2026 Goal: I Met My Most Broken Self… and She Moved In

Recently, somewhere deep in the internet streets, I saw someone describe their 2025 like this: “2025 was when I met my most broken self, but also my strongest.” Now listen-the first sentence grabbed me by the collar because yes, absolutely, that part is my testimony. I met my most broken self last year, and until I met her, I truly did not understand how violently uncomfortable change could be; especially the kind I didn’t plan for, didn’t pray about in advance, and definitely didn’t emotionally prepare to host.

Life did not send a memo. It simply arrived, rearranged the furniture, and said, “We’ll talk later.”

This broken version of me didn’t come with theatrics or background music. No cinematic breakdown. Just quiet heaviness, deep confusion, and a version of myself I didn’t recognize but had to wake up as every single day. And just to be very clear, she did not magically disappear because the year ended. She crossed over into 2026 with me. Same person. Same questions. Slightly better boundaries. New year, no rebrand.

And honestly? That’s exactly why my 2026 looks the way it does. This year is not about fixing myself, reinventing my personality, or speed-running healing like it’s a productivity goal. I’m not placing myself on a timeline. Nobody is chasing me with deadlines, and I’ve fired the imaginary project manager in my head who keeps asking when I’ll be “done processing.” I am taking my time, real time to understand what broke, what changed, and what I actually need to heal in a way that doesn’t fall apart the next time life gets lifey (if this is not an actual English word, it needs to be considered).

For me, that healing lives at the intersection of therapy and intentional Christianity. Not one or the other. Both. Together. I’m learning that prayer doesn’t replace the work, and therapy doesn’t mean my faith is weak. Sometimes healing looks like journaling after prayer. Sometimes it looks like crying in a therapy session and then asking God for the courage to keep showing up. I’m not trying to look spiritually strong while silently falling apart. I want honest healing, not impressive healing.

Some days I feel grounded. Some days I feel fragile. Some days I feel like I’ve learned absolutely nothing and need a nap and a bucket of salted caramel ice cream. But I’m realizing that brokenness is not a sign that I’ve failed at life, it’s often proof that I’ve lived, loved, hoped, and lost something that mattered. Being broken doesn’t mean I’m behind. It means something required more of me than I had at the time.

And here’s the deeper lesson I’m carrying and maybe you need it too: you are not obligated to rush your healing to make other people comfortable. You do not owe the world a “stronger version” of yourself on demand. You’re allowed to take your time, ask for help, lean on God, unlearn survival patterns, and still laugh while you’re figuring it out. Healing is not about becoming who you were before, it’s about becoming someone who can hold what life brings next without abandoning themselves.

If 2025 introduced me to my most broken self, then 2026 is about learning how to live with her gently. No pretending. No aesthetic suffering. No making my brokenness a personality trait. Just grace, growth, therapy, faith, and a little sass, because if I’m going to heal slowly, I might as well do it honestly and with a sense of humor.