The Year I Chose to Feel My Way Forward

What if the new year isn’t a reset, but a continuation of our journey?

You may have noticed that I didn’t send the usual Holiday email or the predictable New Year’s message, nestled between sales reminders and year-end recaps. I felt the pressure to send it, of course. In business, visibility and consistency matter. We are taught that if we go quiet, we risk being forgotten.

But inspiration eluded me. More importantly, I didn’t want to be just another email in your crowded inbox. So, I paused. Not because I had nothing to say, but because I wanted to say something that felt true. Something that respects the season we are all moving through.

As the year turned, I found myself wanting to ease into the new year rather than rush into it. I wanted to let my body arrive before my plans did and to listen before declaring.

Every December, we are encouraged to make a decision about the year, to weigh it, label it, and decide whether it counts as a success or a failure. But I have come to believe this is one of the most unkind things we do to ourselves. A year is not a verdict. A life is not a ledger.

For me, 2025 was not something to judge; it was something to inhabit. It was not loud or flashy, but it was deeply honest. I turned 50 this past year, not with fireworks or grand declarations, but with a long, slow exhale I didn’t realize I had been holding for decades. I spent a transformative month in India, immersed in a 300-hour yoga teacher training, sitting at the feet of my teachers, letting myself be a student again. I learned to embrace the uncertainty of change and to soften into a body that is evolving.

What became clear to me there, and continued revealing itself throughout the year, was this simple truth: the magic was never waiting for me in a new year. It was always here, in the day, in the hour, in that moment when I chose to pause and listen instead of pushing forward.

For most of my life, like many women, I have lived in output, building businesses, holding families together, creating experiences, and managing responsibilities. I love what I create and believe deeply in my work. But somewhere along the way, output became expected, automatic, and praised, while input became optional, seen as indulgent.

This year, my body quietly rebelled. There were moments when I felt the familiar pressure to post, to share, to produce content because it is part of how my work breathes. The subtle anxiety crept in: if I wasn't visible, was I somehow falling behind? I would open my phone, knowing I should have something to say, and I simply did not. Not because I didn’t care or have anything to offer, but because something deeper was asking for my attention.

My nervous system needed quiet. My body needed rest. My spirit craved nourishment without explanation or justification. So, I listened. Over the holidays, I stepped back from the pressure to constantly produce. I reminded myself that content creation and newsletters are tools in service of my work, the real work happens in lived moments, shared meals, unguarded conversations, and silence that restores us.

This year asked me to practice something that did not come naturally: to receive. To let beauty be beauty, not branding. To allow experiences to nourish me without immediately turning them into s

omething useful. To trust that moving more slowly was not falling behind but finally arriving.

There were moments that shaped me: walking the land in Bali with my husband, dreaming quietly about what could be created with care, integrity, and sustainability. Watching women arrive as strangers and leave transformed during two Bali retreats was a reminder of the power of connection. In Botswana, a place that lives in my bones, I witnessed a dream come to life, not as a trip but as a soul-level experience for women who trusted me with it. It was one of the greatest honours of my life, and I can't wait to return this year.

As September and October held two back-to-back Bali retreats, while there, I took a course and delved deeper into sound healing, embracing vibration and stillness, understanding that not everything needs fixing; some things need space. And over the holidays, I spent five weeks in Costa Rica, a place I still call home, allowing the jungle, the river, and the natural pace of life there to remind me of who I am when my nervous system finally exhales.

I do not believe in New Year’s resolutions, not because change is impossible, but because resolutions often carry the unspoken belief that who we are right now is not enough. By this stage of life, I do not believe that. We are not unfinished; we are layered, seasoned, shaped by care, resilience, grief, love, and the invisible labour of simply enduring.

Instead of rushing ahead and asking what needs fixing, I am choosing to feel my way forward, asking different questions:

What moments from this year felt quietly meaningful?

What softened me?

What stretched me?

What do I want to carry forward, and what am I ready to set down?

I believe in intentions because they honour what is already here. They do not dismiss the year that was or ask us to become someone else overnight. Instead, they help us stay present with how we want to live, one day at a time.

2025 does not need to be redeemed. It held care, connection, resilience, and moments that mattered, even when no one else saw them. As I step into the new year, I am not chasing a better year. I am choosing to live more honestly within the days I am given, with less force, more listening, more input than output, and presence instead of performance.

So, here’s my invitation to you: You do not need a new year to justify wanting change. You do not need to dismiss what has been to move forward. Take a few quiet minutes to sit with these questions, perhaps in a journal, on a walk, or with a cup of tea.

• What moments from this year felt quietly meaningful?

• Where did I give more than I received?

• What nourished me, even if no one saw it?

• What truth wants more space in the year ahead?

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There is nothing here to fix. Nothing to prove. Only something to listen to. And sometimes, listening is the bravest way forward we have.

With deep gratitude,

Penny