I Fell Off the Resolution Bandwagon — Now What?

I am not someone who waits for the ball to drop and then dramatically declares, This is the year everything changes. I don’t need January 1st to become a new me. I tend to live in a quieter, ongoing loop of self-examination: noticing what’s working, what isn’t, and nudging things back into alignment when they drift.

That said, I’m not above a good symbolic moment. If the spirit moves me, I’ll happily let a highlighted day on the calendar—New Year’s Day, my birthday, the start of Lent—serve as a gentle signal to begin again. Not a makeover. Just a reset.

Whether I jump on the New Year’s resolution train usually depends on how December went. If I arrive at Christmas week tired, overextended, and vaguely nausea when I see too many  twinkly lights, I know better than to pile discipline on top of depletion. That’s not wisdom; that’s self-preservation.

This year, though, was different. My reserves were in decent shape. I felt clear enough—mentally and physically—to do a little housekeeping. Nothing heroic. Just recommitting to a morning meditation and journaling practice that had slipped into the “hit or miss” category.

Fast-forward thirteen days.

A quick glance at my journal before falling asleep confirmed what I already suspected: I’d missed two days. Now, I have friends who do Dry January every year with impressive creativity—fancy sparkling waters, artisanal non-alcoholic beers, elaborate explanations at dinner parties. And then there are the others who accept a glass of red wine, take one grateful sip, and later say—half sheepish, half relieved—“Well, I broke it. Guess I’ll try again next year.”

That, my friend, is the wrong habit-forming mindset.

Resolutions aren’t moral contracts. They’re directional choices. They’re simply about moving from where you are toward where you’d like to be. Unlike a road trip, though, where once you arrive you’re done—tires worn, mileage logged, destination achieved—changing something in your life is not a one-and-done event.

It’s a relationship.

You say yes to it.
You forget.
You come back.
You say yes again.

Over time, the effort does ease. The practice does become more natural. That’s what habits look like once they’ve taken root. But until then, the work is mostly about recommitment—over and over, without the drama.

So if you’re with me and have already missed a day (or several) in your shiny new commitment, here’s the good news: nothing is ruined. You haven’t failed. You haven’t “blown it.” You’re just human.

Here are a few ways to reset without turning this into a character flaw.

First, be honest — and kind — about what happened.
There’s no upside to beating yourself up. Truly. What is useful is a little gentle curiosity. What actually got in the way? Were you tired? Overbooked? A little resentful of the whole thing? Understanding the moment you stepped away from your intention is far more helpful than pretending it won’t happen again. It will. Knowing your patterns just gives you a better chance of meeting yourself there next time.

Second, make sure the payoff actually matters to you.
Not the version of you who sounds impressive at dinner, but the real one who wakes up in the morning. If you don’t care deeply about why you’re doing this, your resolve won’t stand a chance. Keep the reason close. For some people that’s a phrase, an image, a memory, or a feeling they want more of. If the change doesn’t feel meaningful, it will quietly slip to the bottom of the list — and honestly, that’s information worth listening to.

Third, increase the enjoyment wherever you can.
We tend to underestimate how much “fun” matters. If the process feels grim, it won’t last. This doesn’t mean turning everything into a party — just adding a small element of comfort or pleasure. For me, it was making a favorite matcha before sitting down to journal. Slightly ridiculous? Maybe. Effective? Completely. Sometimes enjoyment isn’t indulgence; it’s sustainability.

Fourth, make the commitment smaller than your ego wants it to be.
Big goals are inspiring. Small goals are doable. If you’re stuck, you may have aimed too high, too fast. Try reducing the habit to something so manageable it feels almost silly. Five minutes. One page. One walk around the block. Momentum is built on evidence, not ambition. Success — even quiet success — has a way of inviting us back.

And that’s it. No dramatic restart. No waiting until next January. Just a return.

You didn’t fall off the bandwagon.
You stepped off for a moment.
You can step back on — right where you are.