What I’m Carrying Into 2026—and What I Refuse to Take With Me

When people talk about the new year, they love the language of erasure. Clean slate. Fresh start. New version. But I didn’t arrive at 2026 untouched. None of us did.

I arrived here carrying a year that asked more of me than I expected—and somehow, also gave me more clarity than I’ve ever had.

In February of 2025, I launched this website quietly. There was no grand announcement, no certainty about where it would go or how long I could sustain it. What I knew was simple: I needed a place to write honestly. A place where stories didn’t have to be softened, rushed, or made palatable to survive. I didn’t know then that this space would become an archive of grief, resistance, memory, and survival—but that’s exactly what it became.

2025 was not gentle. It was relentless. It asked us to witness pain up close—personal pain, collective pain, historical pain that refuses to stay buried. It forced conversations many people would rather avoid. And it demanded endurance, especially from those of us already tired.

This year, we wrote about loss—the kind that doesn’t heal just because time moves forward. We honored Makayla, whose absence still echoes, whose life deserved more than a paragraph reminder or a hashtag memorial. We wrote about nightmares that arrive in the early hours of the morning and don’t leave when the sun comes up. We wrote about grief not as something to “get through,” but as something we learn to live alongside.

We also told stories—fictional and real—because sometimes truth needs a narrative to breathe. Through short stories, we explored silence, obsession, faith, fear, desire, and the unseen consequences of violence. Through true crime and missing persons cases, we bore witness to lives too often reduced to statistics or sensational headlines. Women forgotten by history. Children failed by systems meant to protect them. Families left with questions and no answers. Writing these pieces wasn’t easy. But silence would have been worse.

2025 demanded honesty about the body, too. We wrote about chronic illness, medical neglect, anxiety, and pain—especially pain that isn’t believed. We challenged the systems that dismiss women, Black women, Brown women, disabled bodies, and anyone who doesn’t fit neatly into clinical expectations. We talked about healing not as a miracle cure, but as a layered, ongoing process that includes rest, culture, tradition, and listening to what the body has been trying to say all along.

We confronted history where it hurts. Racism in literacy. Medical racism. State violence. Political hypocrisy. Twisted scripture used to justify harm. We reclaimed Indigenous voices, named stolen land for what it is, and rejected sanitized narratives that make oppression easier to digest. These weren’t comfortable pieces—but comfort was never the goal. Truth was.

And in the middle of all of this, something quietly radical happened: I chose myself seriously.

I filed paperwork. I built structure. Inkwell Imprints became an LLC—not just an idea, not just a passion project, but a commitment. I showed up to learning again. I trusted my voice enough to invest in it. That mattered more than any metric.

So when I say I’m stepping into 2026 with intention, I don’t mean resolutions scribbled on January first. I mean boundaries that were earned. I mean lessons paid for with exhaustion, heartbreak, and perseverance.

What I am carrying into 2026 is peace—not the fragile kind that depends on everyone else behaving, agreeing, or approving. I’m carrying the kind of peace that requires discernment. The kind that knows disruption doesn’t only come from strangers. Sometimes it comes from loved ones. Sometimes it comes wrapped in familiarity. And this year, I am no longer allowing anyone—no matter how close—to disrupt my peace. Love does not require self-erasure. Growth does not require constant access.

I’m carrying clarity. I know my limits now. I know the cost of ignoring my intuition. I know when something feels wrong, even if I can’t articulate it yet. I trust myself more than I used to—and that trust is not up for debate.

I’m carrying purpose. Not the loud, performative kind—but the steady kind that shows up consistently, even when no one is watching. Writing has saved me more times than I can count. In 2026, I’m honoring that by protecting it.

What I refuse to take with me is self-doubt. I’ve spent too long questioning whether my voice was too much, too sharp, too emotional, too honest. I’ve watched self-doubt drain energy I could have spent creating, resting, or simply living. It does not get another year.

I refuse to carry guilt for growth. I refuse to shrink to keep peace that costs me my own well-being. I refuse to explain boundaries as if they’re optional. I refuse to apologize for choosing calm over chaos.

