Every January, like clockwork, people sprint headfirst into the “New Year, New Me” rabbit hole.

Not me.

Well—actually, I used to. Not yearly… daily.
And when I say daily, I don’t just mean buying a cute planner and writing one inspirational quote in glittery pink gel pen.

I mean gorging myself on every self-help book, journal, habit tracker, and “unlock your potential” workbook that crossed my path.

Pretty much a one-woman Barnes & Noble clearance section.

If there was a promise of a better version of me, I was there for it—highlighting, underlining, dog-earring, rewriting my life into some imaginary 2.0 version I swore would finally be good enough.

But here’s the truth:

I Am Not Broken!

So why was I working so hard to fix myself?

Day after day, I kept trying to rebrand into someone softer, quieter, more disciplined, more organized, more… acceptable. Every day—especially in January—felt like another reminder that who I am—messy, loud, passionate, scattered, bold—needed improvement.

And it was exhausting!

At some point—after the 7th journal I didn’t finish and the 42nd habit I didn’t maintain—I finally gave up.

Not on me.
On the idea that I needed to become someone else to be worthy.

I stopped chasing the fantasy of some mythical version of myself.

I started loving the OG version—battle scars, rough edges, foul mouth and all.

And loving myself didn’t come with a magical sunrise moment. There was no soft music, no warm tea, no peaceful revelation.

It looked more like:

Sitting with the parts of me I once labeled “too much.”
Owning mistakes that still make my stomach churn.
Acknowledging trauma that shaped me—not because I wanted it to, but because it did.
Accepting that future hurts will come… and knowing I’ll still thrive.

Because God didn’t just make the shiny parts of me.
He made all of me.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped asking Him for a new version of myself—and started thanking Him for the one He handcrafted in the first place.

This year, I’m not reinventing anything.
I’m not launching a newer, better, more polished edition of myself.
I’m not scrubbing away the woman who carried me through the hardest chapters of my life.

I’m celebrating her.

This year, I’m raising a glass to the me who survived things people never saw.
To the me who kept going when the lights went out.
To the me who learned—slowly and painfully—that “not perfect” doesn’t mean “not enough.”
To the me who crawled, cried, got back up, fell again, and finally—finally—learned that being myself is not a flaw.

Is my life exactly where I imagined it would be?

Not even close.

But it’s where I am.
And that’s what makes it perfect.

There’s no “new me” this year.
There’s just me—same heart, same fire, same flaws, same grit—walking into another year knowing I don’t need to change to deserve love, joy, healing, or peace.

New Year — New Me — No Way!

This year, put down the self-help book.
Pick up something you want to read.

One that pulls you in so deeply you forget the time, the day, even where you are for a moment. For years, ADHD made me think I hated reading—but the truth was, I hated forcing myself to read things meant to “fix” me.

Once I chose books for joy instead of improvement, I realized I actually love reading.

Turns out, it wasn’t me that needed changing.

This year choose you—I guarantee you won’t regret it!.

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– sorry NOT sorry –

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