“Happy New Year, welcome to 2022!” The words sounded strange as they left people’s lips. I couldn’t help but think about how quickly time was moving, how years just seemed to slide by. The last two years especially felt like a blur. The pandemic shifted everything, our routines, our families, even the way we look at the world. Homes turned into both havens and cages. For many of us, walls became too familiar, yet within them we also discovered unexpected strength.
When COVID first began, I was pregnant. I was 44, and this was my first child, a miracle I had quietly accepted would never happen. I met my husband when I was 39, and we married two years later. He already had three wonderful kids, and while we hoped to have one together, it just didn’t happen. Tests confirmed what I had begun to suspect: I was in pre-menopause, and my chances of conceiving were less than one percent. It was devastating, but we decided against treatments and chose instead to cherish the family we already had. Then, just as we settled into that reality, life surprised us. I found myself pregnant a year later.
I’ll never forget my first real doctor’s appointment, it fell on Valentine’s Day in 2020. With my background as a pediatric ICU nurse, I was keenly aware of every risk. Not only was I an “older” first-time mom, but we were heading straight into a pandemic. My joy was tangled with anxiety.
Pregnancy during COVID felt surreal. Aside from coworkers and close family, most people only saw my growing belly through video calls and photos. My husband wasn’t even allowed at many of my appointments. I faced my anatomy scan alone, something I never thought I’d do. Luckily, my pregnancy was healthy, and when the time came to deliver, restrictions had eased enough for him to be with me in the hospital. I still don’t know how I would have managed those 36 long hours of labor without him.
Bringing our baby girl home was a dream. The older kids were smitten right away, and our house already lively, became even fuller. My husband had to move his office home, the kids rotated through hybrid schooling, and my mom moved in to spend time with her first grandchild. Add in our oversized, overly enthusiastic dog, and the house was bursting at the seams. Those early weeks were joyful, but they were also overwhelming.
There were moments my husband and I snapped at each other, moments we cried from exhaustion, moments words were said that should have been left unsaid. After my maternity leave ended, it was clear the world wasn’t going back to “normal” anytime soon. We made the decision that I would step back from work to focus on our family. After years in a demanding career, it was both a relief and a shock. I never expected the guilt that came with being a stay-at-home mom. It felt like because my husband carried the financial weight, I had to do everything else flawlessly. I held myself to impossible standards, and it drained me.
By the end of 2021, I looked back and realized how much of myself I had poured into our family. Some results were beautiful, others not so much. I needed a break, and like many people, I found myself scrolling endlessly through social media. Posts about New Year’s resolutions caught my eye especially the ones dismissing resolutions altogether. “I like myself just as I am,” people wrote. While I understood the sentiment, I couldn’t fully agree. I like myself too, but I also believe we can all grow.
For me, a resolution isn’t just a tradition, it’s a promise. A small vow to start or stop something that matters. Last fall, I quietly made one. I began sharing stories through writing, deciding it was worth my time if it brought me joy. I promised not to measure my words by likes or comments, but by how they made me feel.
Now, as 2022 begins, I have made a bigger promise, one that feels harder but more necessary. I’ve promised to be kinder to myself. That means voicing my needs before I hit a breaking point. It means letting go of guilt when I choose rest over productivity. It means allowing myself to step away from obligations, even family ones, when they harm my peace. It means refusing to bottle up emotions just to keep the peace.
This promise won’t be easy, but it’s one I know will change every part of my life. And so, I begin. If you’re reading this, I hope you’ll join me in making your own promise this year, a promise that centers on kindness, whether toward yourself or others. Because creating that inner harmony, I truly believe, is what leads to joy.