And yes—I want to be a better person. But not in the polished, public-facing way people perform every January. I want to be better in the ways that don’t trend. I want to listen more deeply. Speak more intentionally. Walk away sooner from what harms me. Be kinder to myself when I’m tired. Be braver when it matters.

2026 is not about becoming someone new. It’s about becoming more honest. More rooted. More whole.

Thank you for being here—for reading, for listening, for witnessing these stories with care. This space exists because you showed up for it. And as we move forward, the commitment remains the same:

We will tell the truth. We will honor the forgotten. We will write what matters—even when it’s uncomfortable.

This is what I’m carrying into 2026. And I’m finally light enough to carry it well.

What We Covered in 2025

When I look back at 2025, I don’t see “content.” I see themes. Commitments. Conversations we refused to abandon.

Here is the work we carried through our first year.

Creative Writing & Fiction

Stories used to explore silence, desire, faith, fear, obsession, and survival.

• In The Wake of Silence (Parts I–III)
• Mine Until Death
• The Silent Minaret
• The Last Petal Fell
• The Voice Down the Hall
• The Price of Wanting
• Unspoken Desires
• Rewriting Journey of the Quill: A Story That Found Its True Voice

Grief, Loss & Personal Reflection

Writing as a place to mourn, remember, and breathe.

• For Makayla Alexandra: A Soul Never Forgotten
• I Woke Up at 3:30 A.M. From a Nightmare I Can’t Shake
• Personal Reflection: How Writing Saved Me
• Finding Peace in the Darkest Months

Writing, Publishing & Creative Growth

Choosing to take creativity seriously—and build something lasting.

• I Filed My LLC — Here’s How It Went (And What I Learned)
• It’s Official: Inkwell Imprints Is an LLC!
• Never Too Old to Learn: My First Creative Writing Course

Social Justice, Politics & Cultural Critique

Naming harm. Questioning power. Refusing silence.

• Racism in literacy and education
• Medical racism and women’s pain
• Political hypocrisy and state violence
• LGBTQ+ identity and forced conformity
• Scripture misused to justify atrocities
• Forced institutionalization and policy harm

(Select pieces include reflections on policing, systemic neglect, political spectacle, and the cost of silence.)

True Crime, Missing Persons & Justice for the Forgotten

Restoring humanity to lives reduced to headlines.

• Forgotten women in true crime history
• High-profile and overlooked murder cases
• Missing persons whose stories remain unresolved
• Police violence and institutional failure
• Children failed by systems meant to protect them

This became one of the most demanding—and necessary—areas of our work.

History, Heritage & Indigenous Voices

Reclaiming narratives that were erased, distorted, or ignored.

• Indigenous nations and their histories told in their own words
• Reframing Thanksgiving as remembrance, not celebration
• Cultural survival, resistance, and truth-telling
• Historical accountability beyond sanitized textbooks

Health, Wellness & the Body

Listening to bodies the system often dismisses.

• Chronic illness and lived pain
• Chiari malformation awareness
• Anxiety and mental health support
• Holistic and traditional medicine practices
• Nutrition, diabetes, and preventive care

Faith, Spirituality & Reflection

Faith as grounding—not weaponized.

• Reflections on Eid, prayer, and trust
• Jewish, Christian, Muslim, and African diasporic traditions
• Finding light, resilience, and meaning across belief systems

Paranormal, Folklore & Haunted Histories

Where memory lingers and the past refuses to stay silent.

• Haunted cemeteries and locations
• Paranormal legends across cultures
• True crime with supernatural intersections

Books, Media & Cultural Commentary

Thoughtful engagement with what we read, watch, and consume.

• Book reviews
• Cultural criticism
• End-of-year reflections on stories that mattered

Food, Culture & Connection

Comfort, memory, and identity at the table.

• Pakistani winter comfort foods
• Bridging cultures through cuisine
• Shared humanity through music and tradition

Seasonal, Cultural & End-of-Year Reflections

Marking time with intention.

• Hispanic Heritage Month reflections
• Holiday traditions across cultures
• Looking back at the stories, songs, and films that shaped the year