12.30.2025

Each December, I feel a familiar unease settle in. It shows up right around the time everyone starts talking about New Year’s resolutions. Everywhere I turn—online, in conversations with friends, in my own head—I hear the same refrains: lose weight, get some exercise, spend less, save more. (In my case, maybe eat something besides Snickers Ice Cream bars for dinner.)

The “shoulds” stack up pretty quickly, and before I know it, my list is longer than a CVS receipt.

Then there are the quiet resolutions—the ones we don’t say out loud. The ones we keep just for ourselves. They can be as simple as Use the air fryer by February or put it in the donation bin, or as personal as This is the year I travel overseas by myself.

What I’ve learned is this: the longer my list gets, the faster my motivation disappears. The only resolutions that ever stick are the ones that speak directly to some unfinished business that’s been gnawing at me for far too long.

So this year, I decided to try something different. I’m limiting myself to just two resolutions. Not because I’ve run out of ideas on how to be a better version of myself, but because these are the places where my heart—and my energy—need to focus.

1. Letting Go of Apologies That Will Never Come

There’s a pattern I’ve noticed in my life: how often I’ve waited for a friend, a family member, a partner, a co-worker—someone—to say, “I’m sorry,” and mean it. Not “I’m sorry you feel that way,” or “Sorry your feelings are hurt.” No. Just a genuine, “I’m sorry.” That’s it.

For a long time, I believed an apology would fix things—that it would close the wound, restore balance, or at the very least, acknowledge the hurt. I parked myself in that waiting room far too long, convinced that if I was patient enough, eventually the door would open.

But some apologies never come. And standing outside, hoping someone would realize I was still there—well, that never happened.

So this year, I’m going to stop asking for a seat at tables where I’ve already been turned away. Letting go doesn’t mean what happened didn’t matter. It means I’m done carrying the hope that someone else will take accountability simply by acknowledging that their actions had consequences.

2. Accepting When Forgiveness Isn’t Possible

I’ve also been on the other side of that equation. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt people I wish I hadn’t. I’ve apologized sincerely, hoping to repair the damage—only to be met with a deafening silence.

I understand that some wounds don’t heal, no matter how genuine the apology. Some relationships don’t come back, no matter how much you wish they would. I’ve spent a lot of time replaying those moments, wishing I could rewind and choose differently. But unlike drafting an essay, life doesn’t offer the chance to make edits. The words were spoken. The damage was done.

This year, I’m choosing to stop waiting for forgiveness that will never arrive.

That doesn’t mean I’m excusing myself or pretending those moments don’t matter. It means I’m learning to forgive myself—to make amends where I can, to carry the lessons forward, and to release the rest.

Growth doesn’t require absolution from every person we’ve disappointed. And peace doesn’t come from getting it. Sometimes it comes quietly, when we decide to stop reopening the same chapter and trust that we’ve learned what we needed to learn.

All we can do is muster the courage to keep going and, to borrow a phrase, do better when we know better.

So that’s it. Two resolutions. Both about letting go.

No long lists. No doomed-to-fail objectives like learning to eat Brussel sprouts or taking up pickle ball. Just a quiet commitment to live with a little less weight on my mind and a little more peace in my heart.