I’ve noticed a thing. All the planning and new year goal-setting is triggering two things simultaneously in me: 
1) Nothing we ever planned out went according to plan in our households. So we learned not to count on our plans, not to really need them. Not to get too attached to any outcome because disappointment was nearly assured. 
2) Because nothing ever went according to plan, some of us started REALLY clinging to plans in other parts of our lives – the parts that didn’t include our alcoholic parents. We made those plans and held them so tightly because they were an ocean of calm —of control—that we desperately needed outside the rough seas of home. We had a say and we could control things, finally. Of course, those didn’t always pan out either. Not because of alcoholic parents, but because: life.

And so I find this time of year to be anxiety-inducing. I’ve tried to allow so much more flow into my life. Ease. That’s not to say I don’t have goals, but the idea of mapping them all out and laddering up tons of micro steps leading to small steps leading to giant goals feels deeply unwanted right now. Lately, I’ve been saying to myself over and over: I’m just so glad I made it to this point, aware of all this #ACoA ish, that I just want to simply be. I want to have days without painful memories, without sadness and loss and anger and grief. I want to enjoy every moment of beauty and joy and wonder and non-fighting at the dinner table and at family weddings. I just want to BE. I want to fully inhabit ME now that I understand all I have been through. And that feels like more than enough for a year worth of goals. And I don’t want to be hustled into planning any more than that.