Starting the Year on Solid Ground

A new year "resolution" that is bleeding into every part of my day, and a reminder that our 2026 dreams depend on a sturdy foundation

This was my life in the fall of 2012. Holy moly, I needed a haircut.

Many years ago, when I was in the early days of becoming a caregiver to my brain-injured husband, I read something that struck me as categorically impossible: that most people have a happiness baseline, one that is largely unaffected by the conditions of their lives.

The idea that people’s happiness levels are mostly unchangeable seemed ludicrous. Here I was, 30 years old, taking care of a husband who’d been severely disabled by a violent crime, raising a 2-year-old, and unsure whether we’d ever be able to earn a living again. How could anyone be happy in those circumstances?

NOT ME. At first.

I was shocked and traumatized and grief-stricken, and eventually, depressed. It took months to begin adapting to my new normal. Fortunately, humor never left me (there’s no humor like dark waiting room humor, amirite?), and over time, my zest and signature pep (untolerated by my family before 9am) returned and carried me through that difficult chapter.

Happiness found me again. But was it because I’m a generally happy person? Or because I’d managed to rewire my brain around the vision of a new life?

My experience made me curious. It made me wonder what shapes resilient people — whether they’re born that way or whether it’s a muscle we can develop over time.

It inspired a mindset of lifelong learning.

If you’re new here, hello! Perhaps, like me, you’re an educator. Or perhaps a fellow writer. Perhaps you, too, found your way to the page after a traumatic life chapter and realized, “Wait, huh? Was I always a writer? Why didn’t anyone ever tell me??”

Perhaps you’re just a diligent student in the school of life, collecting life lessons like a collection of rare stamps, and eager to extract as much wisdom, experience, and passion as you can from your one wild and precious life.

In all cases, welcome. This is the community for you.

Last summer, at a hippie commune, carrying a $5 stack of used books. Also, check out the ghost next to my head.

If you already know me well, feel free to skip this next part and keep scrolling for the good stuff.

If you’re wondering, “How did this chick end up in my inbox?, and “Who the heck is she?”, then here is your tidy debrief (hopefully you’re here because you subscribed! If not, some kind person in your life signed you up - lucky you!):

• I’m the author of the memoir, Love You Hard, which is all about that crazy life chapter I described above, but mostly about the human ability to transform ourselves in the face of unimaginable circumstances.

• I’m a former public school teacher turned business lady at a small educational company called Amore Learning. My “day” job involves collaborating with incredible teachers and inspiring kids to love learning as much as I do!

• I’m the mom to two kids (ages 15 and 9), and the dog-mom to a wild beast named Charlie, whom we adopted in Turks & Caicos.

• My list of obsessions includes: coffee (coffee and me were married for a good while during my caregiving years), crumbling New England homes with foot-wide floorboards, ghosts, and fireplaces in the bedroom (this is my very specific 10-year life plan), yoga (I’m a certified teacher, but mostly I enjoy being a student), reading (good god, I probably should have led with this), the idea of gardening (note: this is still theoretical; let’s reconnect come spring), dogs (see above), human rights (if this a problem for you, don’t let the door hit ya), and eating dessert for breakfast (preferably cheesecake).

• I’m currently at work on two fiction books: one for middle-grade readers (like my former students), and an adult gothic novel featuring (drumroll)…. a crumbling New England farmhouse! And a ghost! And a gaslighty, creepy husband! (It may be a trope, but it’s my trope.)

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Why solid ground is the key to a “happy” new year

I’ve written before that 2025 undid me. It was one of those messy years in which I had to shed a skin that no longer fit and grow a new one, all while living through a temporary and painful chapter of being skinless for a while (is this a snake metaphor? My son would be so proud).

I had to get really ungrounded before I had a chance of becoming solid again, but I’m relieved — and proud — to be entering this new year feeling upright, refocused, and full of faith (more on faith in a future post).

