The stretch between Christmas and New Year is a strange one. Time doesn’t behave normally. My kids are home, feral in that special post-Christmas way. The kitchen is counter is cluttered with abandoned art projects and debris from never-ending snack prep. My inbox still exists, unfortunately.

And yet — this is the week I trust myself most in business.

I deeply believe in rest and over the holidays that goes out the window. After Christmas those first few days I insist on as much couch potato time as I can manage, but my brain is quietly working in the background. In that stretch between Christmas and New Year’s, the noise drops just enough that I can see things clearly. No massive 5 year plans. No pressure to reinvent myself. No pretending I want to “hit the ground running.”

This week isn’t for starting. It’s for noticing.

i’m not resetting my life. i’m just re-entering it.

I run a home-based business. There’s no dreamy storefront walk-through, no locking the door at the end of the day and stepping into a quiet street. My business lives where my real life lives — between the oven, the pantry shelves, the never-ending loads of laundry.

So when people talk about “resetting” their business, I take it loosely.

This isn’t a big reset. It’s a soft one.

More like standing in the kitchen after everyone’s gone to bed, looking around, and thinking:
Okay. What actually worked here? And what am I done pretending I enjoy?

this week isn’t about goals — it’s about paying attention

I don’t set goals this week. I don’t map out the year. I don’t ask myself who I’m becoming in the next twelve months.

I look at facts.

I look at:

• What sold easily during the holiday rush
• What required constant explaining, fixing, or emotional energy
• Which bakery items I actually enjoyed making repeatedly
• Which pantry staples people came back for without a sales pitch
• What vintage and furniture pieces moved simply because they were good

I notice where I felt capable and where I felt stretched thin in a way that wasn’t noble — just annoying.

This is less “CEO strategy session” and more “quiet inventory of reality.”

the only reset ritual i believe in

My version of a reset is deeply unglamorous.

I clean.

Not in a symbolic way — in a literal way.

• Wiping shelves
• Reorganizing ingredients
• Checking expiration dates
• Making sure I still believe in what I’m selling

I update a few things that have been bugging me:

• Labels that feel unclear
• Processes that got sloppy during peak season
• Notes to myself about what not to repeat next year

No new systems. No color-coded plans. Just small corrections that make the business easier to live inside.

subtraction is the whole point

Every year, something quietly gets cut.

A product that technically sold but drained me.
An offer that made the backend chaotic.
A timeline that only worked if I ignored my own limits.

This week makes those decisions obvious.

I don’t need more ideas. I need fewer things asking for my attention.

If it doesn’t earn its keep — financially or energetically — it doesn’t come with me.

Life is short. I have bills to pay. I also want to enjoy my days.

Both things matter.

letting the business match the season

Winter is slower by design. Heavier. More intentional.

This is when I lean into:

• Fewer, better goods
• Developing a rotation of items that all feel like absolutely faves
• Practical pantry staples that make daily life feel nicer
• Vintage and furniture that doesn’t need explaining

I don’t force momentum. I let the business be quieter without assuming something is wrong.

Not everything needs to be optimized. Some things just need to be tended.

this isn’t a reveal. it’s maintenance.

There’s no announcement coming out of this week.
No “new era.”
No dramatic pivot.

Just a business that’s been gently adjusted so it fits my life a little better than it did before.

January can have the plans and the structure and the ambition.
This week is for honesty.

And honestly?
If the business can pay the bills and leave room for a life I actually want to be in — that’s the only metric I care about right now.