I’ve never been one to make New Year’s resolutions. The skeptical side in me always viewed it as a conspiracy of all of the gyms in the world trying to fill their year’s quota in one day. Not being a gym member, it was easy to rebuff this tradition with disdain.
I thank my agnostic upbringing for sparing me the urge to claim I’m going to lose ten pounds, stop eating Kettle potato chips, or take the bus more. I know the mere suggestion that I won’t eat potato chips will cause me to drive (not take the bus nor walk) to the store and buy five bags of them. I also know I could spend my life feeling guilty, so why search for more ways to do so? Motherhood provides me with my more than an ample amount of ways to guilt trip myself, there’s no room for food guilt. As for ruining the environment by driving, I tell myself by owning a Prius and never leaving Ballard, I’m polluting the world less than most folks. And for now, that’s all I can do.
I’m not one for short-lived pronouncements, but I also never pass up an opportunity to think about my life and desires. For several years, I’ve gathered on New Year’s Day with two to three long term friends. We actually spend most of the day eating unhealthy food and laughing, but the mere fact that I’ve known them for twenty years allows me time to reflect on where I’ve been. In years past, I’ve also taken the time to think about what I would like my new year to look like. Rather than a goal, I came up with an intention, such as “validation,” “passion,” “more time to create,” or “deeper connection to others” as my New Year’s wish.
This year, I gathered with the same friends on a rare sunny New Year’s Day. We ate lots of cookies, cheese, and other high fat, smile inducing foods, cried about our less than ideal relationships with our parents, laughed about our less than ideal parents and children and how at times, they seem to be in the same developmental stage, and in general, caught up with one another’s lives and feelings. They alluded to hoping for better health in the New Year as I shoved another piece of brie into my mouth. Before shoving another piece, I said, “I don’t want anything in the New Year. In fact, I think what I need is less. I need to let go.”
They nodded, knowing all too well how my minimilast desires have sometimes caused me to purge to the point of not owning living room furniture. But this year, I want to purge my brain even more than my house. I wanted to rid myself of my obsessive worry about how I’m screwing up my kids. I wanted to defend myself when I feel criticized, especially by family members. I wanted to accept myself as good enough, whatever that means.
This seemed like a simple enough goal, yet by January sixth I was completely overwhelmed and depressed by it. Sure, I have many days where I feel good about myself, but all it takes is one caustic statement from family and all of those voices from my past, and there are many, start to creep in and pick, pick, pick. Suddenly, my so called easy goal seems as if it’s a mountain I will not only never climb, I can’t even get out of bed to put my boots on.
While going under to the wave of past hurts this time, I had the good sense to reach out to a friend. “Remember,” she said, “that acknowledging your pain and sitting with it is a step towards healing. It’s also a step towards feeling joy again.” I know this to be true, but had forgotten it as I usually do when feeling despondent. Her reminder jarred another truth for me, I don’t get to control when and how my grief cycles occur, I only get to know they will pass eventually.
This cycle is taking longer than usual to pass. I am trying my best to not analyze this, because that leads to judging. Instead, I’m merely trying to let it run its course, without running me over while doing so.
Last night I came across a story about a woman skydiving. She said that while she knew she would surely plummet to her death if she didn’t let go of her guide’s hands and pull her rip cord, she couldn’t bring herself to let go. He gave her the signal to let go twice and twice she shook her head. Eventually, she let go and heard the reassuring sound of her parachute filling with air. She ended with, “Even if you aren’t ready, sometimes you need to let go because your life depends on it.”
Although dramatic, her statement resonates with me. So much so, I’m adopting it as my New Year’s resolution. I don’t feel ready, nor do I know how I’m going to let go of my own criticism and people who make me feel bad about myself, but I know it’s the only option.

Corbin Lewars is the author of Creating a Life: The memoir of a writer and mom in the making, which was nominated for the 2011 PNBA and Washington State book awards. Her essays have been featured in over twenty-five publications including Mothering and Hip Mama. She has been a writing coach and instructor for fifteen years and helps clients in Ballard, on-line, and over the phone.