For a long time, the transition into a new year had a very specific flavor for me.

On the outside, it looked like I was doing it “right.” Countdown. Champagne toasts at midnight. Big plans for the year ahead. I’d make resolutions, promise myself that this year would be different, and try to summon that fresh-start energy everyone talks about.

But inside, the reality was messier and much less Instagram-worthy.

Most January 1st mornings began with a foggy head, a queasy stomach, and that familiar hum of anxiety under my ribs. I’d wake up already feeling behind after a ripper on New Year’s Eve, then spend the next couple of days playing catch-up — dehydrated, sleep-deprived, and mentally calculating how long it would take to “undo” the holidays.

My resolutions weren’t actually about living well, or living honestly. They were about fixing myself. Doing more. Being better. Trying harder. Making up for whatever I believed I’d messed up the year before. Or what I hadn't fixed yet. Just try harder. This year would be different.

I genuinely thought that was just how New Year’s resolutions worked.

What alcohol was quietly shaping

What I didn’t recognize back then was how much alcohol was shaping that entire experience, and not just on New Year’s Eve, but in the weeks and months leading up to it.

The restless sleep.
The mental background noise.
The low-grade self-criticism.
The constant I’ll start tomorrow loop.

All of it followed me straight into January.

Alcohol didn’t just affect my body. It affected how I related to myself, especially at the exact moment I was supposed to feel hopeful and motivated. Instead of starting the year grounded and clear, I began it already negotiating with myself, already disappointed, already bracing for another round of self-improvement.

Now, after six years alcohol-free, New Year’s feels very different.

I wake up clear. No headache. No shame spiral. No urgent need to “fix” myself before the year has even really begun. There’s still longing. There’s still ache. There are still places I want to grow. But there’s also a sense of steadiness and calm, like I’m starting the year on my own side instead of already at odds with myself.

A different question to begin the year

Now, instead of asking, “How do I fix myself this year?” my alcohol-free self asks a very different question:

“How do I live more in alignment with who I really am?”

That single shift changed everything.

I’ve learned that willpower is about overriding yourself and living in alignment is about listening to yourself.

When I start a new year from a place of alignment, I don’t begin with a long list of resolutions or any plans to reinvent myself. I begin by choosing one to three values that feel like my true north. These aren’t aspirational ideals, but actual qualities that feel grounding and honest for where I am right now.

Values like calm, connection, honesty, health, creativity, or self-respect.

From there, the questions become gentler and much more revealing.

If I’m truly honoring these values, what might change in my daily life? What would soften? What would I stop forcing? What would finally become non-negotiable?

This approach feels radically different from the New Years I spent trying to manage my behavior and change certain aspects of myself. It feels less like self-control and much more like coming home.

Where alcohol enters the alignment conversation

For many of my clients, this is the point where alcohol naturally enters the conversation, not dramatically or as a problem to be fixed, but rather as something that simply no longer fits the life they’re trying to build.

It’s rarely about failure or lack of discipline. More often, it’s about an internal mismatch that’s getting harder to ignore.

When someone names values like clarity, health, presence, or self-respect, alcohol starts to feel like a question rather than an answer. Not because it’s inherently “bad,” but because it's quietly pulling them away from the very things they say they want.

Better sleep. Less anxiety. A stronger connection to themselves. A release from the daily dissonance that shows up the morning after, or in the middle of the night, or during yet another promise to “do better next time.”

The most powerful question here isn’t, Should I drink or not drink?

It’s much simpler and much more honest: Does my current relationship with alcohol actually support the life I’m trying to live?

There’s no right answer to that question. There’s only the one that feels true when you let yourself really sit with it.

And that kind of radical honesty, even when it’s uncomfortable, has a way of opening doors.

Why January can be a powerful container

This is why January can be such a meaningful time to explore your relationship with alcohol — not because it’s the start of a new year, but because it naturally creates space. The holidays are over. The social calendar quiets down. The constant stimulation eases just enough for you to hear yourself think.

And here's what I've learned about doing Dry January:

When it's is framed as a break or a challenge that feels like punishment or deprivation, and it usually backfires.

But when it’s framed as a pause or a reset — merely a chance to listen, observe, and gather information — it can be incredibly revealing. Not in a dramatic, life-altering overnight kind of way, but in small, steady insights that build on each other, informing your choices and life's journey.

This is the spirit behind my 30-Day Reset. It isn’t about quitting forever or proving anything to yourself. It’s about giving your brain and body a real break from the constant push-pull of alcohol, with daily guidance and simple tools to help you understand what’s actually happening underneath your habits.

It’s supported, structured, and intentionally compassionate because lasting change doesn’t come from white-knuckling, it comes from understanding.

For some people, that month leads to long-term change. For others, it brings clarity, relief, and a much kinder relationship with themselves. Either way, nothing about the experience is wasted. Information is gathered. Patterns become visible. Self-trust begins to rebuild.

And if a full month feels like too much right now, my complimentary 7-Day Experiment offers a softer entry point. It’s a way to dip your toe into curiosity without pressure or expectation.

A quieter, truer beginning

A different kind of New Year doesn’t require a dramatic overhaul or a perfectly executed plan. It doesn’t ask you to reinvent yourself or become someone new.

It asks something far more subtle and, in many ways, far more courageous.

It asks you to move a little closer to the truth of who you already are. To notice what feels aligned and what feels off. To choose listening over forcing, curiosity over control, and self-respect over self-criticism.

That’s the kind of beginning I believe in now. One that starts from steadiness instead of shame, and then grows from alignment rather than willpower.

And it’s a beginning that doesn’t need to be rushed or perfected. It can unfold slowly, honestly, and in your own time.

👉 Learn more about the 30-Day Reset Experiment here.