When the New Year Starts and You’re Still Carrying Everything

The start of a new year is supposed to feel hopeful. That’s the story, anyway.

But when you’re grieving, January can feel like being dropped into the middle of something you didn’t sign up for. The holidays end, the distractions fade, and suddenly the world starts expecting you to think about what's next. People start talking about goals and motivation and fresh starts. They ask what you’re looking forward to this year. They ask what you want to work on.

Meanwhile, I’m standing in my kitchen staring at nothing, realizing this is the first full year where everything is different, and it feels like no one else really sees that.

Grief doesn’t care that it’s a new year. It doesn’t reset (like so many folks think) because the calendar changed. If anything, the shift from December to January often makes the loss feel sharper. There’s a quiet "finality" to it. Another year moving forward without the person I lost. Another year where what happened is still real, no matter how much the world wants or seems to move on.

Right now, I’m not just grieving what’s already happened, I’m grieving what’s coming. The first birthday without them. The first anniversary. The dates I can already feel in my body, even though they’re months away. There’s an anticipatory kind of grief that settles in when you realize an entire year of “firsts” is ahead of you, whether you’re ready or not.

And I know this isn’t just true for people who are newly grieving. I'm there with you in that, too. For those who are years into their loss, the new year can carry its own weight. Here’s another year without them. Another round of holidays, milestones, and moments where the absence still shows up...maybe differently now, but still there.

For some people, the new year genuinely helps. Setting goals gives them something to hold onto. A plan can feel grounding when everything else feels uncertain. That matters, and it’s not wrong.

But for a lot of people who are grieving, the pressure to “start fresh” or "start planning" feels...awful.

It shows up in those small, ordinary moments. Someone casually saying, “New year, new you!” and you forcing a smile even though your chest tightens. Opening social media and seeing vision boards, productivity trackers, and posts about “becoming your best self”...while you’re still proud of yourself for getting out of bed most days. Sitting in a room where people are talking about growth, progress, and all of the plans that they’re making… there is often a deep sense of disconnection. Life seems to be moving forward for everyone else, while grief makes it feel as though time has stalled. There can be genuine happiness for others alongside an ache that is harder to name; a feeling of being left behind, of not being able to access the same ease or excitement about the future. Even moments of joy can feel complicated now, layered with loss.

Goal-setting often assumes there’s a steady capacity to imagine the future. Some people do have that capacity, even while grieving, and that can be supportive for them. But many of us don’t, at least for a while. When you're grieving, your nervous system is often focused on getting through the present moment. Planning months ahead can feel impossible, not because we don’t care, but because we don’t know what we’ll be able to hold as certain dates get closer, or how our body and emotions will respond when we arrive. The future can feel uncertain in a very real, embodied way.

That’s where a lot of the disconnect happens this time of year. People aren’t lazy or unmotivated or negative. They’re overwhelmed. They’re tired! They’re still adjusting to a new, rewired life they didn’t want or choose.

Sometimes the question isn’t, “What do I want to accomplish this year?” Sometimes it’s:

“How do I get through this week without falling apart?”

That’s why I find myself drawn more toward intentions than resolutions because intentions leave room for reality. They don’t demand consistency or measurable outcomes. They don’t assume grief moves in a linear line.

An intention, for me, might be something like noticing when I’m being hard on myself for rescheduling plans near an anniversary date. Or paying attention to when I’m pushing past my limits because I don’t want to disappoint anyone. Or simply naming that this year already feels heavier than I expected...and letting that be true.

And some years, even intentions feel like too much. Some years don’t get a word, a theme, or a plan.

Some years are about learning how to live inside a new reality without rushing to make sense of it.

Quiet shame tends to show up around this time of year for us grievers, too. A feeling that you’re doing it (grief) wrong if you aren’t hopeful enough, motivated enough, or ready-to-fully-engage-in-life enough. But, as we know now, grief doesn’t follow a timeline, and it doesn’t respond well to all this pressure. Grief asks for patience, honesty, and space; things Western culture unfortunately doesn’t offer very easily to us.

If the new year feels heavy, isolating, or overwhelming, you’re not alone. I see you. It doesn’t mean you’re failing at “doing” grief or falling behind some invisible timeline. It means you’re grieving in a world that keeps asking you to move way faster than your body, your heart, and your nervous system are able to right now.

Maybe this year isn’t about getting back to your old self, or making your grief look more manageable for the sake of those around you. Maybe it’s about learning how to exist in a life that feels different now; where your energy is lower, your capacity is unpredictable, and some days are just harder than others. And that's okay.

I think, for me, this looks like learning how to live inside this new (ab)normal...even though it doesn’t feel normal at all. It’s taking things day by day, sometimes hour by hour, knowing I can walk into a grocery store feeling okay and leave in tears because a song playing overhead catches me off guard. I’m realizing I can’t fully prepare for this new life or plan my every way through it, but I can try to meet myself in it with a bit more compassion. I can practice being kinder to myself when I need to reschedule those plans, to ask for help, or to admit that I just don’t have it in me today. I can start to name what I need; even when it feels uncomfortable, and let that be enough for now.

If you’re reading this and carrying your own grief into this new year, maybe the question isn’t what you want to accomplish or change, but what might help you feel a little more supported as you move through it. An intention doesn’t have to be a SMART goal or be big or wildly inspiring; it can be as simple as noticing when you need rest, or giving yourself permission to take things one moment at a time.

There’s no rush to figure this year out right now; grief will tell you what it needs as you go.