This year wasn’t just a journey of doing; it was a journey of asking. Of pausing long enough to get honest. Of sitting with uncomfortable truths. Of having the difficult conversations. At 26, I’m honoring not just who I’ve become, but the questions that shaped me. These are the soul-inquiries that cracked me open, brought me clarity, anchored my self-worth, and invited me into softness, healing, and deeper joy.
So here’s the list: 26 questions that changed my life this year, and might just change yours too.
1. What do I need to feel safe in my own body?
I need gentleness. Spaciousness. Permission to exist without performance. To not be rushed, fixed, or stretched beyond my nervous system’s yes. I need habits that ground me, slow showers, soft music, and my feet on the floor. I need to be seen by myself, not through the eyes of duty or debt. I need to feel like I can breathe without apologizing.
2. If I didn’t feel guilty, what would I choose right now?
I would choose joy without explanation. Rest without shame. Ease without proving I’ve earned it. I would walk away from “shoulds” and lean fully into what feels right for me. If I trusted freedom over obligation, I would create more. Love softer. Parent with presence, not pressure. I’d stop trading my peace for approval.
3. What version of me am I still performing, and why?
I still perform the strong daughter, the one who holds everything together for everyone, even when she’s unraveling inside. I perform the “healed” one, even when I’m still grieving quietly. It’s familiar. Expected. But not always true. The world benefits when I shrink to stay palatable, but I don’t. Not anymore.
4. Am I living out of memory or imagination?
I’ve been breaking cycles I didn’t choose. Carrying stories that weren’t mine. But slowly, I’m shifting. Memory taught me survival. Imagination is teaching me softness, wealth, and joy. I am beginning to create something new, even if it scares me.
5. Where do I feel most alive, and how can I return there more often?
I feel most alive when I’m creating, when my hands are crafting, my words are flowing, or my business is blooming. I feel alive in moments with my son, when we laugh and go on outings. I want to return to these spaces more often by making joy non-negotiable. Scheduling beauty. Allowing pleasure.
6. What have I outgrown but still feel guilty releasing?
I’ve outgrown identities rooted in sacrifice, especially around family and black tax. I’ve outgrown relationships that love the idea of me but not my truth. And yet, I feel guilt, like I’m abandoning people. But the truth is: I can bless what’s expired and still choose myself.
7. What would I do if I believed I was already worthy?
I’d stop hustling to prove. I’d walk into rooms with quiet certainty. I’d charge fully for my gifts and services. I’d dress how I want. Speak how I feel. Love myself without waiting for external validation. I’d just be, and that would be enough.
8. Who am I without the pain I normalized?
Without the pain, I’m soft. Curious. Present. I’m not always in defense mode. I don’t always need to be busy. Healing showed me how much of my personality was actually trauma dressed in achievement. I’m learning to let go of the identity built on endurance.
9. What parts of myself have I only shown in private?
My softness. My deep desire for love that’s safe, not loud. My wild dreams. My gratitude journaling. My poetry and voice. My sensuality. I want to live in a world where I don’t have to hide those parts to be respected. I want to be fully seen, and still held.
10. If I wasn’t so afraid of failing, what would I begin today?
I’d launch boldly. I’d put my website out there. I’d pitch bigger projects. I’d stop waiting for perfect. I’d start living the life I dream of, not in pieces, but fully. I’d take my son to live with me. Because the real failure isn’t trying and falling, it’s never beginning at all.
11. Do I feel loved, or just needed?
In many places, I’ve been needed more than I’ve been loved. Especially in family. Especially in past relationships. But now I know: love doesn’t feel like depletion. It feels like mutual care. And I deserve both, not one in place of the other.
12. Am I holding onto this… or is it holding onto me?
Some wounds. Some expectations. Some people. I’ve gripped them so long, I forgot I had a choice. But now, I’m loosening. Letting go. Not everything has to be healed; some things just need to be released.
