Before You Step Into 2026, Complete 2025

I’m writing this from my living room, where chaos and quiet coexist.

Kids running in and out of the room.
My husband in a Santa hat, attempting the impossible task of organizing toys.
And in the corner, our Christmas tree flickers with that particular December light.
The kind that makes everything feel both like an ending and a beginning at the same time.

And in this in-between moment, I keep thinking about something most leaders never do at year-end.

They don’t complete the year they just lived.

They rush toward January 1st like it’s a starting line.
New goals. New strategies. New energy.
New year, new me.

But they do it while carrying the unprocessed weight of the previous twelve months.

The wins that never got celebrated because there was always the next thing.
The tensions that never got resolved because resolution felt harder than avoidance.
The patterns that quietly repeated because no one slowed down long enough to name them.

You can’t outrun what you haven’t completed.

And completion isn’t about tying everything up neatly or forcing meaning where it hasn’t landed yet.

Sometimes completion is simply this:
Witnessing what was.
Naming it honestly.
Letting it teach you before you try to move on.

The Story My Year Told Me

If I’m being honest, 2025 was the year I kept stepping into the river of change…
and then freezing halfway across.

I’d look back at the shore I had left.
Comfortable. Familiar. Safe.

Then I’d look ahead at the shore I was moving toward.
Uncertain. Exposing. Demanding more of me than I was sure I had.

And in that middle space, I panicked.

I compared myself to people five or ten years ahead of me and called it “benchmarking.”
I tried convincing the wrong people of my worth and called it “positioning.”
I waited for my fears to dissolve before giving myself permission to move forward and called it “being responsible.”

I spent months trying to feel ready.

But fear doesn’t wait politely for permission to leave.
And faith doesn’t arrive fully formed.

At some point, you simply decide which one gets to steer.

What 2025 Taught Me

If I had to choose one word to summarize my year, it would be this:

Shedding.

Not reinvention.
Not transformation.

Just shedding.

Like a snake leaving behind skin that no longer fits.
Not because the old skin was wrong or bad.
But because staying in it would have been suffocating.

What I’m most proud of this year isn’t something flashy.

It’s recommitting to working in my zone of genius.

It took me until the last few weeks of the year to do it.
And part of me wanted to judge that timing.

But another part of me recognizes this truth:
Alignment doesn’t follow our preferred timelines.
It arrives when we’re finally willing to choose it.

What stretched me the most wasn’t external success or failure.

It was trusting that I am enough.

Not will be enough once I achieve X.
Not would be enough if I could just fix Y.

Enough now.
Insufficient and complete at the same time.

That stretch was uncomfortable.
And necessary.

The Lesson I’m Carrying Forward

If 2025 gave me one filter I’m taking into 2026, it’s this question:

Is this decision fear-based or faith-based?

Not optimism.
Not blind confidence.

Faith as in trust.
Trust in myself.
Trust in the process.
Trust that clarity doesn’t always precede action.

I realized I had been making fear-dressed-up-as-strategy decisions for months.

They looked reasonable.
They sounded prudent.

And they all led to the same place:
Stuckness disguised as wisdom.

The Emotions That Visited Most Often

Two emotions showed up again and again this year.

Creative energy.
And fear.

And somewhere along the way, I heard a line that reframed everything for me:

“Fear is just excitement without the breath.”

That one stayed with me.

What 2026 Holds (And What It Doesn’t)

I don’t fully know what 2026 has in store for me.

I have dreams.
Hopes.
A renewed conviction that I’m done waiting for fear to give me permission.

I know there will be wins and blunders.
Messy moments and uncomfortable growth edges.
Days when I question everything.
Days when I feel deeply aligned.

I’m here for all of it.

Because this year taught me something essential:

Completion isn’t about perfection.
Completion is about honesty.

Looking back at the year you lived and saying:
This is what happened.
This is who I became in the process.
This is what I’m carrying forward.
This is what I’m leaving behind.

A Quiet Invitation

Before you chart 2026, complete 2025.

Not in a performative, gratitude-list kind of way (though that has its place).
But in a raw, honest, this-is-what-the-year-actually-taught-me way.

If you paused long enough to reflect, and you had to choose:

• One word to summarize your year

• One win you’re genuinely proud of

• One experience that stretched you beyond comfort

• One lesson you want to carry forward

• Two emotions that visited most often

What would they be?

You don’t have to share them publicly.
You don’t have to package them neatly.

You just have to witness them.

Because the leaders who rush into the new year without completing the last one
tend to repeat the same patterns with different dates on the calendar.

The leaders who pause, notice, and integrate?
They evolve.

2026 is coming whether you’re ready or not.

But completion is a choice.

💛 What story did your year tell?

This Week’s Integration

You don’t need to solve anything this week.
Just notice.

1. Name what needs completion.
In a quiet moment, ask yourself:
What from this year is still unfinished inside me, not as a task, but as an experience?
Let the answer surface without editing or fixing it.

2. Separate fear from faith.
Think of one decision you’re carrying into 2026.
Ask: If fear wasn’t driving this, what would change?
Notice what shifts in your body before you try to answer with logic.

3. Choose one thing to release.
Not everything. Just one.
A belief, a pattern, a role you’ve outgrown.
Name it. Acknowledge what it gave you. Then decide not to carry it forward.

That’s enough for now.

Completion doesn’t happen all at once.
It happens in small, honest moments of awareness.