As each new year emerges, I reflect on the year before and beat myself up about what didn’t work out.
That someone might be a younger version of you, begging for a chance to share their insight.
Instead of excitement, I often just feel relieved that the urge to do something meaningful is temporarily muted.
Right now, that tween is my wisest teacher, whose first lesson was a simple demand that I try to respect myself again.
I’ve been held hostage by self-loathing and perfectionism in recent years, but thanks to my inner tween, next year’s resolutions are all about liberation.