New Year, Same Me

Resolutions are cute. My teenagers, less so.

It’s the New Year. Again. That magical time when everyone pretends their personality flaws are just temporary glitches they can fix with a vision board and a $9.99 planner from Target.

Meanwhile, I’m over here recovering from recovery. Still holding myself together with therapy, caffeine, and willful delusion. And instead of writing out resolutions, I’m just trying not to start the year with a felony charge or a family group text meltdown.

Because here’s the truth: I don’t need a “New Me.” I’ve worked really hard on the current one. I’ve broken, mended, unraveled, reassembled, and rage-cleaned my way through actual healing. I survived myself. That should count for something.

Do I still have issues? Absolutely. But I’ve earned them. They’re curated. Selective. Like emotional antiques.

And as for parenting? Let’s talk about my beloved teenage trolls.

These children - who I birthed with pain, purpose, and several stitches - have reached the age where they know everything and I am but a prehistoric lifeform who once used printed directions and dial-up internet.

They communicate in grunts, eye rolls, and monosyllabic sarcasm. They leave cups in every room like it’s an art installation. They treat my existential exhaustion as a personal inconvenience. And yet, if one of them gets "unfriended", I'm the first one they come to for advice and a hug.

Because love is irrational. And motherhood is Stockholm syndrome with snacks.

So no, I’m not writing resolutions this year. I’m making realistic intentions:

• Drink more water than coffee. Occasionally.

• Breathe before I scream. At least once.

• Let the kids figure out their own passwords because I am not tech support.

• Accept that my body is not a “before” picture - it’s a survival relic.

• Remember that my worth is not measured by productivity, waist size, or the number of gratitude journals I actually complete.

And maybe, just maybe, take a moment to recognize how far I’ve come. Not because it’s trendy. But because it’s true.

So cheers to the New Year: may it be filled with fewer breakdowns, more snacks, and the continued delusion that maybe this is the year I finally form a healthy relationship with water.

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