I Already Failed My 2026 Writing Goals (And I’m Not Spiraling About It)

🎥 Prefer to watch? The full video version is here: Watch HereWe are barely into 2026, and I have already failed my writing goals for the year.And instead of spiraling about it — which, historically, would absolutely be my default setting, I had to ask myself a very serious question:What does life realistically look like for me right now?Because sometimes life is just… a lot.Especially for mothers.And I am a mother.So let’s talk about it.The Goal I BrokeA couple of videos back, I chose a word for the year: Stay.Stay when it gets hard.Stay when I don’t want to.Stay when life is life-ing.And I did not, in fact, stay.I told myself I would send Chapters 11–20 of my novel to my editor by the end of January.It’s mid-February.They’re not sent.The chapters exist. They’re written. But they’re still in that awkward first-draft stage that needs to become “Yes, queen. This is ready.”And I’ve been… stalling.Part of it is that I already knew I was behind before the year even started. December came and went. I told myself I’d edit a little here and there.I didn’t.I spent time with my kids. My editor was with her family. I relaxed.And now I’m in the same place I was two months ago.That stings.The Book (And The Identity Crisis)Here’s the messy part.The book I’m writing is fantasy/romantasy.But over the past year, I stopped reading fantasy. I went down a dark romance rabbit hole. My taste shifted. My interests shifted. And now I’m in this weird in-between space creatively.I’ll talk more about that shift soon, because it’s tied to some bigger life changes happening behind the scenes.But for now, just know this:I’m writing a book my heart doesn’t fully live in anymore — while trying to figure out where my heart actually wants to go.That creates tension.And tension creates resistance.The Part Where Life HappenedLet’s zoom out.I homeschool my kids.I was a teacher for years before this.This is my second year homeschooling — and somehow also my first.If you homeschool, you understand that sentence.We had to completely redo our schedule. Rethink curriculum. Stop overthinking curriculum. Rebuild rhythm. Fix the calendar so we could finish by May instead of drifting into summer chaos.It took weeks.Then my little brother had a baby.I promised I’d be there for the first week.I stayed for two.He’s 26, but he’s still my baby. I helped raise him. I needed to be there.It was beautiful. It was chaotic. It was worth it.But my son struggled hard with the change. He doesn’t understand time yet. In his little brain, being gone that long felt permanent. We got no homeschool done. No writing done.Then we came home.And we all got sick.The kind of sick that makes you question every life choice you’ve ever made.No sleep. No productivity. Just survival.We’re finally healthy. Finally in rhythm.And I still hadn’t started writing again.The Honest QuestionWhy?Why wasn’t I writing?Part of it is the creative identity shift I mentioned.Part of it is exhaustion.Part of it is fear of what changing direction might do to my “career.”There’s a war happening internally that I’m still sorting through.But instead of attacking myself every second of every day — which I have done before — I decided to ask:What does writing realistically look like in this season?What Writing Actually Looks Like Right NowIt doesn’t look aesthetic.It looks like:* Waking up at 4:30 a.m. (not 5:00 — 5:00 is betrayal, apparently)* Working from 4:30–8:00 before the kids come out of their rooms* Using 1–3 p.m. quiet time wisely* Writing in cracks of time* Reading in the bathtub at night* Accepting that I am in a hoodie with pajama pants hidden off-cameraFrom 4:30 to 8:00, I have about three and a half hours.That’s YouTube.That’s writing.That’s business.If I actually get up.From 1–3 p.m., we do quiet time. The kids separate. My five-year-old resets emotionally. I reset emotionally. Sometimes I write. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I stare at the wall and breathe.Fridays, Grandma helps.Weekends, my husband takes them to the park.I write in fragments.This is not the glamorous writer life people romanticize.This is writing inside constraint.The Season I’m InI have littles.Seven and five.They still want me.They still like me.And something in my personal journey right now is pressing hard on the idea of presence. Of being here. Of not missing this.So I’m letting go of the perfect aesthetic.I am not going to look put together every video.I am not going to pretend I have it all balanced.I am not going to act like this is clean and streamlined.It’s messy.I’m writing in the mess.Why I’m Documenting ThisBecause ten years from now — if my books are on shelves and people are talking about them — I want to look back at this version of me.The hoodie.The chaos.The doubt.The homeschool schedule.The 4:30 a.m. alarm.The zero confidence that anyone would ever read my work.And I want to say:“You did it anyway.”Even through sickness.Even through babies being born.Even through identity shifts.Even through failing your own goals.You stayed.Maybe not perfectly.But you stayed enough.If you’re writing in the mess too — especially if you’re a mom building something creative inside chaos — you are not alone.I see you.And I’m right there with you.— Ash KairieUnfiltered. Unapologetic. Still Becoming the Indie Author. 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