no longer fits. The sense that you’re forcing yourself to care about things you’ve already outgrown.
These are not signs that you’re doing life wrong.
They are signals that a chapter is closing.
What we refuse to let end doesn’t disappear.
It follows us—into new relationships, new jobs, new years—repeating itself until we’re willing to face it directly. The patterns we don’t name continue to run us from beneath the surface. The roots we don’t excavate keep tangling the ground where we’re trying to grow.
Winter offers us a different way.
In nature, nothing blooms right now. Energy turns inward. Roots loosen. What has completed its purpose is returned to the earth. Not with force. Not with urgency. With honesty.
This is the work of the season: to let what is finished be finished—to grieve it, to thank it, to lay it down—so the ground can breathe again.
If you want 2026 to be different, this is where it begins. Not with better plans. Not with more discipline. But with the courage to stop carrying what no longer belongs to you.
There is nothing dramatic required here.
No burning down of your life. No sudden leaps.
Just a willingness to be truthful about what is already asking to be released.
Winter doesn’t rush us. It invites us to listen.
And when we do, something remarkable happens:
space returns. energy softens. capacity begins to rebuild.
Not for what’s next—but for what’s real.
From my heart to yours,
Practice Postscript
Where the letter stops being read and starts being lived
This is a winter practice.
Move slowly. There is no “right way” to do this.
Begin by finding a quiet moment—ten minutes is enough. Sit or stand somewhere you feel relatively settled.
Bring one hand to your body. Your chest. Your belly. Your thigh. Anywhere that feels grounding.
Take a few steady breaths and ask yourself—not from your mind, but from your body: What in my life feels complete, even if I haven’t admitted it yet? This might be a role you’ve been inhabiting. Or a relationship. A career direction. A way of living. A habit, pattern, or version of yourself that once served you well but no longer does.
Notice what arises. Sensations before stories. Tightness. Heaviness. Relief. Sadness. Resistance. You don’t need to decide what to do with any of this yet. Simply notice what your body already knows.
Now ask gently: What am I still carrying that is asking to be set down? This is not about judgment or drastic action. It’s about recognition. About naming what no longer needs your energy to survive.
If it feels right, write down what you notice—not as a plan, but as a truth. “I’m tired of pretending…” “I don’t want to keep forcing…” “I’m done carrying…”
Finally, place a hand on your body again and remind yourself: I don’t have to resolve this today. I’m allowed to let it loosen.
This is winter work.
And it is enough.
If it feels supportive, you might choose to sit in silence afterward — or listen to “Silence Within” by Saint of Sin, a piece that mirrors the quiet, inward tone of this practice.
An Invitation
Many people skip this part of the cycle because it’s difficult to do alone. Endings bring grief, uncertainty, and vulnerability—and our culture doesn’t offer many places to be held through that.
This is the work I do with people.
I walk with clients through the clearing seasons of their lives so they don’t rush past what’s essential—or carry old roots into new years and new eras of their life.
The Courage Practice is grounded, relational, and deeply human. We work across seasons because real transformation takes time, safety, and honest presence.
If you feel called to enter 2026 differently—more resourced, more truthful, more aligned—you’re invited to book a complimentary discovery call. This is not a sales conversation. It’s a grounded space to explore what support could look like for you in the year ahead.
You don’t have to winter alone.
When you’re ready, I’m here.
