What I’m Not Making Resolutions About

A New Year’s post for people who don’t want sunshine and sparkle.

New Year’s Day brings out the worst in people.

Suddenly everyone’s out here chanting about fresh starts, big goals, manifesting joy, and becoming “the best version of themselves.”

That’s great for them.

But me? I’m not resolving a damn thing. Not my style. Never been my style.

Not because I’m cynical — though I’m absolutely Southern and tired enough to qualify — but because resolutions are just promises we break politely by the end of January. If it takes that long.

I don’t need more broken promises. I grew up in a place where your word meant something, and where people didn’t write their hopes on glitter paper and slap it on the fridge next to a recipe for capers and brie.

So here’s what I’m not resolving this year:

I’m not becoming more positive.

Half the world’s problems come from folks refusing to call a thing what it is. Darkness exists. Trouble happens. People lie. Pretending otherwise doesn’t make your life softer — it makes you blind.

If it quacks like a duck… it’s a damn duck.

I’m not calming down.

Calm is overrated. Stillness is where danger sits and thinks. And broods. And plans. I’ll stay alert, thanks.

I’m not chasing perfection.

Perfect people are either lying or hiding bodies. Neither interests me.

Well… hang on…I get the hiding bodies thing.

I’m not pretending everything is fine.

If something’s broken, say it.If someone’s a problem, name it. If the world is on fire, stop spraying it with lavender mist and calling it “self-care.”

I’m not promising to be nicer.

Kind? Yes. Honest? Always. But nice? Nice is a costume people wear when they want applause.

I’m not good with performative posturing.

I’m not softening my stories.

If anything, the new year will get darker. (Hello, Cromartie series coming up!) Sharper. More truthful. The South I write doesn’t take holidays — and it sure as hell doesn’t get reinvented every January 1st.

What I am doing this year:

Writing the stories only I can write (because I’m the only bent chick who sits around with these characters talking in my head). Telling the truth even when it bites. Digging deeper into the grit, the shadow, the psychology, the Southern marrow of it all. Showing up — even when nobody’s paying attention yet. Being the same stubborn, scarred-up writer on

December 31 that I was on January 1.

No sparkle. No reinvention. No “new year, new me.”

Just the real me — the only one I know how to be.

I Hear You - No Resolutions

If you’re tired of the resolution circus, pull up a chair and sit for a spell.

We can waltz into this new year without illusions — and tell the dark the truth about itself.