13. What do I know now that I didn’t trust last year?
I know I’m magnetic when I’m at peace. I know rest is productive. I know I don’t need permission to choose myself. I know I can rebuild from rock bottom and still come out gold. I knew these things deep down, but now I trust them.
14. Who am I trying to prove myself to, and why do they still have that power?
To those who left. To those who doubted. To the version of me who thought love had to be earned through pain. I’m learning to reclaim my worth from those invisible audiences. I no longer need to be seen to be valid. I already am.
15. What if soft was strong too?
It is. I’ve learned softness is revolutionary, especially for women like me who’ve had to be hard for so long. My softness is not weakness; it’s wisdom. It’s knowing I can respond, not react. That I can be gentle, and still take no shit.
16. What does success feel like in my body, not just look like on paper?
It feels like calm mornings. A nourished belly. Laughter with my son. Freedom to travel. Clients who find me with ease. Sales that flow without begging. A regulated nervous system. Success, to me, feels like peace, not pressure.
17. What would younger me be proud of today?
Everything. She’d weep at how far we’ve come. How we chose healing. How we walked away from what hurt. How we started businesses in the fire. She’d see me resting, glowing, thriving, and whisper, “Thank you for not giving up.”
18. What would it look like if I forgave myself fully?
It would look like softness in the mirror. Like no more rehearsing regrets. Like hugging my past selves instead of punishing them. I’d stop self-correcting every word. I’d stop overthinking every choice. I’d finally feel free.
19. When did I last hear my own voice, not the noise, not the algorithm, but me?
In stillness. In my journal. In moments when I unplug and just be. I’m learning that silence isn’t empty, it’s where I meet myself. It’s where clarity lives.
20. Is this desire mine, or inherited?
Some dreams were hand-me-downs. Others, survival scripts. I’ve been sorting what’s special to me vs. what was assigned. Now, I’m dreaming with intention. And I’m choosing mine.
21. What am I trying to manifest without becoming the version of me who can hold it?
I want abundance, but still carry scarcity habits. I want love, but fear being seen. I want to be a CEO, but still shrink in rooms. The prayer needs a version of me who can hold it. So I’m becoming her.
22. What do I need to grieve, that I’ve been trying to fix instead?
The father of my child. The fantasy of family I once clung to. Friendships that ghosted. Versions of me that burned out. Some things aren’t projects, they’re graves. And I can lay them down now, lovingly.
23. What makes me feel truly held, by people, by practices, by presence?
Conversations without judgment. Voice notes from soul friends. Rituals that anchor me, from tea to prayer. My son’s laughter. A handmade gift coming out nicely. A client loving their order. These are the things that hold me. I’m learning to choose them over chaos.
24. What does my soul want to say that I keep editing out?
“I’m tired of being strong.”
“I want to be loved deeply, not needed endlessly.”
“I want ease, not just survival.”
“I want a soft life.”
“I want to clear all my debts and become financially free.”
“I want to give and uplift my family, not from expectation but overflow.”
“I want to rest, travel and to enjoy life.”
“I want to quit my job and build a 6-figure business empire.”
I’m done diluting my truth. She deserves to be heard, unfiltered, unashamed.
25. What if this is the soft beginning, not the final becoming?
Then I breathe. I let go of timelines. I honor the now. I romanticize this chapter. I stop waiting to feel “ready” and start embracing this gentle unfolding as holy ground.
26. What am I ready to finally believe is possible for me?
Love that honors me. Money that multiplies. Health that radiates. Work that fulfills. Peace that stays. I’m not just hoping anymore, I believe. I’m the one. And it’s already happening.
Final Reflection
These questions didn’t always come with answers, at least not right away. Some came in breaking points, others in divine silence. But every single one brought me closer to myself. And that is the true gift of turning 26, coming home to the woman I’ve always been becoming. If any of these questions stirred something in you, let them sit with you. Journal them. Walk with them. Speak them aloud. Because sometimes, one honest question is all it takes to begin again.
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