I’ve decided that January doesn’t actually count as part of the new year.
January is a threshold month. A decompression chamber. The month where you put the decorations away, return to your body, and try to remember what your nervous system felt like before the holidays lit it on fire. It’s not about reinvention or resolution — it’s about settling back in after the chaos.
For me, the last couple of months have been… hectic is the polite word. December is always hard. I live within a split-family household, which means there are stretches of time where I’m away from my son. No matter how much inner work you do, that never stops hurting. And this year especially forced me to confront something uncomfortable but necessary: I cannot make my child my sole purpose or source of happiness.
That sentence can sound selfish if you read it too fast. But it isn’t. It’s honest.
I am a mother — fiercely, devotedly — but I am also a woman, a business owner, a creative, a friend, a human with needs, dreams, and an inner life that deserves oxygen. When we place the entire weight of our joy onto one role, even a sacred one, we quietly abandon the rest of ourselves. And that kind of abandonment always collects interest.
If I had to describe the last couple of months in one word, it would be murky. Not devastating. Not great. Just… heavy water. Blah at best. Functional but uninspired. Moving, but without clarity.
That’s why I never rush January. I don’t pressure myself to be shiny or certain. January is for observing. For letting the fog thin on its own. For resting without narrating it as failure.
February, though? February is when I get back on the horse.
There’s something about February that feels like a quiet recommitment. Not loud. Not performative. Just a gentle tightening of the reins. I’ve also been thinking a lot about cycles lately. Last year was the Year of the Snake — a year of shedding, releasing, molting versions of ourselves that no longer fit. That couldn’t be more true in my case. I let go of skins I didn’t even realize were constricting me.
And now — February 17th marks the beginning of the Year of the Horse. Forward motion. Strength. Momentum. Expansion. A lot of planetary alignment is happening that day, which feels almost poetic considering it also happens to be my birthday. A personal new year layered on top of a collective one.
I’m choosing to take that as a sign.
I hope this year brings us new things. Real things. Good, grounding, positive things. The kind that don’t evaporate the moment you touch them. We deserve joy that lasts longer than a moment. We deserve ease without guilt. We deserve to feel proud of how far we’ve come.
Because truly — we’ve come too far to only come this far.
So if you’re still tired, still murky, still finding your footing, let January be what it is. A pause. A breath. A soft opening.
Happy New Year, y’all.
--
Alejandra