How in the world are we to the end of 2025 already?
I have lived through enough New Year’s to know this much: almost every year is a mixed bag. Some joy. Some grief. Some things you never saw coming. Some things you prayed would never happen. This past year was no different for me.
There was a lot of hard things that happened. Some things that I fervently hoped would never happen. Some things that can brutally change each step going forward. Sometimes, quietly rearranging expectations without you noticing what happened until you’re well into the new reality.
There were also genuinely good things. Celebrations that matter. My oldest daughter married a really good man. Watching my kids grow continues to amaze me and ground me. My wife and I made memories this year that I will carry with me. There was laughter. There was connection. There was joy that did not need to be justified.
And—
for a few months this year, I certainly danced with depression.
That’s a term. I tend to use very sparingly given my field of work. Earlier this year I wrote about how there is a difference between being sad and depressed. I think, but my memory isn’t what it used to be, that I even did a podcast on that idea this year.
And yet, now looking back I realize that I would’ve met most of the criteria. Not for the entire year, but for long enough to matter. Long enough, that I think it’s important that I recognize it. I fear our temptation can be to live in all or nothing thinking where we either drown in our sorrows or we pretend nothing bad happened.
Normally, I keep track of all the things that I do in the year through a journal and a notebook. My journal entries are woefully lacking this year, and my paper notebook is only about half full. On their own, these are not necessarily indicators of depression, but they can indicate a depressive mindset. Together, they tell a story.
Often our stories are told like that: discordant pieces that seem to be floating along in the ether, but when put together, they help us see our story.
When we see our story, perhaps we can share that story to comfort and encourage others.
I’m not sharing this so you feel sorry for me.
I am sharing it because I know I am not alone. Many of you had a year that was gut-wrenching. Some of you lived through a year that felt like loss stacked on loss with very little relief.
In many ways, I am fortunate. My year held both good and hard. Many people I sit with did not get that balance.
This is why I think the end of a year and the beginning of a new year is a gift. It allows us the opportunity to pause and reflect on the year that was.
It also offers the opportunity for us to look forward.
To Plan.
To Hope.
There’s a dangerous truth woven into this moment: every plan, every hope is a possibility for pain and disappointment.
Maybe that’s the message that’s been seeping into my bones the last few years.
There is almost always hard.
There is almost always good.
There is almost always something to be grieved.
There is almost always something to be celebrated.
That’s the gift of every day, every week, every year that passes.
The opportunity to celebrate, grieve, and learn.
So, as you ponder the end of this year or even if you are just hanging on hoping to makeit to the end of the year, can I encourage you to take a moment and do a few things?
First, write down what you learned this year. What did you learn from life that you are glad you learned and hope to pass on to others? What did you learn that came at a high cost?
Second, write down what you want to leave in last year. Memories are good, but some things need to be left in the past. Maybe you need to leave the desire to please everyone in the past. How did you talk to yourself about yourself this year? Do you need to leave some of that behind? What about that toxic friend or relative who doesn’t actually care about being healthy? Do you need to leave that relationship behind?
Make your list.
Don’t edit it.
Just get it down.
Next, write down what you need to grieve from this past year. What are the things you need to stop and recognize?
Recognize that they happened and they hurt. Once, when my daughter was young, she burnt her hand, but she didn’t want to have to stop playing or go to the ER, so she tried to not tell us until I saw her hand. She didn’t stop her pain; she did delay her hand healing and actually probably escalated her pain.
So often we do that when we refuse to name the things we need to grieve. Write those things down!
Now, write down what you want to learn in 2026. I’m not talking about resolutions that will perish by January 5th. I’m talking about something that you want to learn next year. Do you want to learn to slow down? Maybe you want to learn to enjoy the moment more, or you want to learn a new skill. Do you need to learn a new way to talk to yourself? I don’t care what it is, just write it down.
Now, let’s do something fun. Ask yourself what would need to happen in 2026 for that new thing to happen?
Next year is coming. It will have good moments and it will have bad moments but when we can add some intentionality to it, we can shape our experiences. Maybe not what happens, but what we take from those events.
When we do these things first, we can then plan for the new year. We can plan to do things that are meaningful and enriching. We’ll talk about that more next week.
May you move slowly enough to notice what this year gave you,
and brave enough to name what it took from you.
May you grieve what deserves grief,
celebrate what deserves celebration,
and leave behind what no longer needs to follow you.
As a new year approaches,
may you choose intention over avoidance,
honesty over hurry,
and learning over proving.
And may you discover that even here,
in the in-between,
You are not alone.
Thank you for reading, Emotionally Inclined, where I write about all the things that make us human. If you haven’t already, would you consider subscribing now or sharing with a friend? When we share with friends, we both benefit.
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