My Word of the Year Is "Ease." I Didn't Pick It Lightly.

That's when it clicked: ease isn't laziness, and it sure isn't passive. It's what happens when your nervous system isn't fighting the moment it's in.

We met up in late December, my friends and I. Coffee, tea, markers, paper spread out on the table. Thoughtful snacks we each prepared with intention. And we each chose a word for the coming year.

Just one word that felt like it was already trying to find us.

This year, mine was ease.

And I need you to know: I didn't choose it because life felt easy.

I chose it because I was exhausted by how much effort it took to do all the things I wanted to do.

The Weight of Always Bracing

I'm used to effort. I've built a life and a business around sustained work. I know how to push. I know how to show up when I don't feel like it. I know how to endure.

That's not the kind of effort I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the background tension that never really stops. The sense that everything (even good things) required bracing for. That I didn't have the capacity to meet everything I wanted to meet without it feeling hard in a way that went beyond normal challenging.

Maybe you know this feeling. You want to show up for your family. You want to feel present when someone's talking to you instead of half-listening while your mind races. You want to have energy for evening plans instead of collapsing on the couch. You want to make it through your day without needing three cups of coffee and a nap you'll never take.

What you're asking for is simple: a body that has the capacity for your life.

I noticed my version of this most in the quiet moments. When nothing was wrong, but my body was still on alert. Jaw tight. Breath shallow. Mind already organizing, strategizing, mentally preparing for what's next.

As if ease itself was something to be suspicious of.

So when the word landed (ease), it felt like a diagnosis more than a wish.

It pointed directly at something I couldn't think my way out of.

Does It Need to Be Hard?

A mentor asked me that question years ago, and I remember being almost offended by it.

Does it need to be hard?

Of course it needs to be hard. That's how you know it matters. That's how you know you've earned it. If something comes easily, if it flows without resistance, doesn't that mean it's not valuable?

Doesn't struggle prove worthiness?

I'd spent decades operating from that belief without ever questioning it.

Somewhere along the way, I'd absorbed this idea that difficulty was the currency of achievement. That the more something hurt, the more it was worth. That ease was for people who weren't serious, who weren't committed, who weren't willing to do what it takes.

But here's what I've learned: that's just a story. And it's a story that keeps you grinding against life instead of moving with it.

Because when you believe everything valuable must be hard, you unconsciously create resistance where none needs to exist. You add weight to things that could be light. You turn simple tasks into battles because somewhere deep down, you don't trust that good things can come without suffering for them.

Ease Isn't Downstream of Your Efforts

For years, I treated ease like a reward. Something that would arrive once I worked enough, healed enough, organized enough, figured things out.

But the more I paid attention, the clearer it became: ease wasn't waiting at the end of my to-do list. It was upstream of everything I was trying to accomplish.

On days when my body felt settled, things moved faster. Conversations were clearer. Decisions didn't spiral into twelve-step pros-and-cons lists. I could hold complexity without getting tangled in it.

On days when my system was tight, everything felt harder than it needed to be. Even familiar tasks. Even things I genuinely wanted to do.

Same life. Same responsibilities. Completely different internal state.

I see this with my clients constantly. The ones who are trying to stick to whole food eating but keep falling into the pantry at 9 PM. The ones who know exactly what they should be doing for their health but can't seem to follow through. The ones whose blood sugar won't stabilize no matter how clean they eat, whose hormones are all over the place despite doing "everything right."

When we start looking at nervous system regulation, everything shifts. Because you can have the perfect meal plan, but if your body is stuck in fight-or-flight, it's going to crave quick energy. You can know all about gut health, but if your system is chronically stressed, digestion shuts down. You can want better sleep, but if your nervous system can't down regulate, melatonin isn't going to fix it.

That's when it clicked: ease isn't laziness, and it sure isn't passive. It's what happens when your nervous system isn't fighting the moment it's in.

Your Body Decides Before Your Brain Does

We like to believe we're in control of how we respond to life.

But most of the time, our nervous system has already decided for us.

It determines whether something feels safe enough to lean into or threatening enough to resist. It sets the tone before a single word is spoken, before a decision is made, before a goal gets labeled as realistic or completely out of reach.

When your system is chronically keyed up, you don't just feel stressed. Your world gets smaller. Options narrow. You reach for control or certainty instead of staying responsive to what's in front of you.

This is why you can't stick to that evening walk even though you know it would help. Why you reach for wine or sugar when you're overwhelmed. Why you wake up at 3 AM with your mind racing even though you're exhausted. Your nervous system is running the show, and it's operating from a place of threat, not safety.

Ease changes that. Not by removing challenge, but by expanding how much of it you can meet without tightening up.

