Why New Year's Resolutions Fail (And 3 Questions To Make Them Stick)

I used to make resolutions like everyone else. They lasted about three weeks.

A few years ago, I was sitting at my kitchen table on New Year's Day with a notebook I'd bought specifically for "fresh starts." Blank pages. Good paper. The kind that makes you feel briefly optimistic about your life.

The house was quiet. No fireworks. No urgency. Just that soft, in-between space that appears when one year has ended and the next hasn't fully arrived yet. Outside, I could hear my neighbours starting to stir, probably nursing hangovers and making ambitious plans they'd abandon by February. Just like me.

I opened the notebook and felt a subtle resistance. Not because I didn't want change, but because I didn't want to pretend the past year hadn't mattered.

I'd spent so many New Years writing lists. Lose ten pounds. Exercise more. Post more consistently on social media.

Every year, by mid-January, I'd feel that familiar sting of failure. The gym membership gathering dust. Meal prep containers still in their packaging. The posts tapering off after a few weeks of forced enthusiasm.

Why Most New Year's Resolutions Fail (and What to Do Instead)

That morning, something shifted. I was tired of the cycle. Tired of treating myself like a project that needed fixing.

I started to realise our resolutions don't fall apart because of discipline. They fall apart because we rush past the year we've just lived. And whatever we don't look at tends to come with us anyway.

That was the year I stopped writing resolutions the usual way. Instead, I started asking myself three questions.

1. What do I want to release?

Not what I want to stop doing. What I'm actually done carrying.

Last year, my answer was blunt:
Fear. And loneliness.

I stared at those words for a long time. They felt exposing, almost embarrassing. But they were true.

Fear had been sitting quietly in the background for months. Not the dramatic kind you see in films. The grinding kind that whispers what if on repeat.

At three in the morning, it sounded like this: What if I can't find anywhere to live with my three dogs? What if my best-paying client leaves? What if nobody ever buys from me again?

Naming it didn't make it disappear. But it stopped quietly running my life.

This year, a different answer surprised me:
Stinginess with myself.

I'm generous with others, but hesitant to receive. But if I don't think I'm worth it, why should the universe?

There are two things in life I love most: having someone cook for me, and having a massage. Simple things that make me feel deeply cared for.

And yet I'd go a whole year without a massage. A whole year.

Meanwhile, I'd happily treat friends to dinner, buy thoughtful gifts, invest in courses for my business. But an hour of someone caring for my body felt "too much".

2. What did I learn?

Only now does this question feel honest.

Last year, my answer was:
I can manifest anything!

I had started a new life, again. And watched things fall into place with a kind of ease that still surprises me.

I remember the moment it really landed. I'd prayed for my dream apartment, a full on dialogue with the universe, earnest and intense. The ad for it appeared just minutes after. I replied, the landlords wrote back twenty minutes later to come and view the place the next morning. Ten minutes after meeting them, the apartment was mine.

This year, the lesson landed somewhere else:
I learned to fully be here, because life on planet earth is beautiful and I love being here.

I used to live slightly disconnected from my body, always reaching for something beyond. This year I learned to be HERE.

Golden morning light. The smell of fresh bread. Birdsong. Warm skin.

I'd stop and just stand there, grateful.

This. This is it. This is the life.

Not when I'm thinner. Not when I'm more successful. Not when I finally figure it all out.

Right now. Right here.

3. What will I do differently?

Only now does this question feel honest.

Last year, my answer was:
Instead of fear, respond with joy, curiosity, and confidence to anything new that comes my way.

When fear rose, I learned to pause and tell myself to be curious about how this would all turn out for the best. Because the universe has my back.

This year, it's this:
Assert myself even when it's inconvenient or controversial. But assert myself with love.

I want to say "No, that doesn't work for me" without ten apologies and three justifications. I want to share my real opinion without immediately softening it. Like disagreeing in a meeting without immediately backpedaling. And consistently posting on social media, letting myself be seen as I actually am, awkwardness, uncertainty, edges and all.

This is what shadow work looks like in real life.

It's messy sometimes. Often uncomfortable. But it's real. And real change, the kind that actually sticks, comes from honesty.

So before you write your 2026 resolutions this year, pause. Make some tea. Find a quiet moment. Try these three self-reflection questions:

Not to fix yourself. Just to tell the truth.

The direction forward tends to become obvious when we stop running from where we've been.