01/01/2026
Dear 2026,I am not asking for a perfect body. Just a kinder year.
One that understands when my legs feel heavy for no visible reason.
One that knows strength doesn’t always look like productivity.
One that allows rest without turning it into failure.
I am stepping into you with Multiple Sclerosis
with a body that sometimes surprises me,
A future that still asks for faith,
and a heart that has learned to be brave in quiet ways.
There is fear here.
Fear of flare-ups. Fear of uncertainty. Fear of plans changing mid-sentence.
But there is faith, too
Faith that I can adapt, adjust, and still find meaning in the in-between.
This year, my goals won’t come with guilt.
I won’t punish myself for slowing down.
I won’t measure progress by how much I endure in silence.
Some days, simply getting through is enough.
I’m choosing grace over unrealistic resolutions.
Listening over forcing.
Healing over hustling.
Presence over pressure.
If I grow, let it be gently.
If I rest, let it be unapologetically.
If I hope, let it be without timelines.
Dear 2026,
Meet me where I am
with courage that doesn’t shout,
A strength that isn’t always visible,
and a heart that keeps choosing to move forward anyway.
That is my quiet promise to you.
