What I'm Releasing Before the Year Ends
There is something clarifying about November.
It is not quite the end of the year, but it is close enough that you can see it from here. The holidays loom. The year begins to blur. And somewhere in the space between what was and what is coming, there is this brief window to take stock.
I have been thinking about what I want to carry into 2026 and what I want to leave behind. Not in a performative, New Year's resolution kind of way. But in the quiet, deliberate way you sort through a closet and realize some things no longer fit.
So here is what I am releasing before this year ends. Not dramatically. Not with fanfare. Just with the clarity that comes from recognizing what no longer serves me.
The Belief That Busy Equals Important
Somewhere along the line, I realized that being busy was not making me more effective. It was just making me more tired.
I started noticing how often I said "I am so busy" as if it were an accomplishment, how I filled every gap in my schedule as if empty space were something to fix rather than something to design.
There is a difference between being productive and being busy. Between having an impact and having a full calendar. Between being needed and being scattered.
I am releasing the idea that my worth is measured by my availability. That importance looks like back-to-back meetings. That rest is something I earn after I finish everything, rather than something I build into how I operate.
I want to enter 2026 with space in my calendar and clarity in my priorities. Not because I am doing less, but because I am being more intentional about what deserves my attention.
The Need to Have Answers I Do Not Have
I used to feel pressure to know. To have an opinion. To provide direction. To present solutions.
If someone asked me a question, I felt obligated to answer it.
This year taught me that "I need to sit with that" is not a failure. That "I am still figuring that out" is not a weakness. That sometimes the most grounded thing you can do is admit you are working through something rather than pretending you already have it sorted.
I am releasing the performance of certainty. The pressure to have everything figured out. The idea that leadership means always knowing the answer in the moment.
I want to move into next year with more comfort in the questions. More willingness to think out loud. More honesty about what I am still learning.
The Guilt Around Changing My Mind
I used to think that changing your mind was a sign of inconsistency. That if you said you wanted something, you were obligated to keep wanting it. That evolving was somehow less admirable than staying the course.
But this year, I changed my mind about several things. Goals I thought I wanted. Projects I thought mattered. Relationships I thought were essential.
And instead of feeling like I failed, I felt like I finally gave myself permission to grow.
I am releasing the idea that consistency means never evolving. That integrity requires you to stay committed to old versions of what you thought you wanted. That changing direction is the same as giving up.
I want to enter 2026 with the freedom to want something different than what I wanted last year. To release goals that no longer align. To redesign without apology.
Relationships That Require Performance
There are people in my life who only know a version of me. And maintaining that version in those relationships has become exhausting.
I am not talking about being unprofessional or inappropriate. I am talking about the relationships where showing up as my full, authentic self feels risky.
This year, I started noticing which relationships allowed me to be whole and which ones required me to edit myself. Which connections energized me, and which ones felt like obligation wrapped in familiarity.
I am releasing the relationships that require me to be smaller, simpler, or more palatable than I am. The connections that feel transactional. The spaces where I cannot show up unapologetically.
I want to move into next year investing in relationships that allow for the fullness of who I am. Where I can be both competent and uncertain. Both strong and in process. Both successful and still figuring things out.
The Pressure to Monetize Everything
At some point this year, I caught myself looking at a hobby and thinking "could I turn this into a revenue stream?"
I was sitting with something I genuinely enjoyed—something that had nothing to do with my work or my business—and my first instinct was to figure out how to make money from it.
That stopped me cold.
When did I become someone who could not do something just for the pleasure of doing it? When did every interest become a potential side hustle? When did rest become something that needed to justify itself through productivity?
I am releasing the idea that everything I am good at needs to become a business. That every skill needs to be leveraged. That enjoyment without output is wasteful.
I want to enter 2026 with space for things I do simply because they bring me joy. Things that have no strategic value. Things that do not need to be optimized or monetized or turned into content.
The Stories I Keep Telling Myself
I have a few narratives I repeat. Stories about who I am, what I am capable of, what I “deserve.”
Some of them are true. Some of them were true once, but are not anymore. And some of them were never true—they were just beliefs I absorbed somewhere and never questioned.
This year, I started noticing which stories I tell myself out of habit and which ones I actually believe. Which narratives serve me and which ones keep me small.
I am releasing the stories that no longer fit. The ones that were written by fear, by other people's expectations, by younger versions of myself who did not know what I know now.
I want to move into next year with narratives that reflect who I am becoming, not who I was told I should be.
The Idea That I Have to Earn Rest
I used to treat rest like a reward. Something I could access after I finished everything. After I proved I worked hard enough. After I earned it.
But the thing about operating that way is that the list never ends. There is always one more thing. One more email. One more project. One more deadline.
Which meant rest always got deferred. Delayed. Treated as optional.
This year, I started recognizing that rest is not a luxury I earn—it is a requirement for sustainability. That recovery is not a reward for productivity. That if I wait until I feel like I deserve rest, I will never rest.
I am releasing the belief that I have to justify downtime. That rest requires accomplishment first. That taking care of myself is something I do after I take care of everything else.
I want to enter 2026 treating rest as foundational, not optional. As part of my design, not an afterthought.
What This Means
Releasing these things does not mean they will disappear overnight. Old patterns have momentum. Old beliefs resurface.
But naming what I am letting go of creates intention. It gives me something to return to when I notice myself slipping back into old habits.
This is not about perfection. It is not about having everything figured out by January first.
It is about consciously choosing what I carry forward and what I leave behind. About designing the conditions under which I can actually thrive rather than just survive.
Because the truth is, you do not get a fresh start just because the calendar changes. You get a fresh start when you make different choices.
And that can happen in November just as easily as it can happen in January.
So this is what I am releasing. Not with drama. Not with declarations. Just with the quiet clarity that comes from knowing what no longer serves me.
And the spaciousness to design something better.
