Not My Year—Just My Becoming

Everybody says, “This is going to be my year.”

But was it—really?

January always arrives with pressure.

To change.

To transform.

To become better.

But what if—just for a moment—we ask a different question:

What if I am already who I need to be right now?

Not perfect.

Not finished.

Just… here.

Acceptance is often misunderstood. It’s not the same as staying stuck.

Should a fat person stay fat and simply accept it?

I don’t think that’s the point.

Maybe the beginning isn’t discipline or punishment, but love.

Loving the body you have first—until one day you realize you want to care for it.

Not to impress.

Not to prove anything.

But because you cherish it too much to neglect it.

Change that comes from love feels different.

It’s quieter.More intentional.It lasts.

And what about our inner selves—the lazy parts, the sharp edges, the traits we wish we didn’t have?

Should we just accept that we’re “bad” and stay that way?

No.

But we also don’t need to hate ourselves into becoming better.

Maybe we start by accepting the whole of who we are—the light and the demons.

Because when we do, we realize something freeing:

Nobody is perfect.

And we are still worthy of love anyway.

I’m not sure if I’m making perfect sense.

I just know I’m tired of saying “this will be my year.”

I don’t want declarations anymore.

I want something quieter.

Something truer.

Maybe not my year—but my season of being honest, gentle,

and intentional.

And maybe… that’s how things actually begin.

With warmth, Rem💜✨