This Year, Hold on to Your Light

A few days ago, I spent New Year’s Eve with the person I love most. It was quiet, calm, and the exact kind of evening I needed for where I am in life. We decided to keep things small, unplug for the evening, and soak in the moment. My plan the next morning was to have a cup of coffee, sit down, and write y’all a message—something to start the new year right with a little encouragement and hope.

But then I woke up, like many of you, to the devastating news coming out of New Orleans. I was heartbroken for the families, the victims, and the community devastated by such a horrific loss of life.

On a day that should highlight the joy of fresh starts, it felt like hope had been stabbed in the underbelly. And you better believe our politicians couldn’t wait to step in and spin us a narrative. Within hours, the internet was already full of hot takes and finger-pointing. To me, it felt like another devastating loss—the loss of empathy—was unfolding before my eyes.

I know it is all too easy for people to create an enemy that we can defeat. It gives us the illusion of control. If we can remove “the problem,” maybe none of this will ever happen again. But the truth is more complex. And I think we all know that.

These tragedies begin when children are born into a world that doesn’t feel safe. They grow up in angry environments where kindness and empathy are lacking, surrounded by the chaos of a dangerous world. Most of the time, their families can do little to protect them when the sky is exploding all around them.

The sad truth is that I cannot fix this devastating problem from where I sit—in America or in my own home.

Watching the news cycle, it’s easy to feel hopeless. And I wonder sometimes if that’s the point. It feels like the media is designed to make these horrors feel immediate and inescapable.

The truth is, none of us were built to witness so much pain from every corner of the world, every single day, in such vivid and colorful detail. It makes us feel paralyzed, or it makes us lash out and fight battles that lead us nowhere. Fear and anger will have you flooring the gas down a dead-end road.

And that’s what I realized today. If I want this year to be full of peace and hope, I’m going to have to be very careful about what I consume. Because the way forward, for me at least, cannot be through trying to take on the whole world’s pain at once.

Please hear me: I am not saying indifference is the answer. I’m not saying we forget what’s happening or stop caring. What I am saying is that instead of giving my energy to hopelessness, I direct it to what’s happening under my roof. I step back, make my circle smaller, and focus on what I can control.

For me, in these moments, that means loving my children. Answering their hard questions, having tender conversations. Creating a home where they safe. It’s about making sure they feel loved and secure when everything outside feels uncertain.

Because that is what I can control. And that is where real change starts. Not on the internet, not in endless arguments, but in the small, intentional acts of love that ripple outward. We may not be able to heal the world, but if we do, it will begin at home. And that healing will grow into something bigger and more meaningful over time.

Over the last couple of years, I have scratched my way out of an emotional and spiritual ditch. I know that I have changed in so many ways, and for some of you, I may even seem unrecognizable. But I can tell you this: what I’ve learned is that the world is not changing quickly. Horrible things will continue to happen. My heart will be tugged toward solving these problems, and my mind and body will feel exhausted by the effort.

So, as we step into this new year, I want to share with you a very simple, very healing lesson that I am still trying to learn—a lesson in serenity.

To accept what we cannot change.

The courage to focus on what we can.

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Work on this, and you will discover that it’s possible to hold two things at once: heartbreak for what is happening in the world and gratitude for what you can build and nurture in your own life.

And that is my New Year’s wish: that you will stay informed, yes, but also choose to protect your beautiful hearts by stepping away when the darkness feels heavy and turning your face toward the sun. When we find ourselves staring into the darkness, it’s often because we’ve stopped looking for the light. I pray that you do not let anyone or anything—or any horrible news story—extinguish that light.

I hope that I am honoring the loss of life in New Orleans by doing my best to prevent it in the only way I know how: by investing more love in the world.

Because when you protect your peace, you protect your heart. When you protect your heart, you protect your home. And if every single one of us was doing this work, we might just heal humanity.

This year, may you discover the healing power of serenity.

Hold on to your love and your light.

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Dear friends,

It means everything to me that you’re here. Writing is not only my work—it’s my way of connecting with you, and I’m deeply grateful for that. I’ll always keep my words open and accessible because encouragement should never come with a price tag.

For those of you who choose to support this work financially, thank you for keeping the lights on.

With love and gratitude,

Mary Katherine