A Different Relationship with Balance in 2026

I don’t make resolutions.

Instead, I choose a word—one that feels less like a goal and more like a companion for the year ahead. A word I can return to when things feel heavy, when decisions feel complicated, or when I need to remember how I want to move through my life.

For 2026, that word is balance.

Not balance as perfection. Not balance as doing everything evenly or getting it right. But balance as a relationship—one I’m still learning, still practicing, and approaching with more honesty than certainty.

This reflection builds on what I recently wrote about rest, presence, and a different kind of value. At the center of it is a question I’ve been living with for some time now: How do I stay engaged in the work and the world I care about without losing myself in the process—especially when the challenges are not letting up?

The Truth About 2025—and What It Set in Motion

2025 was hard.

Hard in ways I didn’t anticipate, and harder than I was always willing to admit in the moment. There were times I genuinely didn’t know how I would make it through—not because of one single crisis, but because of the cumulative weight of uncertainty, vigilance, and responsibility.

In special education and disability rights, the ground didn’t just feel unstable—it continues to feel unstable. Protections families rely on remain at risk. Systems that were already strained are under even more pressure. In many ways, the challenges that surfaced in 2025 are not over. Some are sharper now. Some are more visible. Some carry higher stakes.

What has changed, though, is awareness.

Collectively, more of us see what is happening. More of us understand what is at risk. More of us are asking harder questions—not just about policies and systems, but about how we respond to prolonged uncertainty without burning ourselves out or fragmenting further.

That shift matters.

What the Hard Years Teach Us

2025 was a wake-up call—not because it ended anything neatly, but because it stripped away illusions.

It made clear that this work—this advocacy, this commitment to families and equity—is not a sprint. It is a marathon.

And marathons are not sustained by urgency alone.

They require grounding. They require pacing. They require community.

I learned last year that staying in this work means letting go of the idea that I have to carry everything myself. It means trusting that my value is not defined by how much I do in a crisis, but by who I am, what I notice, and the voice I bring to the collective effort.

2025 taught me that my lived experience matters.That my perspective matters.That stepping up doesn’t always mean stepping in alone.

Balance in the Middle of Ongoing Challenge

Choosing balance in 2026 is not a sign that things have settled. They haven’t.

It’s a conscious response to the reality that we are still in the middle of complex, demanding work—and that how we show up now will determine whether this work is sustainable.

Balance, for me, means helping without self-abandonment.Being reliable without disappearing.Being engaged without living in constant urgency.

It also means paying attention to where collaboration is emerging. Where people are coming together in new ways. Where conversations are shifting from reaction to strategy, from isolation to shared responsibility.

I don’t think we’re done with hard seasons. But I do think many of us are learning how to meet them differently.

A Life That Is Shifting Alongside the Work

Alongside these broader challenges, my own life is changing.

We’re moving into a new home—chosen intentionally, not reactively—one that supports a slower, more grounded way of living.We’re entering a season of being almost empty nesters, adjusting to new rhythms and new forms of presence.We’re still newly married, continuing to shape a partnership that values steadiness, honesty, and shared decision-making.

I’m also beginning the work of shaping a new nonprofit. What feels different this time isn’t the urgency of the mission—it’s the approach. I’m allowing the work to unfold with care, grounded in values rather than fear.

None of this removes the challenges we’re facing. But it changes how I carry them.

Walking into 2026

As I walk into 2026, I’m not doing so with the belief that the challenges have passed. They haven’t. In many ways, the work ahead feels even more complex and demanding than before.

But what feels different—and genuinely good—is how I’m meeting it.

I feel more grounded than I have in a long time. More settled in who I am and what I bring. Less driven by urgency, and more guided by clarity. That groundedness doesn’t erase the difficulty of this moment, but it changes how I carry it.

What gives me hope is not the idea that things will suddenly get easier, but the growing sense that more of us see what’s at stake—and that we’re beginning to respond differently. More collaboratively. More thoughtfully. With greater care for both the work and the people doing it.

I’m walking into this year with a deeper trust in myself, in shared effort, and in the power of steady presence over constant reaction. Balance, for me, is not about finding stillness in the absence of challenge, but about staying rooted even as the ground continues to shift.

That kind of balance feels sustainable. It feels honest. And it feels like a way forward I want to keep choosing.