Freakin’ February

The Month That Sneaks Up and Quietly Judges You

Well. Here we are. Smack dab in the middle of February.

This would be less offensive if February were a generous month, a month with acreage. But February is a studio apartment of a month. It has 28 days. It barely has room for a sectional couch, let alone my unrealized potential.

And yet here we are.

January, which I distinctly remember arriving with the stern energy of a substitute teacher, has apparently packed up and left without so much as a forwarding address. I had plans for January. I was inspired. I had a new custom fitness tracker that proved I was a woman of power with measurable goals.

Now it’s mid-February. I’m still here (barely). I’m still trying (counting little wins). I’m still filling out the daily fitness tracker (as quickly as possible). I mean, I sort of have to - it’s sitting on my nightstand as a constant reminder of the incredible woman I aspire to become. I don’t need my already fickle sleep schedule getting further derailed by the accusatory tracker lying next to my head. 

Really though. How in the actual heck does February come flying in so fast with the reminder that time cannot and will not be stopped?!

The Grand Ceremony of January 1

Every year, on January 1, I wake up with the confidence of someone who has never met herself.

“This is the year,” I say.

This is the year I become the sort of person who:

• Wakes up before the sun (on purpose).

• Drinks water that isn’t disguised as coffee.

• Keeps a gratitude journal without using it as a list of complaints written in cursive.

• Exercises in a way that doesn’t involve angrily reorganizing a closet.

  
  

I don’t ease into these ambitions. I leap. I cannonball into them with the embarrassing enthusiasm of someone who hasn’t done a plank since 2017.

By January 3, I have purchased:

• A new water bottle the size of a toddler.

• Vitamins that require a minor swallowing ceremony.

• Athletic wear in colors that suggest I might run a 5K.

  
  

This is the honeymoon phase of my relationship with Myself 2.0. She is hydrated. She is focused. She thinks she can give up gluten. 

The Subtle Decline

Somewhere around January 11, things begin to wobble.

It starts small. I allow myself to count a trip to the mall with my daughter as a full workout. That’s a lot of steps, right? And it is important to have recovery days. I compensate by promising to work out very intensely the next day. Surely that counts. 

Then I have to admit that the vitamins are simply not for me. They are less like supplements and more like Matchbox cars. Swallowing them feels like forcing a parade down my throat.

By January 17, the tracker is losing its luster. What started as a beautifully handwritten reflection of accomplishments and gratitude has morphed into what looks like a set of rushed demands scribbled on a ransom note. 

By January 25, I find myself struggling to complete the daily workout while feeling like I’m stuck in quicksand, praying for the hour to pass. 

And then, on February 15, my daughter walks in and asks, “What day are you on of Sexy 60?” and I can’t believe my answer. 

What Happened to January?

The strangest part is how quickly it vanishes.

January is supposed to be long. It has 31 days. It has the emotional tone of a waiting room. And yet, every year, it disappears as though someone fast-forwarded the tape while I was adjusting my leggings.

I suspect January is not actually a month but a psychological experiment.

It begins with fireworks and declarations. It ends with you standing in your kitchen at 10:47 p.m., eating tortilla chips straight from the bag.

And then February arrives.

February does not knock. It simply stands there, arms crossed, pointing towards Valentine’s Day like a pink glittery deadline. Suddenly, we are talking about love and chocolate and questioning if we were just a touch overeager with our personal improvement goals. 

Mid-February is when you realize that if your New Year’s resolution was to “become your best self,” you may need to take a moment to redefine who that person really is. 

The Negotiation Phase

You’ve made some progress, and you don’t want to stop. Perhaps you can make some slight modifications to your initial plan. 

We are flexible. We are empowered. And we can be very creative when it comes to redefining our shortcomings.

The truth is, mid-February doesn’t feel like a failure. It feels like reality. The glitter has settled. The motivational quotes have stopped shouting. Life has resumed its regular programming: school drop-offs, important deadlines, laundry that breeds when left unattended.

January is aspirational. February is honest.

The Quiet Relief

Let’s just take a much-needed breath. 

Resolutions can be exhausting. They require constant self-surveillance. January Me is ready for the challenge and attacks everything I do with a clipboard.

February Me is more forgiving. She understands that growth doesn’t need to be a dramatic makeover montage, but more of a slow and steady shuffle.

By mid-February, I am no longer trying to become an entirely new person. I am simply moving forward with consistent and slight improvements. This feels way more sustainable.

Being flexible means recognizing little wins along the way. Looking at today compared to the end of last year, I’m still: drinking more water, focusing more on gratitude, getting more exercise, and even reading more. I may not have read twelve books, but I did start one. I even turned several pages. I’ll call that a win. 

And while I don’t wake up a 5 a.m. every day, I do wake up (at some point) every day. That alone feels like an underrated achievement.

A Modest Proposal

Maybe January isn’t about perfection. Maybe it’s about momentum. And maybe February is about mercy.

What if the real resolution is not to become someone else, but to pay closer attention to who we already are?

The woman who makes grand plans and buys the giant water bottle is hopeful. The woman eating tortilla chips before bed is human. Both deserve a seat at the table.

Mid-February is not a verdict. It’s a checkpoint.

Yes, January vanished. Yes, some resolutions have quietly retired. But there are still ten and a half months left to surprise yourself.

And if all else fails, there is always next January.

You got this!