I hate the New Year.
Okay, well that might be a bit of a lie- I hate all the clichés that surround it. For some reason, us Brits have a tradition where we fail to learn from our mistakes. Year on year, we stand around fuelled by festive food and booze and dote on how we can become a ‘New Person’ come 12 o clock. For most of us, becoming a ‘New’ version of ourselves involves pastimes like declaring war on ourselves at the gym, or detoxing ourselves of whole food groups at a time. If to be the best version of ourselves, all we needed to do was to add chia seeds to our oatmeal in the mornings, we would all be Mahatma Gandhi. But it’s not that easy.
You don’t hear many people walking around explaining that their New Year’s resolution is to break their unhealthy reliance on other people or to become less toxic. Sure, not all resolutions are skin deep- mindfulness and meditation aren’t, but is it really a sincere attempt to make a lasting change?
Last year, my New Year’s resolution was to eat healthily. Something so basic, but being pregnant made self control that little bit harder. Looking back, I can laugh at how trivial this all was. The irony being that I barely gained any weight in the rest of the pregnancy but instead a whole host of other shit happened. Really, I would’ve taken that extra baby weight anyday over anything that happened.
This year has been so different. We all know that. It’s been difficult for all of us. Chances are, if you’re reading this you’ve been through something this year. Probably alot. I definitely didn’t get that warm fuzzy feeling that I usually do when deciding my NY’s resolutions. I clean forgot. After witnessing my beloved cat have a heart attack on NYE, I decided I just wanted to get the hell on with 2021.
This year, 2021 I am a new me. I can finally say this with absolute conviction. But no, faddy diets are nowhere to be seen- the carbs are still very much in the cupboard. I’m still same old me deep down, but something has changed. I would like to say I’m an upgraded version of myself, but that’s not the reality. On January 1st, I find myself to be impatient, intolerant, anxious, depressed, a little ruder than I have ever been. I have arrived at the Realm of the New Year with a handful of mental health problems and a tonne of baggage. I have ALOT of work to do.
I am neither an upgrade or downgrade of myself- I am perfectly imperfect
I could cry (like I have done for most of this year) but this has all been one mahoosive learning curb, and there are many positives. For one, all the trivial problems have been exposed as ‘ta-dah’… nothing other than trivial shit. Worrying about not wearing the latest Zara jumper is just not where I’m at. I couldn’t care less what other people think of me anymore, nor whether I look a fool infront of others. I feel more motivated to do things than I ever have done in my life. I am also married to an amazing man who is as highly strung as I am and have gained a beautiful, beautiful son who is the strongest and happiest being I know.
My year has been exceptional, but so has most people’s in extremely different ways. Let’s face it, we are all a bit broken. The boring old farts at number 10 have spent enough time telling us that the road ahead is rocky, so keep your carbs. Don’t chuck away the chocolate. Be bloody kind to yourself because 2020 has been a shit show , and we must take small mercies where we can right now.
Despite what the shit heads say, it will be over.