I told myself that if I wrote down my New Year resolutions, they would happen, and so, there was a post-it note on my vanity, reminding me of what I promised myself this time last year. I placed all my binding faith in a single 3×3 yellow square. And it wasn’t like these resolutions were anything overwhelming, complicated, or demanding; simple things like finding time for myself, losing all of the baby weight from two pregnancies, and organizing the garage to finally fit our lives. Easy. After all, nearly 41% of Americans made resolutions too.
I took the Post-it note down today and burned it.
If you were to take my resolutions at face value, I failed every single one of the resolutions. I was angry for a while if I’m being honest. It was like I had failed at something which I was in complete control of.
And then my husband reminded me that maybe my perception was slightly skewed, that perhaps I hadn’t failed my resolutions at all.
I didn’t find time for myself, it is true. I poured from an ever-increasing empty cup, but I never stopped trying to carve out a semblance of personal time. I sought out any snippet of time I could: podcasts while grocery shopping, reading over 400 books in a year while putting our babies back to sleep. I made the decision to embrace my lion’s mane of curls, resulting in a hair routine. I found pockets of joy, even if those moments were not spa days or girls’ weekends. I created and enforced boundaries, even though I hated every second of it.
I didn’t lose all the baby weight. I had two massive babies in the span of four years while working in healthcare in the midst of a pandemic. My body was holding onto trauma. I did, however, find purpose in movement. I picked my yoga practice back up while also running several 5k races. I focused on nourishing my body with the best food I could, learning what works best for me, and I acknowledged that my body is now different, but it is strong.
New Year’s resolutions are a tool, but they are not a benchmark of success. They shouldn’t define us or put weight on our worth as people because life happens; you can’t contain it in a bullet-pointed manner.
And yes, the garage is still a mess.
