How do I begin?

January 15, 2026

By Dr. Mya Fisher

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It is 2026, and January arrives with grand expectations.

It is supposed to be the month of fresh starts—new habits, new resolve, new energy. We are invited, sometimes pressured, to declare who we will be this year and how we will finally become it. There are systems built around this impulse: planners, programs, resolutions, goals neatly outlined and optimistically pursued.

And yet, for many of us, beginning does not feel fresh at all.

If you have begun many years with intention—tried to change patterns, adopt new practices, become more disciplined or more aligned—you may know this tension well. You want to begin again, but you are also aware of how fragile beginnings can be. You remember what it felt like to be earnest in January and disappointed by March.

Over time, that memory changes how you approach the start of a year. It makes you quieter. More cautious. Less willing to hype yourself into another version of certainty you are not sure you can sustain.

That hesitation is often misunderstood as apathy or a lack of motivation. But more often, it is something else entirely.

It is discernment. It is clarity. It is knowledge, particularly self-knowledge.

It is the knowledge that beginnings cost us something—energy, attention, hope. And spending those resources wisely matters. Difficulty psyching yourself up does not mean the year is going to slip by or amount to nothing. We’ve been taught to believe that if we don’t start strong, we won’t start at all—that ultimately our year will be a failure before it really gets underway. But when you’ve lived through enough false starts, the absence of hype isn’t failure—it’s discernment. You’re no longer interested in performative beginnings. You want a beginning that is honest enough to last—one that is particular to you and what you are actually seeking in the year ahead.

So perhaps the question is not What do I want to do this year?

Perhaps the question is simpler—and harder:

How do I begin?

Not loudly.
Not perfectly.
But truthfully—in a way that is authentic and particular to who I am and what I am ready for.

This is where this month’s practice begins.

The center of January’s Monthly Practice is Finding Your Voice, but not in the way that phrase is often used. This is not a call to speak more, to be bolder, or to take up space for its own sake. Finding your voice is not only about expression.

It is about orientation.

Your voice is shaped long before you speak. It is formed by what you have learned matters, what you were praised for, what you were corrected for, and what you were protected from saying. It is shaped by who listened to you, who interrupted you, who made space for your words, and who taught you—explicitly or implicitly—to stay quiet in order to stay safe.

Finding your voice begins with identifying what is important to you now—not in theory, not in aspiration, but in lived reality. From there, the work becomes noticing how that voice shows up, where it hesitates, where it feels strong, and where it is still forming.

Finding your voice does not always mean speaking immediately or even at all. Sometimes it means listening carefully—to what has been taking shape underneath the surface for a long time.

Many of us hold back our voices not because we lack conviction, but because we understand the weight of words. We know that speaking can change relationships, shift dynamics, expose vulnerability, or invite resistance. Silence, too, can be strategic. It can be protective. It can be wise. It can be necessary.

The work is not to eliminate silence, but to understand it—to ask where it comes from and what it has been doing for us.

At the start of a new year, that kind of listening matters.

You might begin by sitting with questions like these:

• What voices shaped your values before you ever learned to articulate them?
• Where do you still ask for permission to speak—and from whom?
• When have you spoken up and felt the cost, or the impact, or both?

These are not questions that demand immediate answers. They are invitations to notice—to pay attention to what is already present rather than forcing what is not yet ready.

Throughout this month, you may choose to explore these questions in different ways. Some people will write. Some will speak them aloud. Some will simply notice what surfaces in conversation, in silence, or in moments of tension. All of these are valid ways of beginning.

As the month unfolds, you might also choose a single word that captures how your voice feels right now—not how you want it to feel, but how it actually feels. That word can become a thread you carry forward, shaping how you move through the coming months and informing future practices.

That word does not need to be shared to be meaningful. And if you do choose to share it, you will be adding your voice to a larger, collective listening—one word at a time.

If you are unsure how to begin this year, you are not behind. You may simply be beginning differently.

And that difference matters.

January does not have to be loud or showy to be meaningful.
It does not have to be decisive to be intentional.

It can be quiet, attentive, and honest—and still set the tone for what follows.

This month, you might begin here:
not with what you will declare,
but with what you are finally ready to hear.