The Habits, Beliefs, and Expectations I’m Leaving in 2025
This time of year always feels like a pause. Seasonal depression creeps in quietly, the light disappears earlier each day, and the weight of the year finally makes itself known. As 2025 comes to an end, I can feel the tension between who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. There’s a version of me I want to step into in 2026, and she’s been tapping at the glass for weeks now. To make space for her, I have to be honest about what no longer belongs in my life. This isn’t about regret. It’s about release.
Growth isn’t just about adding better habits. It’s also about knowing when to retire the old ones. In 2025, I leaned on routines and behaviors that once helped me move forward, but somewhere along the way, they stopped serving me. Before stepping into 2026, I need to acknowledge those habits honestly and decide which ones are done doing their work.
When I started paying attention to what felt heavy instead of what looked productive, one habit stood out immediately. It showed up quietly, disguised as ambition and openness, but left me feeling scattered more often than fulfilled. It was the habit I reached for most when I didn’t want to miss out—or fall behind.
One habit I’m leaving in 2025 is how quickly I say yes, often before I’ve given myself the space to fully think something through. I’ve realized that a lot of those yeses weren’t rooted in excitement, but in fear—fear of missing out on opportunities, of doors closing, of not being considered again. In trying to stay open, I’ve ended up overcommitting, stretching myself thin, and sometimes blocking myself from something better that would’ve required more patience or discernment. What I thought was momentum was often just anxiety in disguise, and it’s cost me more than I was willing to admit.
In 2026, I want my yes to come from clarity, not urgency. I’m learning that not every opportunity is meant for me, and the right ones won’t require me to rush or abandon my intuition to secure them. Slowing down gives me room to ask better questions, to consider alignment over availability, and to trust that what’s meant for me won’t pass me by because I took a breath. Saying no—or not right now—isn’t a failure or a missed chance. It’s a way of making space for something better.
Another belief I’m leaving in 2025 is the idea that everyone is watching—and judging—my every move. For a long time, comparison felt automatic, like a reflex I didn’t even question. I measured my progress against timelines that weren’t mine and filtered my decisions through how they might look from the outside. The truth is, most people are too busy living their own lives to be keeping score of mine. And even if I am cringe sometimes, so what? I’d rather be seen trying, experimenting, and showing up imperfectly than be invisible out of fear. Letting go of comparison doesn’t mean I stop caring—it means I stop shrinking.
The expectations I’m releasing in 2025 are the ones rooted in fear—fear of failing, fear of disappointing other people, and fear of disappointing myself. I put so much pressure on outcomes that I stopped letting myself fully experience the process. I expected myself to get it right the first time, to always know what I was doing, and to avoid missteps altogether. And when I didn’t meet those expectations, the disappointment felt louder than the effort it took to try. The same fear spilled into how I showed up with others, bracing for letdowns before they even happened. In carrying those expectations, I realized I wasn’t protecting myself—I was limiting myself.
As I dug deeper, I realized that habits and beliefs were only part of the story. Underneath them was something heavier and harder to name—the expectations I’d been carrying, often without realizing it. Expectations about how things should turn out, how I should perform, and how much room I was allowed to take up without disappointing myself or anyone else.
Letting go of these expectations doesn’t feel like giving up—it feels like understanding. I can look back at the habits, beliefs, and expectations I carried through 2025 with more compassion now, seeing them for what they were: tools I needed at one point, but no longer need to hold. Some things didn’t fail me—they just finished their job. And acknowledging that makes it easier to set them down without resentment, without guilt, and without the urge to drag them into another year.
As I close out 2025, I’m not doing it with a checklist of resolutions or a need to reinvent myself overnight. I’m doing it by choosing to be more honest about what no longer fits. The habits, beliefs, and expectations I’m leaving behind weren’t mistakes—they were survival, learning, and growth in real time. Releasing them doesn’t erase what they gave me; it honors it. I can thank them for getting me here and still decide not to carry them forward.
I’m stepping into 2026 lighter, clearer, and with more room to move. The version of myself that’s been tapping at the glass doesn’t need perfection—she needs space. And that’s what I’m giving her. Not pressure, not fear, not comparison—just permission to show up as I am and trust that it’s enough.
This feels like the soft start of something new. I don’t have all the answers yet, but I’m learning to trust the in-between and let the next chapter unfold as it’s meant to. If you’re finding yourself in a similar season—letting go, beginning again, or simply figuring it out as you go—I’ll be sharing what that looks like for me along the way. I’d love for you to be here as it unfolds.
