January has a way of showing up loud.
New goals. New planners. New versions of ourselves we’re supposed to debut like a rebrand no one asked for. The internet tells us to reinvent, reset, glow harder, do more—preferably before February.
But this year, I’m not doing that.
Instead, I’m choosing something quieter. Deeper. More honest.
In 2026, my word is embodiment.
And before you roll your eyes at another “word of the year,” let me say this gently: I didn’t choose a word to decorate my vision board. I chose a word to practice.
Because at this stage of life—especially in midlife, especially as women—we don’t need more awareness.
We need alignment.
Embodiment is the bridge between knowing and living.
It’s the difference between understanding what you want and actually choosing it. Between saying “I deserve rest” and taking the nap. Between talking about confidence and letting your body take up space in the room.
Most of us already know what nourishes us. We know when something feels off. We know when we’re shrinking, people-pleasing, or performing a version of ourselves that used to be necessary—but isn’t anymore.
And yet… knowing hasn’t always translated into living.
That gap?
That’s where embodiment lives.
Embodiment asks:
What would it look like to inhabit yourself again—fully, kindly, without apology?
Midlife women are some of the wisest people I know.
We’ve raised children, built careers, survived divorces, loss, transitions, seasons that required us to be everything for everyone. We’ve learned to override our needs with impressive efficiency.
And then the nest empties. The noise softens. The calendar changes.
What many of us feel isn’t a crisis—it’s a revelation.
We didn’t lose ourselves. We postponed ourselves.
And now there’s a quiet, persistent question tapping us on the shoulder:
Are you going to live what you already know…or just keep knowing it?
I’ll be honest—self-awareness without self-permission is exhausting.
It’s wisdom trapped in a cute outfit with nowhere to go.
Embodiment is the permission.
This year, I didn’t want a resolution. I wanted a rhythm.
So here it is—said out loud, on purpose:
In 2026, I am practicing the life I say I want—daily, softly, boldly.
Practicing means I don’t have to get it right.
Daily means it shows up in small, ordinary choices.
Softly means I stop bullying myself into growth.
Boldly means I stop abandoning myself to keep the peace.
This practice touches everything:
How I rest.
How I move.
How I love.
How I lead.
How I say yes—and how I say no.
It’s luxury, not as excess, but as intention. It’s confidence, not as performance, but as presence. It’s leadership, not from striving, but from self-trust.
Let me be clear: embodiment is not about becoming someone new.
It’s about coming home.
So many women tell me they feel “in between”—not who they were, not sure who they’re becoming. But embodiment doesn’t demand a dramatic reinvention. It asks for something far braver: honesty.
What do you want now?
What pace feels true now?
What version of you is asking to be inhabited—not improved?
Embodiment doesn’t require you to be louder. It requires you to be truer.
And yes, sometimes that truth is tender. Sometimes it’s hilarious. Sometimes it shows up in tears at Target or clarity over coffee or the audacity to choose yourself without explaining it to anyone.
All of it counts.
This is where I invite you in.
On my blog, I’ve created a space called Dear Journal—not for polished answers or performative vulnerability, but for real reflection.
If embodiment stirred something in you, I’d love for you to write.
You might respond to one of these:
Your words don’t have to be long. They don’t have to be pretty. They just have to be honest.
You can write anonymously if you want.
You can write messy.
You can write like no one is watching—because here, no one is judging.
This isn’t a comment section.
It’s a shared exhale.
I’m not declaring mastery this year. I’m declaring presence.
I’ll be practicing embodiment in real time—some days gracefully, some days clumsily, always human. And if you’re in a season of returning to yourself, you’re not late. You’re right on time.
So let’s practice together.
Not harder.
Not louder.
But truer.
—Bettina
Confidence lives here.