A Therapist’s Personal Reflections For 2026

What I’m learning as a clinician, a mother, a friend, and a fellow human

It’s my favorite time of the year— the weird space between Christmas and New Year, when it feels like we’re all living through a fever dream. I love liminal spaces, and this week is the perfect example.

This is the time when I do three things on rotation:

• Nap. Constant napping. Here’s a fun fact about me: I am so tired so often that I once saw a doctor who gave me a “tiredness assessment.” The result was that I am “unusually sleepy.” That’s an actual label! (Maybe 2026 will be the year I actually get that sleep study done.) But until then, I take at least one nap a day, two if I get my way.

• Craft. I love to park myself by the fireplace and learn a new craft. Last year, it was needle-felting (ouch!). This year, I made about 35 Christmas ornaments out of intricately cut paper.

• Journal. I’m not a huge journal-er for most of the year. I get fed up with my sloppy handwriting, and annoyed by my own words (hello, perfectionism). But at the end of the year, I find it’s helpful to take inventory of where I’ve been.

The truth about my work as a therapist is that I can’t lead my clients somewhere I haven’t been willing to go myself. The work I ask of my clients—introspection, honesty, grief, courage, change—is work I’m committed to practicing in my own life.

I have my own therapist. I lean on spiritual leaders. I have friends who offer both a soft landing and a loving nudge forward. Growth doesn’t happen in isolation, and therapists are not exempt from being human just because we hold the flashlight.

So, here are some of the lessons I’ve been learning and journaling about. If any of them stir something in you, consider that an invitation, not a directive.

1. Acceptance is not the same thing as settling.

For years, I had to learn that I didn’t need to accept the bare minimum from people. That it was healthy—and necessary—to name disappointment, sadness, and unmet needs. I practiced finding my voice. I practiced asking for change.

But lately, I’ve been circling back to acceptance in a different way.

Sometimes growth looks like realizing that someone may never show up differently. Sometimes it means releasing the hope that this time will be the time they finally understand. And yes—sometimes that requires grief. Grieving the love you wanted but didn’t receive is not weakness. It’s honesty.

Acceptance doesn’t mean approval. It means telling the truth about what is, and choosing your next step with clarity instead of fantasy.

2. Movement is Medicine. No, really.

When I launched my private practice, Open Doors Counseling, my days were consumed by IRS paperwork, credentialing forms, and endless administrative details. My beloved yoga practice quietly slipped off the calendar.

Four months later, I returned to my mat—rusty, wobbly, and smiling like a fool.

My mood lifted immediately. It felt like I finally released a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. And I realized something sobering: Sometimes you don’t know how low your mood has become until joy shows up and exposes the contrast.

Movement is no longer optional for me. It’s scheduled into my workday, and I protect it fiercely—because my mental health, my patience, and my presence depend on it.

3. I should have asked for help sooner.

I’m a good clinician. I’m also a good organizer. But I’m not both at the same time—and trying to do both over the past several years has been draining the life out of me. It has also led to some rupture with clients when I’ve dropped the ball.

This year, I hired an administrative assistant to handle scheduling and logistics. She’ll start in January, but I am already relieved.

Letting go of what drains you—even when you can do it—creates space for what you’re actually meant to do. Just because you can technically do something doesn’t mean you SHOULD. Do you see how I capitalized and bolded that word? That’s how much I mean it.

4. Friendship is mental health care.

There is nothing—n.o.t.h.i.n.g—like the steady nourishment of friendship.

In 2025, I intentionally carved out more time for friends than ever before. And the return on that investment has been enormous: laughter, grounding, perspective, delight.

Strong friendships aren’t built through grand gestures. They grow through small acts of goodwill, curiosity, and service—texts sent, meals shared, questions asked and really listened to. This year, my neighbor became a close friend. My daughter babysat her kids. She lent me a tablecloth for a birthday party (which I WILL get back to you one day, Ashley!). We started working out together. Before I knew it, those small experiences had built on top of one another and I had a new, irreplaceable friend.

If you’re feeling lonely, start small. Show up consistently. Let it be awkward. Let it be slow. Bloom happens over time.

5. Smartphones are sneaky thieves of attention.

I talk with clients all the time about screen habits and I still fall into the trap myself.

Phones promise relief and deliver numbness. And I have to be honest: Sometimes I want to be numb! But the problem is, I inevitably find myself grumpy and listless. I don’t need more help feeling that way.

The best strategy I’ve found isn’t willpower—it’s occupation. Keep your hands busy. Cook. Knit. Clean. Garden. Play music. Create something tangible. Your nervous system craves engagement, not endless scrolling.

In 2026, I envision doing two things: Slowing down and doing things with more depth. My favorite yoga teachers talk about finding the edge in each posture— about the wisdom in going deeper in my practice, not faster. You’re welcome to hold me to it. :)

What about you? What did you learn in 2025, and what are you aiming for in 2026?