New Year, Same Grief

It's January. Everyone around you is posting about their fresh starts, new goals, and "best year yet" energy. Your Instagram feed is full of vision boards. Your coworkers are doing Dry January. Someone in your book club just announced they're training for a marathon.

Cool. 

And you? You feel like you’re somehow already behind. You’re still carrying the grief you had on December 31st.

Because when the clock strikes midnight, grief doesn't reset with the calendar. (Even though we wish it did.) 

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The Pressure of "New Year, New You"

There's this huge expectation that January 1st is supposed to be some kind of emotional restart button. That you're supposed to leave last year's pain in last year. That you should be ready to transform, optimize, and level up.

But what if you're still processing your divorce? Still missing the person who died? Still adjusting to the diagnosis you got in October? Still grieving the job you lost, the friendship that ended, or the life you thought you'd be living by now?

The "New Year, New You" messaging can feel like a gut punch when you're grieving. It suggests that somehow you're failing if you're not “bouncing back.” That there's something wrong with you if you're starting January in the same emotional place you were in November.

Nothing is wrong with you. Grief doesn't care about arbitrary calendar markers.

So, what can self-care look like when you're grieving in the new year? Forget the juice cleanses and 5am wake-up calls. Here are our

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Grief-Informed Self-Care Ideas for January and February:

Skip the resolutions. Your only goal can be "keep existing." That counts.

Set boundaries around New Year conversations. "I'm taking this year one day at a time" is a complete sentence.

Mute the self-improvement content. If one more person tells you to "manifest your dream life," you have our permission to unfollow.

Let other people be excited without feeling guilty that you're not. Their fresh start energy doesn't mean you're doing it wrong.

Get outside for 10 minutes. Not to exercise or be productive. Just to exist in fresh air. Bonus points if you don't bring your phone.

Text one person who gets it. Not to make plans or have a deep conversation. Just "Hey, thinking of you" works.

Keep one small routine. Morning coffee in your favorite mug. The same walk after work. Your Thursday night show. When everything feels unstable, tiny anchors help.

Say no to at least one thing. The party invitation. The volunteer commitment. The family dinner you're dreading. Your bandwidth is limited right now, and that's okay.

Move your body in whatever way doesn't feel terrible. Dancing in your kitchen. Stretching on your floor. Walking to get the mail. Movement doesn't have to be a workout to count.

Do something with your hands. Bake bread. Doodle. Organize one drawer. Fold laundry. Sometimes our brains need a break, and our hands can give us that.

Set a "grief date" with yourself. Give yourself 20 minutes to feel whatever you're feeling. Journal, cry, stare at the wall. Then do something that brings you even a tiny bit of comfort.

Eat something that tastes good. Not "clean eating" or meal prep for optimization. Just food that makes you feel a little more human.

Adjust the bar for everything. Showered today? That's an accomplishment. Got out of bed? You're doing it. Responded to one text? You're absolutely crushing it.

Ok, but fine. If you really want a resolution, here’s the resolution that really matters...

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The Only Resolution That Matters To Us:

If you really need one resolution for 2025, try this: I will be kind to myself as I'm grieving.

That's it. That's the whole thing.

You don't have to become someone new just because everyone else is setting intentions and buying planners. You don't have to have it all figured out by February. You don't have to be "over it" by spring.

New Year, Same Me isn't a failure. It's honesty. It's self-compassion. It's recognizing that grief doesn't follow cultural narratives about fresh starts and transformations.

You're not stuck. You're not behind. You're not doing it wrong.

You're just grieving.

And that's completely, entirely, perfectly okay.

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