My 2026 Personal Manifesto

2026

The Year I Stop
Apologizing for Existing

I spent 45 years performing "fine" so convincingly that even I believed it.

I made my pain smaller so doctors wouldn't be uncomfortable. I loved people who didn't love themselves. I worked three jobs and forgot what flavor of yogurt I even liked because I was too busy making sure everyone else got what they wanted.

I survived. And then I confused survival with living.

Here's what 2025 actually taught me:

Knowing and accepting are not the same thing. I can know something is wrong for me and still cling to slivers of hope. I can see the truth and spend months circling it before I'm ready to name it out loud.

That gap between knowing and accepting? That's where I almost lost myself.

But I didn't. I found something better than certainty—I found permission to exist mid-process. Messy. Unfinished. Building and healing at the same time.

In 2026, I'm done editing myself into something easier to digest.

I feel everything. I love so deeply it scares people. My brain generates infinite possibilities while I'm trying to finish one goddamn task. I see patterns where others see coincidence. I ask questions that make people shift in their seats.

And I'm done treating any of that like a flaw.

My sensitivity isn't weakness—it's advanced perception. My bluntness isn't rudeness—it's self-respect. My inability to do shallow isn't a problem—it's my entire design.

I was built for depth. For truth-telling. For the kind of excavation work that makes "just think positive" people nervous.

This is the year I stop waiting for closure from people who can't give it.

I'm done holding my breath for apologies that aren't coming. I'm done needing someone else to validate my experience before I'm allowed to move forward.

I was there. I know what happened. That's enough.

Closure is something other people give you. Acceptance is something you give yourself. And acceptance is the power move.

In 2026, I'm choosing myself without the performance of transformation.

I'm not waiting to be "healed enough" before I build, create, speak, or take up space. I'm not shrinking my voice to make my truth more palatable. I'm not pretending I've arrived when I'm still mid-journey.

I'm just done pretending.

Done performing fine when I'm not. Done making myself smaller so others feel bigger. Done treating my depth like an inconvenience instead of the whole damn point.

I'm not afraid of being different anymore.

Not afraid of saying the shit no one else wants to say. Not afraid of feeling too much or loving too deeply or asking why when everyone else has already moved on.

I come from a cloth they don't make anymore. That's not arrogance—that's fact. And I'm done apologizing for it.

This year, I'm not louder—I'm clearer.

Not busier—more intentional.

Not harder—sharper.

I know what I've survived. I know what I've shed. I know the difference between enduring and choosing, between performing and being, between knowing and accepting.

And I know I'm done living at half-volume to avoid making people nervous.

By the end of 2026, I won't be fixed—I'll be free.

Free to feel everything without shame. Free to speak truth without softening it. Free to love deeply without apology. Free to exist exactly as I am—unarmored, unedited, and unapologetically whole.

Not because I've healed perfectly. Because I finally stopped treating my humanity like something that needed fixing.

I AM SOVEREIGN.
I AM SEEN.
I AM DONE SHRINKING.