Since 2020, I’ve been setting a word of the year. My word for 2026 is unlike any other…
Probably because I’m writing this on the other side of a heartbreak that doesn’t show up on an X-ray.
Why My Word For 2026 is Different
I think that sometimes people look at all I have achieved and think that dreams have been easy for me. They have not.
Recently, I went all in on a few big dreams. Not just “try and see what happens” all in. I’m talking about:
- products and packaging,
- pitch materials,
- editing and design,
- shipping and mailing costs,
- hours and hours of time…
…and most of all?
All of my hope.
For more than five years, I’ve dreamed about seeing my products in Oprah’s Favorite Things. I’ve applied multiple times. I’ve prayed. I’ve fully imagined what it would mean to have my message of hope and empathy amplified to children and families around the world.
At the same time, I submitted a mental health writing project to The Black List. It is a novel I have been writing for two years and it is so personal to me.
For reasons I couldn’t fully explain, I was convinced I’d “win” both.
Everything I pour into the world is meaningful, therapeutic, and filled with my whole heart. This was not something I threw together. I brought my very best.
But this time, my very best just didn’t get the outcomes I prayed for.
I did not get Oprah’s Favorite Things.
I did not win the mental health writing competition. A competition I believed in my bones was created just for me.
There’s no neat little scoring system that tells you how close you were. But on the inside… it felt like I wasn’t even in the same universe.
And then, layered on top of all that personal disappointment, came the constant drumbeat of ugliness in the world—violence, injustice, cruelty online and off. My hope meter took a serious hit.
I felt depressed. Heavy. Aimless. Foggy. And because of my faith, the fall hurt even more.
Why the Fall Hurt So Much: Faith, Expectation, and “Calling Things That Aren’t”
My faith teaches me to call the things that aren’t as if they are.
So, I didn’t just apply for these opportunities. I spoke life over them. I prayed over boxes at the post office. I imagined the emails that would say Congratulations. I pictured the moment someone on Oprah’s team would read my story and say, “Yes. This. The world needs this.”
I didn’t tiptoe toward the dream. I declared it.
And that’s the thing about hope rooted in faith:
When you claim something as if it’s already yours, and it doesn’t happen—
it can feel like the ground disappears under your feet.
My Hot Air Balloon Filled With Dreams
The best way I can describe this season is with a picture.
It felt like I climbed into a hot air balloon with every single one of my dreams:
- my books,
- my mental health work,
- my message of dreams, hope, and empathy,
- my desire to reach children and families everywhere.
And we went up, up, up… and it was beautiful up there.
I could see everything—the possibilities, the people I long to help, the impact I’ve prayed for.
Then, in one gut-wrenching moment, it felt like the wind shifted and the balloon collapsed.
Me… and all my dreams… came crashing down.
When I hit the ground, I felt the presence of a group of people standing there with their arms crossed, shaking their heads:
“It’s your own fault. You never should have been flying that high.”
“Who did you think you were?”
“Oh, you thought you were special.”
“You had no business up there.”
I sat in that place for too long and I absorbed every word. I agreed with those voices, real or imagined:
- You’re right. I shouldn’t have gone that high.
- I shouldn’t have believed that big.
- I had no business asking God for that much.
- Maybe I really am not that special after all.
That’s the thing about disappointment: it doesn’t just question your dream, it tries to rewrite your entire identity.
The People Who Helped Me Stand Back Up
But that’s not where the story ends.
Because when the dust settled, there was an actual group of people around me. Real people. The ones I count on.
They didn’t come with crossed arms; they came with open hands.
These are the people who:
- picked me up and brushed me off,
- gathered my dreams off the ground like fragile glass,
- handed them back to me and said,
“What are you doing down here?”
“You are absolutely not dumb for following your heart.”
“You are not done.”
“Get back up there!”
These people reminded me:
- We cushioned your fall.
- We were here and we will be here.
- Your dreams are still alive.
And even with all that love and support, I still wasn’t ready.
My body felt the weight of it all:
- my chest felt like an elephant had stepped on it and left a hole,
- my stomach felt hollow and jumpy,
- my bones were tired,
- my head was thick with fog.
Sometimes, even when your mind knows the right words, your body still needs time to catch up.
So I rested. I sat with the grief. I remembered the view from that hot air balloon.
