I have been dreading 2026. Normally I don’t have many emotional investments in the new year. In other years I was excited about turning 21, or looking ahead to 2025, or even thinking about 30 as a milestone. But this past month, as December crept in and the new year became unavoidable, I’ve felt more anxious every day.
I don’t usually put much stock in New Year’s. Sometimes I make resolutions, sometimes I don’t. I usually think of it as a continuation of whatever the previous year was. But something about turning 36 in February, officially exiting my mid-thirties, feels heavy. I feel this strange sense of pressure, like each year carries more weight than the ones before it.
I don’t think 2026 will be a bad year, but I don’t feel done with 2025. This year was really hard. It was deeply spiritual. I had physical losses, emotional losses, and the whole situation with my eye strain and other health issues. There was so much uncertainty with my writing and all my career goals. I feel like I’m just now coming up for air, and suddenly I’m being pushed into another season. Another crossing. And I don’t feel ready.
People say age is nothing but a number, but as I get older each age feels more significant. I feel like I have to take everything more seriously. And when I’m not hitting all the goals I set for myself, I begin to feel like a failure as time passes.
Astrologically, 2026 is supposed to be a really good year for most of us. But I still feel stuck in 2025, and in all the things I had to set aside. Even though I wrote two books this year, there were so many other things I wanted to do. Do I just carry them into 2026. Maybe. But I don’t know if I have the same expectation or fire to accomplish them.
It has just been hard accepting where I am. Accepting that some milk has spilled and there is no point crying over it. Accepting that I am getting older. I always imagined I would have more of my life together by now, even though I know I don’t.
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