
2025 wasn’t an easy year. It came with more than its share of detours, setbacks, and lessons I didn’t ask for. I’ve spent some time thinking about what I don’t want to carry forward, and the answer isn’t failure so much as repetition. I’m not interested in reliving the same hard parts out of habit.
So for 2026, I’m choosing something simpler and harder at the same time: small wins, stacked patiently.
My goals this year aren’t flashy. I want to finish the CHOP protocol. I want to get close, really close, to finishing my PhD. And I want my business to be supporting me financially by the end of the year. That’s a tall order for anyone, and it’s especially ambitious when you live with POTS, mental health issues, and a collection of learning disabilities that turn consistency into a daily negotiation rather than a daily routine.
What I’ve learned is that consistency isn’t about perfection; it’s about return. Returning to the work. Returning to the body. Returning to the intention, even after a stumble. My word for this year is Consistency, which happens to be the same title as my last blog many months ago. That feels less like a coincidence and more like evidence. Some lessons take time to root.
This past week wasn’t perfect. I exercised four out of five days. I worked on my business and my dissertation every day. That counts. Not because it looks good on paper, but because it reflects follow-through. Progress doesn’t announce itself loudly. Sometimes it just shows up again the next day.
This year, I’m also focusing on strength training. I have EDS, which means this requires care, patience, and a slow build. I’m not offering this as advice; bodies vary, and knowing your own limits matters. What I am noting is the larger lesson: slow and steady isn’t a consolation prize. It’s a strategy.
I don’t know exactly how this year will unfold. I do know how I plan to meet it: with steadiness, attention, and a willingness to keep going even when the pace feels unimpressive. That’s the journey I’m on. And if you’re walking your own version of it, quietly, imperfectly, persistently, you’re welcome to walk alongside me.







