The most important thing I've done ahead of 2026.

I’m in the Australian bush.

My husband has just taken my kids to the beach because I’ve been bursting to write. The whole car ride down I was either playing DJ, slinging snacks, reaching my boob into my not-a-baby-anymore’s mouth for a car-ride nap and also trying to jot down some notes for all the things I want to write.

Also, I was having a mild Substack debate with a celebrity who used the term ‘embarrassingly white’ while arguing with a woman. As in, your response is ‘embarrassingly white’.

Usually I wouldn’t comment on something like that, it’s a sensitive topic. But what I’m observing is that white women are now encouraged to self loathe as a way to prove they’re not racist. In fact, it’s the only way to prove you’re not racist— hating yourself and your heritage.

I wrote a whole piece on this before Christmas and held off pushing ‘publish’ because I wanted to enjoy my peace. You know? That piece will come later to paid subscribers.

Yes yes yes that’s right. I’m going rogue, I’m back in the saddle, I’ve got an archive of things to write about and I’ve gone through my process and circled back to where I was when I started writing on Substack four years ago— a beautiful, two tiered publication. A free tier, and a paid tier that just goes off with the unfiltered and unperformed. The stuff that could never be on Instagram.

The paid membership is like the cordoned off room in a club (remember those days for a sweet brief moment). It’s more quiet. Better conversations. You can actually hear each other speak. The couches are velvet. There are no creeps speaking incoherently after too many drinks and breathing their alcohol breath on you. Gosh, reminds me of when I used to work on the door at the hottest Sunday session in Perth. Maybe that’s what put me off alcohol. All of those drunk guys breathing way too close to my face asking if I could usher their 12 mates ahead of the bikies that were at the front of the line.

Anyway, we’re back baby, and I’m not turning the paid subs off anytime soon. I promise I’m not going to reach premenstrual phase and decide I need to hide in a cupboard and shut it all off because I don’t want the internal pressure I put on myself to write something MIND BLOWING every week ok? I pinky promise. I’m grown now.

I am grateful to have so many loyal readers who totally understand the creative process and also my integrity with turning my subscription off when I didn’t feel I was writing regularly enough.

That integrity does matter to me.

There are some Substackers out there who charge a paid subscription even if they don’t post for 6 months. Recently I saw that Ballerina Farm charges a paid subscription for her Substack ‘The Goose Gazette’— $155 AUD a year and $16 AUD a month but she hasn’t posted since July. There are people in her private thread saying ‘um, are there any new posts?’.

It’s gonna be a no from me dawg.

Anyway, I have no grand promises to write a mind-blowing piece every week. But I do want to continue to create an piercingly honest, unperformed and high quality archive. I want that space to say the things that would make me wince, hold my breath and await the onslaught on Instagram. I want you to get to read things that go beyond the performative and diluted language we’ve learned since being trained to please the algorithm like circus monkeys.

Some writing needs a smaller room. That’s what the paid subscription is for.

That’s not what I came to write about today though, it’s just some housekeeping.

I came to give you something else.

It’s almost the start of a fresh new year. I know it can feel like a lot of pressure to think up big goals and have mega clear direction and make big compelling claims about what you’re going to do better than last year.

Be more content.

Be less content and more hungry for a wild life and move to Bali, or Poland. Poland looks really good right now.

Get off your phone and be the mum you wanna be.

Get a dumb phone and a typewriter and be as analog as possible without being Amish.

Be Amish.

Get off IG and go hard on Substack.

Write the dam book.

Learn the language.

Bake from scratch and stop giving up on your sourdough when it starts to throw tantrums.

Post everyday on IG despite feeling desperately cringe.

Change direction entirely.

Pray more.

Change your body.

Get new bathers that don’t ride up your bum so you don’t look like a try hard 20’ something every time you go to the beach.

Regulate your emotions.

Stop eating protein bars.

Stop self sabotaging.

Start using your imagination for good and not imagining your car is gonna blow up when you drive because you saw a tiny puddle underneath the tyre (true story this one).

I’m not here to ask what your big compelling move is gonna be for January. Most mums are still recovering from delivering the Christmas spirit in full force and aren’t quite up for the high pressure situation of ‘WELL HOW ARE YOU GOING TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE IN THE NEXT TWO DAYS BEFORE 2026 HUH?! HOW ARE YOU GONNA BE HOTTER AND A BETTER MUM AND WIFE AND BE MORE GODLY AND COOLER ON SOCIALS AND BE BETTER AND MORE SOUND OF AN INDIVIDUAL HUH?!’

I mean, don’t we do that every single day?

I asked you in my last piece, what will you make of your freedom?

I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I want to tell you the most important thing I’ve done recently with my freedom.

I also want to tell you something I’ve come full circle on regarding the importance of imagination and taking control of your mind… and how I briefly let the influence of some culturally christian ideas make me ‘lose my mind’.

Let me begin with the most important thing I’ve done ahead of 2026….