The Things I'm Keeping (And Dropping) This Year

I did my own audit recently. Not the sanitised version where everything's wrapped in mindset slogans. The real one. The kind where you look at what's draining you versus what's giving you life, and you make some honest calls.

Here's what I'm working on.

What I'm Letting Go Of

Being All Things to All People

This one's been my default operating system. Say yes. Be helpful. Show up. Deliver more than expected. Be the person people can count on, even when it costs you. Except the cost has gotten too high. Between my job, business and family, I'm already stretched thin. And the person I can't count on anymore is myself, because I'm too busy being available to everyone else.

Someone reached out a while back asking if I could "just quickly" look at something. Old me would've said yes immediately, squeezed it in between everything else, and delivered thoughtful feedback by the end of the day. At the expense of my own priorities. Now me looked at my calendar, looked at my energy, and said, "I can't right now, but here's someone who might be able to help." And you know what happened? Nothing terrible. They figured it out. The world didn't end. I didn't lose their respect. I just didn't sacrifice myself unnecessarily.

Being all things to all people isn't generosity. It's a defence mechanism. If I'm indispensable, I'm valuable. If I'm always available, I'm safe. But it's also exhausting and unsustainable and ultimately not even what people need from me.

And here's what I'm finally understanding: every time I say yes to something that doesn't move me towards the life I'm building, I'm saying no to my own freedom.

Comparison (Especially Whilst Being a Newbie at Something)

I'm launching my new website and Instagram presence this year. And let me tell you, the comparison trap is real when you're staring at people with 50K followers who seem to churn out polished reels whilst simultaneously running three businesses and training for a marathon.

Here's what’s easy to forget: they've been at this for years. They've failed dozens of times. They didn't start with a ring light and a content calendar. They started with shaky hands and imposter syndrome, just like me.

I catch myself scrolling through accounts in my space, that sinking feeling building, you know the one. Everyone's already doing it. Everyone's better at it. Everyone found the time I apparently don't have. Then I remember: I'm not everyone. I'm building something specific, for specific people, in my specific way. Their lane isn't my lane. And my lane doesn't need to look like theirs to work.

And here's the other truth nobody mentions: most of those people aren't also working a demanding full-time job. I'm building in the margins, early mornings, late nights, weekends, because I'm creating an exit strategy from work that no longer fits. Comparing my side-of-the-desk reality to someone's full-time focus isn't just unfair. It's irrelevant.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with seeing what others are doing. But there comes a point when comparison becomes performance anxiety dressed up as research.

Revenge Procrastination

You know what this is, even if you've never heard the term. It's staying up until midnight scrolling or doing meaningless tasks because it's the only time that feels like "yours." It's reclaiming control by sabotaging your own sleep and energy.

I've been doing this for longer than I'd like to admit. The logic is flawless and completely broken: The day took everything from me, so I'm taking this time back, even if it means I'll be tired tomorrow.

Most nights last year looked the same: exhausted from my 9-5 job, my 5-9 jobs, knowing I had early meetings the next day, knowing I should rest. But I'd stay up watching The Real Housewives or the latest true crime doco instead. Because finally, no one needed anything from me. The day takes everything, so I take this back, even though I'm only stealing precious resources from myself.

The irony isn't lost on me: I'm building something new so I can reclaim my time and life. And here I am, stealing from myself before I even get there.

What I’m learning: revenge procrastination isn’t reclaiming time. It’s punishing yourself for boundaries you didn’t enforce and schedules you didn’t question. The answer isn’t staying up—it’s protecting your daytime hours better.

Unrealistic Expectations of Myself

I've been operating under the delusion that if I just work harder, plan better, optimise more efficiently, I can do everything I want to do at the level I want to do it. I can't. Nobody can.

The maths doesn't work. Showing up for a full-time job whilst building something from scratch, whilst learning new things, whilst maintaining relationships, whilst keeping myself functional—something has to give. And usually what gives is me, burning out whilst pretending I'm fine.

In the last three months, I had this whole plan: launch Instagram, restart my newsletter, develop two new programs, and overhaul my website. All whilst delivering on a major project at my day job. I made it about three weeks before I was staying up until midnight, running on fumes, and feeling like a failure because I couldn't execute at the impossible pace I'd set. The expectations weren't ambitious, they were delusional. And I'm the one who set them.

I'm trying to build something sustainable whilst living unsustainably. That's not strategy, it's self-sabotage.

Letting go of unrealistic expectations isn't lowering standards. It's acknowledging that I'm playing a long game here. Slow and steady isn't sexy, but it's the only way this works.

What I'm Doing More Of

Celebrating Small Wins

I've spent most of my life oriented towards the next thing. Finish this, move to that. Hit the goal, raise the bar. It's served me well professionally but catches up personally. It’s exhausting.

Small wins aren't just stepping stones to big ones. Sometimes they're the whole point. Especially when you're building something in stolen hours between everything else.

Yesterday, I drafted a couple of newsletters for the first time in a long time, including one to original subscribers who haven't heard from me in over a year. I second-guessed every sentence. But they're scheduled to send. Old me would've immediately focused on what I should've said differently and whether people would even care after this long. Now me? I'm counting it. I'm reconnecting with people I've been avoiding reaching out to, and I did it despite the discomfort and potential unsubscribes. That deserves recognition, not a performance review.

Progress isn't always dramatic or successful. Sometimes it's just showing up consistently in the direction of what matters, even when you're tired and time is short. Even when the outcome is unknown.

Not Complaining About Other People's Incompetence

Every boss I've had has told me I have high standards. They meant it as a compliment, but it's also been a liability. Because when you have high standards, other people's mediocrity becomes personal. You take it as disrespect, or laziness, or proof that nobody cares as much as you do.

But here's what I'm realising: most people aren't being incompetent to me. They're operating at their own level of competence. Which might be lower than mine in a specific area but is probably higher than mine in seven other ways I don't even see.

In December, I needed to have a sharp conversation with a team member who'd missed a deadline. Then I stopped. Was this person disrespecting me, or were they overwhelmed and doing their best? Could I meet them where they are without lowering my standards? Turns out, yes. I adjusted my expectations for them without adjusting my standards for the work. Different approach, better outcome, less resentment all round.

Meeting people where they are isn't lowering your standards. It's expanding your understanding of how standards get met; through collaboration, not contempt. And honestly, I need to conserve my energy for what matters: building the thing that's going to get me out of here.

Building Meaningful Connections

I've been operating in solo mode for a long time. Partly by design, entrepreneurship is isolating. Partly by default—when you're building something in the margins whilst working full-time, it's easy to put your head down and forget to look up.

But meaningful connections aren't networking. They're not transactional. They're the conversations that leave you feeling more like yourself, not less. They're the people who get what you're doing without you having to explain it three times.

I caught up with a friend last week. We talked about the weight of obligations—ageing parents who need more, family who expect more, the constant negotiation between doing right by them and not completely losing ourselves in the process. We talked about feeling guilty for wanting our own lives when everyone else seems to need something from us. About trying to hold onto our own goals when the pull to just manage everyone else's needs feels overwhelming.

Two hours later, I left feeling seen. Not fixed, not advised, just... understood. And strangely rejuvenated. That's what I'm after. Not more connections. More of that.

I'm done treating connection as something that happens when I have time. It's not a reward for productivity. It's what makes this sustainable (and life more enjoyable) when you're playing the long game.

None of this is revolutionary. But doing your own audit never is. It's just honest. And sometimes honesty is the most radical thing you can be with yourself.

What are you letting go of this year? What are you doing more of? Not the safe answer, the real one. Share it in the comments.