Last September, magazine editors were asking writers to pitch the “New Year, New You” article. I started writing for magazines when I was 50, after my first book was published, and I’m now 68: that’s at least 18 times I’ve been asked to write one of those. Can we not? Can we stop with the implication that we are not quite right as we are? I suppose women’s consumer mags like them because they attract advertising convincing us we must buy our way out of wrinkles and tubbiness. We don’t have to do that: let’s embrace them instead.
Every January, self-improvement is presented as moral hygiene. Apparently we’ve got to have a clean slate, a fresh start, a sort-yourself-out opportunity. The implication is not just that change is possible, but that it is overdue. That you have been failing quietly all year and now the bill has arrived. Less sugar, more discipline, fewer pleasures, better behaviour. The only thing I’d suggest is that if you didn’t use your gym membership in the last six months, cancel it.
Why does this message land so easily? Why do so many of us feel a familiar twinge of shame the moment we see it? Why does the idea that we are not good enough feel so immediately believable? My theory is that most of us grew up learning that approval came with conditions. We were praised when we behaved well, worked hard, achieved things or made life easier for other people. For many of us, love was rarely framed as something we simply had by virtue of existing. It was something we earned. That belief has a long shelf life: January rolls around offering improvement as a route to worthiness, and it presses an old button. If I fix myself, then I can relax. If I become better, thinner, calmer, more productive, then I will finally be acceptable. The problem is that the goalposts move. There is no finish line where the inner critic packs up and says: well done, you can stop now.
The drive to be better often masks a fear of being rejected as we are. And yet learning to tolerate ourselves, is what actually allows growth to happen.
New year’s resolutions often fail not because we are lazy or weak-willed, but because they are so often driven by self-rejection rather than self-care. You cannot build a sustainable life on the belief that you are fundamentally lacking. That does not mean nothing should ever change. You will get older, more tired, and need more rest and, quite possibly, more chocolate.
The problem is the kind of willpower we are encouraged to use. There are, broadly speaking, two sorts. The first is what I think of as “Victorian will”. Victorian will is about deprivation. It is about forcing yourself to do more, be better, eat less, and push through, preferably while feeling slightly miserable. It relies on discipline, grit and a sense that comfort is suspect. The second is “skilful will”, and it works differently. Skilful will is not about doing without, but about gaining something. It is about being in the driving seat of your own life and steering it in a direction you actually want to go. Victorian will says: I have to stay up all night to study. Skilful will says: I am doing this work because a professional qualification will give me a better life. One is fuelled by punishment, the other by meaning. And it is the second, not the first, that tends to last.
Change happens all the time, usually in quieter, less dramatic ways. You might get a bit more assertive this year. Not in a performative confidence way, but in the sense of noticing when something does not feel right and trusting that information. You might decide to cut yourself some slack, having realised that relentless self-criticism has never actually made you kinder, more effective or happier.
You might work a bit less hard and discover that your value does not evaporate when you do less. You might enjoy yourself more, not as a reward for productivity, but because enjoyment is part of being alive, not something that has to be justified. It might be that you enjoy being productive.
But the obsession with becoming “better” or “skinnier” is worth examining. These are not neutral goals. They are socially rewarded traits, particularly for women, because they make other people more comfortable. Smaller bodies, quieter voices, fewer needs. When self-improvement consistently points in that direction, it is more about compliance than about health or growth.
The drive to be better often masks a fear of being rejected as we are. And yet learning to tolerate ourselves, imperfections and all, is what actually allows growth to happen. When we feel good enough as we already are, we are far more capable of change.
So perhaps this year does not need a reinvention. Perhaps it needs a relationship repair, with yourself. One with less monitoring and no weighing or measuring. More acceptance with a side order of curiosity about why you do what you do, and more compassion when the answer is not flattering.
New Year, Old You. You are good enough exactly as you are. You are still learning, still inconsistent and still worthy of care and respect without first having to prove anything. And that is a far better place to begin January.
A very happy new year to one and all.
Philippa Perry is a psychotherapist, writer and broadcaster. Her Ask Philippa advice column is on Substack