2026 Is My Double Down Year
I was doom scrolling the other day and came across a TikTok that stopped me in my tracks. You know the kind. No dramatic production. No yelling. Just one sentence that lands heavier than expected.
You can’t be the first person to abandon yourself.
I kept scrolling at first, but the line followed me. It sat with me through the rest of the day. And by the time I circled back to it, something had already shifted.
So I’m naming it now.
2026 is my double down year.
Not a reinvention from scratch. Not a dramatic goodbye to who I was. Not a rebrand built on pretending the past didn’t happen. This is about emptying the clip on the gifts I already have. Using everything I’ve been carrying this whole time but kept saving for later. Later is here.
The old me got me here. Period.
She made the decisions that didn’t come with guarantees. She took risks before things made sense. She stayed when it was uncomfortable and left when it was necessary. She built momentum without a roadmap. She learned by doing. She figured things out in real time. I’m not abandoning her. I’m making her better.
That’s the rebrand.
Somewhere along the way, growth started getting framed as self-erasure. Like becoming more means distancing yourself from who you used to be. Like maturity requires embarrassment about earlier versions of yourself. Like evolution demands that you disown your instincts in favor of whatever looks more polished or more acceptable.
That mindset is backwards.
Every version of me was doing the best she could with the information, capacity, and courage she had at the time. I’m not embarrassed by that. I’m proud of it. Because without her, there is no now.
You cannot be the first person to abandon yourself.
That line matters because so many of us do exactly that in the name of “leveling up.”
We downplay our intuition. We second-guess what’s already working. We mute our voice to fit rooms we’ve already earned access to. We chase someone else’s blueprint and call it growth, even when it costs us clarity.
Doubling down means I trust myself again.
Not quietly. Not cautiously. Fully.
It means I stop asking for permission to take up space in rooms I already belong in. It means I stop waiting for external validation to greenlight ideas that have been tapping on my shoulder for years. It means I move like someone who knows her work works because it already has.
This isn’t about aesthetics. It’s about alignment.
I’m not softer or harder. I’m clearer.
I’m not louder or quieter. I’m more precise.
I’m not doing more. I’m doing what actually matters.
And I’m letting the rest fall off without guilt.
For a long time, I treated my best ideas like they needed to be saved. Like there would be some future version of me who was more qualified, more confident, more ready. I kept holding back, rationing my creativity, waiting for perfect timing.
That version doesn’t exist.
This is her.
Emptying the clip doesn’t mean burnout. It means intention. It means using my voice, my skills, my creativity, and my perspective fully instead of keeping them in reserve out of fear. It means trusting that what I have is renewable, not fragile.
2026 is about execution rooted in self-trust.
I’m not chasing new identities. I’m committing to the one that’s already proven. I’m taking everything I’ve learned and applying it without second-guessing myself into circles. I’m letting consistency speak louder than reinvention.
This year is about honoring continuity.
About recognizing that growth doesn’t always look like change. Sometimes it looks like commitment. Sometimes it looks like staying. Sometimes it looks like saying, I’m not starting over. I’m starting from experience.
If this resonates, consider this your reminder.
You don’t need to abandon who you’ve been to become who you’re becoming. You need to honor her. Upgrade the systems. Sharpen the skills. Tell the truth more often. And stop leaving yourself behind every time growth asks you to be seen.
