One Last Note for 2025
A year of learning and letting go.
If you had told me this time last year that 2025 would include two published books, news segments, bookstore shelves, speaking rooms, and readers across oceans, I might have thought you were dreaming too big for me. Yet here we are.
Two books now live in the world. Little hands are holding We Can Help. Parents are choosing to simplify with Let’s Choose Less. I had conversations with people I never expected to reach. I received notes from readers saying, “This helped me.” These were the highs.
Alongside the highs were some beautifully humbling lows. Launching is exhilarating, but it can also be awkward and draining. Some strategies worked brilliantly. Others were expensive, time-consuming, or barely made a sound. I learned by trial, error, hope, and persistence. I learned that growth rarely feels glamorous while it is happening. I learned that visibility does not guarantee confidence. I learned that what looks like failure is often just information for the next season.
This year did not shape me because I got everything right. It shaped me because I finally admitted that getting everything right was never the assignment. Connection was. Presence was. Enough was.
I relearned that my job as a mother, creator, and human is not to be extraordinary, but to pay attention. To walk the slow way home. To show up imperfectly. To allow interruptions to become invitations. To put down reasonable to-do lists because someone wants a snuggle or a snack or a long conversation about fossils.
Maybe you relearned some things too. Maybe you said no more often than you said yes. Maybe you discovered that joy does not require achievement. It simply asks to be noticed. Maybe you stepped out of the churn and whispered, “What if simple is enough?”
As we step into 2026, here is what I am carrying with me. Small rhythms matter more than grand plans. I want less to manage and more to savor. Family culture is built on ordinary Tuesdays rather than perfect Saturdays. Progress counts even when no one applauds it. Trying something big, even imperfectly, is better than waiting until everything feels ready.
If you have been here reading, cheering, replying, or resonating, I want to say thank you. This little corner of the internet has held stories, confessions, courage, and gentle nods that say, “me too.”
I cannot imagine a better way to close the year than with gratitude. Thank you for your presence. Thank you for your vulnerability. Thank you for cheering me on through the book launches, the pivots, and the experiments.
Here is to 2026. To intentional rhythms. To deeper roots. To homes that feel lived in and loved in. To families practicing connection on purpose.
I will see you in January. Until then, rest. Notice. Breathe. And remember that average families doing ordinary things often change the world quietly.
With deep gratitude,
Jenna
P.S. What was your high this year, and what was a low that taught you something important? I would love to hear.
P.P.S. If this space has encouraged you this year, consider ordering a book for someone who might need it or subscribing so you do not miss what comes next. Small actions like these allow me to keep writing and sharing with you.