How revisiting old lessons built competence, confidence, and a quieter kind of progress.

It’s Sunday, December 28 — and with the year coming to a close, it felt like the right time to reflect.

Not in a “new year, new me” kind of way — but in a way that’s actually useful.

The purpose of Ambyr Things has always been to document what I’m doing to move closer to the life I dream about — not perfectly, but transparently.

Reflection is part of that process. It’s how I audit what worked, what didn’t, and what needs to shift so I can move forward in ways that align with my values, my family, and my peace.

I’m sharing this because you’ve been part of the journey 🤎. Some of you just arrived, others have been here for a while — and I want this space to be one where we can say the things out loud.

I went into 2025 without a New Year’s resolution for the first time — and still experienced one of the most progressive years of my life. I took risks, met new people, stretched myself, and extended grace where I once would’ve pushed harder.

So when I thought about 2026, the question wasn’t What do I want to achieve?

It was What would feel honoring in how I move forward?

For me, growth isn’t about resolutions — it’s about increasing competence in the areas I’ve struggled with before. Because when you’re praying for big dreams, you’re often revisited by old lessons. Not to punish you — but to prepare you.

Some lessons aren’t learned once. They’re refined over a lifetime.

And readiness for what’s next looks a lot like faith, consistency, and growth in the places that once held you back.

With that in mind, here are the four themes that shaped my year:

Friendship, Boundaries, Faith, and Rest.

Friendship

One of the biggest lessons this year was realizing that everybody is not your little friend.

There are a lot of people who want access without relationship. Connection without reciprocity. Familiarity without care.

And this year required me to audit not just who I was keeping close — but how I was showing up in friendships, too.

Because of the way I grew up, I treat friends like family. And I still believe that’s a beautiful thing when the respect, effort, and mutual consideration are there.

But 2025 made it clear that keeping people around simply because of comfort or shared history is a disservice to everyone involved.

Love doesn’t disappear just because alignment does.

Another hard truth I had to face is this: your dream should be taking up the majority of your time. For me, that’s my family, Ambyr Things, and the life we’re intentionally building. So any time I step away from that — it needs to be worth it.

I’ve spent time with elderly people at the end of their lives. I’ve sat bedside and listened. And I’ve never once heard someone say they wished they’d gone to more birthday parties out of obligation, or spent more time with people who admitted to being jealous of them. And yes — that really happened to me.

What they did care about was living in alignment with who they were meant to be.

That doesn’t make misaligned relationships easier to navigate in the moment. But it does make the decision clearer.

In this season, my circle needs to support the life I’m building — not distract me from it.

Boundaries

I’ve been told more than once — by both professionals and everyday people — that I have people-pleasing tendencies.

As if that was news. 😅

But 2025 was the first year I didn’t just acknowledge it — I sat with it. I asked why it keeps showing up.

Why do I say yes when I want to say no?

Why does directness feel scary?

Why do I assume people won’t rise to the occasion if I ask for what I need?

Why do I accept invitations simply because they were extended?

These are lessons I’ve revisited year after year. But this time, instead of rushing past them, I stuck my toe in the water to see what would happen if I chose differently.

And honestly? The shift was immediate.

So for 2026, I plan to wade in a little deeper.

Three things I’ll be honoring moving forward:

The power of saying no without an explanation
Listening to the subtle signals my body sends when something or someone feels unaligned (headaches, rumination, anxiety, confusion)
Creating space between invitation and commitment — going home, thinking it through, and responding from clarity instead of pressure

Boundaries aren’t walls. They’re information.

Faith

This year marked one of the most transformational seasons of my life when it comes to faith — both spiritually and practically.

For a long time, I believed my dreams were tied to how hard I worked, how disciplined I was, or how much I could will things into existence.

Then I heard a sermon that broke down the idea of active waiting in a way I’d never encountered — even though I was raised in the church.

It changed everything.

For the first time, I felt permission to exhale. To stop carrying the full weight of outcomes. For me, that surrender is to God — but however you frame it, the idea is the same.

If something is truly meant for you, the only thing fully in your control is getting in the way.

We cannot give ourselves our own blessings.

If you know — deeply know — what you’re called to do, then your role isn’t to force it forward. It’s to prepare.

Active waiting looks like doing the work now so that when the door opens, you’re ready.

Declutter your mind. Tend to your family and your space. Learn the skills. Protect your energy.

God is the God of suddenly.

And this — this is the journey.

Rest

Rest was the area where I realized I lacked the most competence.

Before this year, rest meant sleep or stepping away briefly before jumping back into productivity. I’ve always been exceptional when I’m locked in — and I wore that “hustler” badge proudly for years.

I pushed myself to be faster, stronger, more reliable. I carried everything because someone had to.

Being labeled “the responsible one” comes with a cost. It teaches you that mistakes aren’t allowed. That rest equals risk. That worth is tied to output.

But here’s the truth I had to face:

If you are always doing the carrying, there’s no room for you to be carried.

And for the dreams I’m praying for — stamina matters. Clarity matters. Energy and a highly attuned intuition matter.

So, rest is arguably more important than the actions themselves.

Rest, for me, looks like:

Real sleep and the occasional nap
Slow self-care that calms my nervous system
Restorative yoga and stretching
Sitting on the floor with Weston, doing absolutely nothing productive
Drinking tea in silence, phone down, robe on
Journaling — laying everything out and surrendering it back to God
And yes, sometimes snacks and Netflix

Rest is not quitting.

It’s submission.

It’s choosing sustainability before depletion — and remembering that exhaustion is often a sign you’ve taken on work that isn’t yours to carry.

CLOSING

As this year comes to a close, my hope isn’t that you rush to set goals or reinvent yourself overnight.

Instead, I hope you take a moment to reflect on the lessons that kept showing up for you — the ones asking you to think higher, move differently, or care for yourself more regularlu.

Ask yourself:

Where am I growing in competence?

What am I being invited to do differently?

And what would it look like to move into the next year with more alignment than pressure?

Growth doesn’t always look like action. Sometimes it looks like clarity. Sometimes it looks like rest. And sometimes it looks like finally honoring what your body, your spirit, and your life have been trying to tell you all along.

If any part of this resonated, I’d love to hear what themes shaped your year, too. And if you’re entering the new year quietly, gently, or without a plan — know that can be just as powerful.

Here’s to moving forward with intention, faith, and a little more ease.

With Love,
Ambyr

What 2025 Taught Me About Friendship, Faith, Rest, and Boundaries