This is where neurological fitness comes in, and I know that sounds clinical, but stay with me.

What If You Stopped Fighting the Stream?

There's this concept I've been sitting with: what if life doesn't require the amount of force we think it does?

What if the resistance we feel isn't evidence that we're on the wrong path, but evidence that we're pushing against the natural flow of things?

Think about it. When you're forcing yourself to do something your body fundamentally doesn't want to do, or trying to control outcomes that aren't yours to control, or operating from a place of fear about what might happen if you don't white-knuckle your way through, you create friction.

And that friction feels like proof that you're working hard. That you're committed. That you're doing what it takes.

But what if it's just... friction?

What if the things that are meant for you don't require that level of force? What if they require alignment instead?

I'm not talking about passivity. I'm not saying don't take action or don't have goals or just wait for things to happen. I'm talking about the quality of the energy you bring to those actions.

When you're aligned with what you're doing (when your nervous system is regulated, when you're not operating from fear or proving something), the path opens up. Doors appear. Conversations happen. Opportunities show up that you couldn't have planned for.

When you're forcing things from a place of tension, everything takes three times longer and costs you twice as much energy as it should.

Ease Is a Trained Capacity

Neurological fitness isn't about staying calm all the time or never feeling stressed. It's about range.

Can your system ramp up when focus is required and settle back down when it isn't? Can you stay present in uncertainty without rushing to resolve it? Can you hold ambition without turning it into pressure?

When I started viewing ease as a capacity rather than a personality trait, everything shifted.

Ease became something I could practice. Something I could protect. Something I could build strength around.

Not by doing less, but by doing things differently.

I'm starting to pay attention to what regulates me. Not in theory, but in my body. What softens my breath. What widens my field of vision. What makes me feel more here instead of three hours ahead.

I'm also noticing what shatters ease instantly. Certain conversations. Certain pacing. Certain expectations I've been carrying around without ever questioning whether they're mine.

I don't have this figured out yet. That's the whole point of choosing ease as my word for 2026. I'm going to practice it. I'm going to see what happens when I stop assuming everything needs to be hard.

Because here's what I've already started to see in my own life and in working with women in midlife who are dealing with hormonal shifts, blood sugar issues, gut problems, and exhaustion: all of these are connected to nervous system regulation.

Your gut can't heal in fight-or-flight. Your blood sugar can't stabilize when cortisol is running the show. Your hormones can't balance when your body thinks it's under constant threat.

This is why I got trained in NeuroFit. Because I kept seeing clients do everything right nutritionally and still struggle. The missing piece was always nervous system capacity.... This keeps revealing itself to me more and more.

When Ease Shows Up, Direction Gets Obvious

One of the strangest side effects of cultivating ease is clarity.

Not the dramatic kind where lightning strikes and you suddenly know your life's purpose. The more subtle kind.

You stop forcing decisions. You start sensing when to act and when to wait. You notice which paths aren't quite right before you commit years of your life to them.

It's like you're tuning into a frequency that was always there, but the static of stress and tension kept you from hearing it.

You also become more available to people. Less performative. Less guarded. More responsive.

Ease makes you legible to yourself and to others.

And that is important, because real connection happens when nervous systems recognize safety and coherence in each other.

I didn't choose ease because I wanted life to feel softer or less demanding.

I chose it because I was tired of fighting the version of myself that emerges when my system is regulated. The one who sees more. Hears more. Trusts timing. Moves without force.

That version of me was already there. She just needed the right internal conditions to show up consistently.

Ease turned out to be less about comfort and more about alignment.

And once you feel that difference in your body (once you know what it's like to move through your day without that constant background hum of tension), it's really hard to go back to pushing through life as if strain were the price of becoming who you're meant to be.

It's not.

What if the things you want are waiting for you on the path of least resistance, not the path of most struggle?

What if ease is the signal that you're moving in the right direction, not a sign that you're slacking?

Ease is.

Ready to Find Your Own Ease?

If you're reading this and thinking "yes, but I've tried everything and I still can't seem to get there," I want you to know something: what you're experiencing makes sense. Your body needs the right support to build that capacity for ease.

That's exactly what I do. I work with women in midlife who are dealing with blood sugar issues, hormonal shifts, gut problems, and exhaustion, and I help them build nervous system resilience alongside nutritional support. Because you can't separate the two.

I have a few spots open for one-on-one work in the new year. We'll look at your whole picture: nutrition, yes, but also how your nervous system is functioning, where you're getting stuck, and how to build capacity for the life you want to live.

If you're interested, grab a free strategy session. We'll talk about where you are, where you want to go, and whether working together makes sense.

Here's to ease in 2026!