Normally, I salivate at the chance to set resolutions, but this year I’m taking a different approach: I just want to do a better job of monitoring my self-talk.

So, I started flagging the following:

• Self-deprecating remarks

• Hasty yeses (a people-pleasing reflex)

• Boundary violations

• Comparison making

Honestly, these are pretty significant domains to tackle, so in some ways, I’m approaching the new year with even more ambition than typical.

BUT HOLY COW, IT’S WORKING.

An example:

The other day, I was in a silent writing session with another writer. Usually, I tell myself a story about how I can’t write on command because I need more time, I need more coffee, I need less coffee, I need to wash my hair, etc., etc. (you get the point). Excuses are a way of avoiding my inner critic. If I can never find the time to sit down and write, I’ll never have to face her. And she is one harsh biche.

Portrait of my inner critic.

So, here’s what I did instead: I outran my self-talk.

I decided to type so fast, so furiously (oh, please someone, develop this offshoot of the franchise), my inner critic couldn’t keep up.

I pounded out three pages in 30 minutes, managed to say NOTHING self-deprecating about my progress or the quality of what I’d written, and then went about my day feeling great for having done it. Fast and furious is also how I approach my morning pages (I write these by hand, which is very helpful in silencing the demon in my brain).

Here’s the point:

The majority of obstacles in life are internal (us against ourselves). Operating from a place of solid ground means embracing self-kindness. It means responding from a foundation of a regulated nervous system. It means prioritizing ourselves first.

I’ve read a lot of chatter lately about how the new year is nothing but the continuation of winter, with the added burden of resolutions. But I think the new year is whatever you make of it. And I, for one, love an excuse to reset, reflect, hibernate with my goals, and come out swinging in the spring.

Mostly, I love that the new year and neuroplasticity symbolize the same belief: That humans are capable of change. And we deserve new beginnings.

Hopeful as I am this year, I also want to acknowledge that solid ground can feel like an eye-rolling ideal in light of recent events. As I write these words, my heart twists for the family of Renee Nicole Good, the mother and poet killed senselessly for using her voice to stand up for neighbors. Because I don’t want to see her name swept into the dustbin of the 24-hour news cycle, I am stamping it on the page with the hope that we don’t forget. More than anything, I don’t want any of us to lose our humanity during this dark time, nor our ability to grieve these atrocities.

That said, solid ground may be the most important place we aim for this year. We cannot be good for others if we’re not showing up for ourselves, and (if 2025 is any indicator), we’ll be tackling more punches in the months ahead.

Whatever you’re seeking in 2026 — whether it’s a repudiation of the previous year, or a continuation of a life that serves you well — I hope you’ll do us the favor of sticking around and sharing your journey.

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I doubt I’m the only person who reads myself to sleep with stories about rich, white people acting badly. Throw in a private island in New England and an inheritance competition, and we’ve got Succession meets Elin Hilderbrand! These Summer Storms is keeping me entertained in those moments before I close my eyes, while Garth Greenwell’s 2025 Pen/Faulkner award-winning novel, Small Rain, about a health crisis, is leaving me breathless with its vulnerable honesty about our bodies’ relationship to the medical system.

Blocking out protected writing time: Whatever your creative passion is, do you carve it into your calendar? This week, I’m trying something new: instead of hoping for extra time in the day to write, I’m holding it firm on the calendar and not allowing anything to replace it (in full transparency, this is something I’ve attempted before, so this is more like a renewed commitment).

Learning craft from Elizabeth McCracken

Some craft books teach you how to write, others teach you how to sustain a writerly life. This one trends toward the latter, with 280 short observations/nuggets of advice that all possess some undercurrent of, “Do what works for you.”

As I make my way through McCracken’s advice, I can’t help but think, “But I’ve read some iteration of this before! Why hasn’t it stuck?”

The answer, put plainly, jumped out to me from the page:

“When it comes to fiction, there are some lessons we must never learn.”