Dear Me,

We Made It (Somehow???)

Look at you. Still here. Still swinging.

You walked into 2026 with bruised feelings, a stubborn amount of hope, and very specific playlists about becoming that girl.

You didn’t glide into the year with grace. You limped in. You yeehawed in. You dragged yourself across the threshold like “surprise, babe, I’m still here.” And that counts. It counts so much.

This letter is for you to breathe. To remember what you promised yourself. To ground into you the softness you deserve.

Where You’ve Been

Last year cracked you open and then butterflied you like a shrimp. It was painful, messy, and character development-heavy. You hit emotional rock bottom and then found a trap door beneath it. You cried in bathrooms. You pulled yourself back up. You had days when hope felt like a scam, and days when it felt like a warm lightbeam on your face.

You survived heartbreak, endings, uncertainty, doubts about your worth, and the weirdly existential question of “should I just run away to a cabin in the woods and write fantasy novels full-time?”

(That one is still on the table.)

But through all of this, you kept writing. You kept dreaming. You kept being so absurdly you that even the universe had to be like, “…damn, she’s committed to the bit.”

Where You Are

This year, you’re going to move slower on purpose. You aren’t sprinting into a “new me” montage. You’re strolling, hoodie half-zipped, iced coffee in hand, deeply unconcerned with being productive for the first and only time in your life.

You’re learning the art of:

• choosing yourself without apologizing
• resting before you burn out
• letting people love you without assuming it’s a prank
• telling your anxiety to take several seats

You’re also stepping into the most gentle villain origin arc possible. Which is just you…with boundaries.

What You Want This Year

You want stories that nourish you.

Books that punch you emotionally but then hand you soup.

Writing sessions where the words spill out like magic.

You want friendships that feel like being wrapped in a blanket someone warmed in the dryer for you.

People who text you memes and check in on your brain cell count.

You want a home inside your life – not just survival. Not just coping. Actual belonging.

And you’re allowed to want that out loud.

What You Deserve to Remember When It Gets Hard

You are not too much. You feel deeply, love deeply, think deeply. Girl, that’s a feature, not a glitch. No matter what other people might think.

You are not behind. Your timeline is a funky little constellation only you can read. Everyone else is just pretending they know how.

You are allowed to want joy. Even the big, ridiculous, cinematic kind.

You’re becoming someone softer and stronger at the same time. A dangerous combo, honestly. A walking heart with teeth.

What I Hope You Give Yourself Permission To Do in 2026

• Laugh loudly, even at your own terrible corny jokes
• Cry when you need to, without shame
• Write the messy drafts
• Love people without losing yourself
• Not be afraid to DNF books – life’s too short
• Take naps like a medieval noblewoman
• Let yourself be wanted
• Let yourself want

And most importantly:

• Let yourself hope again

A Small Blessing for the Road

May your coffee be strong.

May your books wreck you in artful, life changing ways.

May your healing feel like soft sunlight.

May your creativity bloom like it finally remembers how.

May your heart learn safety, sweetness, and belonging without fear.

With Love, Chaos, and Unmatched Resilience,

Me – but gentler, wiser, and rooting for you always

You’re not starting over this year.

You’re carrying every version of yourself forward like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

You’re building a life that makes room for all of them.

And you’re doing it beautifully.

Now, go into 2026.

You’ve earned it.