Resolved.

Ink and Watercolor by Tom Nixon

I don't love New Year's.  Maybe after three months of birthdays and major holidays I'm just tired of the obligation and materialism.  .  There's also a bit of regret when I look back over the year and see what I could have done better, or should have done at all. I also find the pressure to remake ourselves on some arbitrary date annoying, stressful, and almost predestined to fail.  It's also a possibility that I'm just old and fueling my kids to stay up until midnight just seems a little too masochistic

This year, I have one over-arching resolution, though admittedly with several subpoints.  2022 is going to be the year of me.  I realized that I have gradually lost myself.  For many different reasons, some good and some bad and some that just are, I have put aside so many things that I love.  I haven't painted since April.  I have written only a couple hundred words over 8 months.  I haven't integrated well into my new community.  I've become a coward, fading around the edges to avoid offense and conflict. I have felt weak, frequently overwhelmed, unsteady on my feet, and unsure of which way to go.  

This year I start finding my way again.

I won't bore you with the exact goals.  There will probably be more of them than are appropriate, though I like to think that with a shotgun approach at least a couple changes are likely to stick.  It's time for a little more discipline, a little more focus on family, a little more time set aside for just me--and allowing that to be okay.  It's time to prune some of the more toxic things back in my life, from people to choices to distractions. It's time to claim my space, to acknowledge to myself and others that I have worth, that my opinions and decisions and wants don't need justification or excuse.  Most importantly, it's time for me to stop caring so much about how other people perceive me.  I read a quote once that the one thing women over 30 should stop wearing is the weight of other people's judgments.  This is the year I'm going to start peeling off those layers.

It's weird how we extend so much grace to others--even those we disagree with or don't like--but somehow our own imperfections are so unbearable that other people couldn't possibly love us if they knew.  My depression is pathetic.  Being overwhelmed and irritated by my children mean's I'm disorganized, selfish and makes me a bad mom.  Be careful not to talk too much about Alaska, nobody wants to hear about it. People are already busy with their own issues, I should be able to handle things myself, asking for help is just making trouble for other people. Needing help is weakness--but only in me.  Toe the socially mandated line so nameless strangers won't judge me, don't mention facts that make others uncomfortable, make myself small so people aren't annoyed or threatened...the list goes on and on. I know I talk to myself very differently than I'd ever talk to anyone else, especially my girls.  Knowing that doesn't make change easier. It just makes it possible.

2022 is probably going to suck in many ways.  2021 certainly did.  However, there were a lot of good things that happened, too.  That's the thing about new years--they offer the chance for 365 new beginnings and second chances.  So here's to you, and me, and letting ourselves be us this coming year.  Here's to new adventures and new stories--hopefully funny and happy ones, but the sad and scary have value, too.  Here's to remembering--or learning--our inherent value, and nurturing the worth of others.  Here's to finding our joy, and embracing the things that make us happy.

You can do it. I believe in you.  If you need it, let me know and I'll try to remind you.  And I'll try to remind myself, too.