A New Year, a familiar pressure
Happy New Year, my love. Welcome to 2026.
There is something about January 1st that lights a very specific fire in us. The fresh start energy. The this is the year everything changes energy. And honestly? I love it. I really do.
But alongside that excitement lives something else—an unspoken belief that healing has to be intense, painful, or dramatic in order to be legitimate. That growth must be earned through struggle. That if it’s gentle, it doesn’t count.
I want to talk about that today.
When healing becomes another form of harm
I’ve been on a healing journey for a very long time. And looking back, I can see how many iterations of that journey were rooted in pain—not because pain was required, but because somewhere along the way I learned that suffering was proof.
Proof that I was doing it “right.”
Proof that I was worthy of what came next.
My biggest burnout—the one that led to my five-month sabbatical in 2024—didn’t come from failure. It came from the greatest success of my life. And underneath that success lived a quiet narrative I wasn’t conscious of yet:
This was too easy. I didn’t struggle enough to deserve it.
So I created struggle.
Perfectionism. Overworking. Tightening control. Making things harder than they ever needed to be—just to feel worthy again.
That’s what I mean when I say masochistic healing.
Our nervous system’s addiction to intensity
Here’s the truth we don’t talk about enough: our nervous systems can become addicted to intensity—even in healing.
We equate pain with progress. We trust transformation more when it hurts. We believe that if it’s not hard, it must not be working.
But healing doesn’t only happen in breakdowns.
Often, the most powerful healing happens quietly—in integration.
Integration isn’t sexy. It doesn’t come with a dramatic before-and-after story. It looks like embodiment. Mastery. Living what you already know.
And that’s exactly why we avoid it.
You already know more than you think
You are not behind. You are not missing some secret piece of information that will suddenly make everything click.
You already know who you want to be.
You already know how you want to live.
The question isn’t what else do I need to learn?
The question is how do I integrate what I already know?
And integration doesn’t require force. It requires trust.
Integration over resolution
Instead of massive resolutions this year, what if you focused on embodiment?
Instead of chasing the next big healing arc, what if you practiced safety in your body?
Because so often, what we actually want—peace, fulfillment, alignment, confidence—lives on the other side of self-trust. And self-trust isn’t built through intensity. It’s built through small, repeatable actions that your body can hold.
That’s where the real work is.
Remember the season you’re in
It’s also worth remembering: it’s still winter.
If you think about your body in seasons—especially if you cycle-sync or work with natural rhythms—winter is not the time for massive output. It’s the time for rest, cocooning, and slow recalibration.
You wouldn’t expect yourself to run a marathon in the dead of winter. So why do we expect emotional and energetic overperformance just because the calendar flipped?
For me, this season is about slowness. Integration. Letting what I’ve already learned actually land.
Watch me turn into a butterfly—but not by force.
Healing doesn’t live in burnout
Here’s the thing I want you to really hear: healing does not happen when you are maxed out.
It doesn’t happen in relentless striving.
It doesn’t happen in constant self-improvement.
It doesn’t happen when you’re pushing past your capacity.
That’s where wounds are created—not resolved.
The magic happens in the micro-moments. The daily, gentle choices. The practices that don’t hurt but slowly change how safe your body feels being alive.
A different invitation for 2026
This year, I’m choosing integration over resolution.
Not because I’m avoiding growth—but because I finally trust it doesn’t need to be painful to be real.
So if you take nothing else from this episode, let it be this:
Slow down.
Honor the season you’re in.
Stop hurting yourself in the name of healing.
You cannot rush what is already meant for you.Happy New Year, my friend.
You’re allowed to enjoy the ride.
xx, Ash
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