And I asked myself a hard question:
What is the alternative?
To never go that high again?
To never risk again?
Would I be better off never having seen that view at all?
Because that view… the glimpse of what’s possible… that was real. And I want to see it again.
The Silly Social Media Game That Gave Me My Word for 2026
One day, while I was still sitting in that fog, I stumbled on one of those silly posts on social media:
“Find the first three words you see. These are what you need to bring with you into 2026.”
Normally I’d roll my eyes a little and scroll on. But that day, I tried.
And do you know what happened?
I couldn’t see a single word.
I stared and stared, and my brain felt so tired, my hope so low, that I honestly thought:
This must be a trick. There are no words in here.
But finally, I found one:
RUST.
I thought, Of course.
Rust. That sounds about right.
Rust felt like:
- wasted time,
- faded shine,
- imperfection,
- and all the places my heart felt corroded by disappointment.
I actually laughed a sad little woe is me laugh and thought, Yep. That tracks. I’ll bring rust into 2026.
But something in me wouldn’t leave it there.
I rubbed my eyes. I pulled back from the screen. I widened my focus.
And when I looked again, I saw it:
The word wasn’t rust.
It was TRUST.
Just one letter different.
Just one small shift.
But it changed everything for me.
My Word of the Year for 2026: Trust
For the past five years, I’ve chosen a word of the year—an emotional anchor for the months ahead. My word of the year is a beacon that guides me and focuses me in my decision making.
This year, the word found me.
Trust.
Trust does not erase disappointment.
Trust does not guarantee Oprah’s list, or a writing competition, or whatever your version of “the big yes” might be.
Trust means:
- I will keep calling things that aren’t as if they are,
- I will keep showing up with my whole heart,
- I will keep putting my dreams in the hot air balloon,
…even when I can’t control the wind.
Trust says:
- God saw every effort, every box mailed, every prayer whispered.
- My worth is not measured in acceptance emails.
- My calling is not canceled by someone else’s “no.”
I almost missed it. I couldn’t see any word at all.
Then I saw the wrong word.
But when I stepped back and cleared my vision, the right word appeared.
That’s what disappointment does: it shrinks your view until all you can see is rust—everything that feels ruined and worn.
Trust invites you to step back and take another look.
What I’m Bringing With Me Into 2026
So to help me move forward in this season:
- I’m holding tight to my dreams.
- I’m acknowledging how hard it was to fall.
- I’m remembering how beautiful the view was up there.
- I’m listening to the voices who say, “Get back up there. You’re not done.”
And most of all:
I’m bringing TRUST with me into 2026.
Trust in God.
Trust that the universe conspires for me, not against me.
Trust in the work I’ve done.
Trust in the timing I don’t understand yet.
Trust that my message is absolutely special.
Trust that the view I saw from that hot air balloon wasn’t a tease—it was a preview.
I’m heading back up.
Not because I’m guaranteed the outcome I want.
But because my faith teaches me to call things that aren’t as if they are—
and my heart refuses to stop believing that my dreams are meant to reach the people who need them.
It is true that my faith is a big part of the reason why that fall hurt so much.
But my faith is also the whole reason why I am going back up.
If You’re Reading This From the Ground
Maybe you’ve had your own hot air balloon crash this year.
Maybe you launched the business, wrote the book, applied for the grant, submitted the application, made the big ask—and the answer was a painful, echoing no.
Maybe you also believe in speaking life over your dreams, and now you feel foolish for how deeply you allowed yourself to believe.
If that’s you, I want you to hear this:
- You are not dumb.
- You are not done.
- You had every right to go that high.
Don’t let disappointment convince you that you were wrong to dream.
Rest if you need to. Cry if you need to.
But when you’re ready, consider this your invitation:
- pick your dreams back up,
- choose your own word for the year,
- and little by little, let yourself rise again.
The view is still there.
The world is still waiting for what only you can bring.
And if you need a word to borrow until you find your own?
You can borrow mine: Trust.
If you could use a few more words of encouragement, here’s a digital copy of my book “In the Meantime: Hope, Healing, and Survival for Tired Hearts”. It is part love letter, part survival guide for those struggling with overwhelm and burnout. It will be your hand to hold as you navigate how to keep living and dreaming during hard seasons.