This Year, May We

A quiet reflection on gratitude, resilience, and choosing joy in the small things, even after loss.

Wendi Kehn/Hellbloom Haven (Also featured on Substack & Medium)

Jan 02, 2026

This Year, May We
by Wendi Kehn

This year, may we wake with the softest of grace,
Not chasing the world, just slowing our pace.
May coffee taste sweeter, the mornings feel light,
And peace be our compass, not battles to fight.

May laughter come easy, and tears cleanse the soul,
Not every wound needs to make us feel whole.
May joy not be distant or wrapped up in gold,
But found in the warmth of a hand we can hold.

May we count every breath like a gift in our chest,
And trust that enough is as good as the best.
May we dance in the kitchen, sing loud in the car,
And know we are worthy exactly as we are.

May healing come gently, not rushed or disguised,
In lessons, in silence, in hearts that feel wise.
May we soften the edges we once made so rough,
And learn that being tender is more than enough.

May kindness be louder than ego or fear,
May we see ourselves clearer with each passing year.
And when doubt tries to whisper we’re broken or small,
May we rise like the moon, soft, steady, and tall.

This year, may we bloom in the cracks of the pain,
Not needing a spotlight, applause, or a name.
For the richest of lives isn’t made out of stuff,
It’s the little things, daily things, quiet enough.

Behind the Poem:

I wrote this piece as a gentle invitation into the new year, not to pressure ourselves into becoming “new” people, but to honor the quiet, meaningful ways we’ve already survived, grown, and softened.

This poem was born from the truth that losing everything, your stability, your safety, your sense of self, changes you. It teaches you how to notice the little things. A warm drink. A safe place to sleep. A belly laugh you didn’t expect. These small moments start to feel like everything, because in many ways, they are.

In my life, I’ve known what it means to have nothing but a thread of hope, and sometimes, not even that. And it’s because of that, not in spite of it, that I’ve learned to greet each new day with gratitude, even when it’s quiet or messy or hard.

This poem is a soft manifesto, a reminder that joy doesn’t have to be loud, and abundance doesn’t always look like more. Sometimes it looks like enough. Sometimes it’s simply noticing that you’re still here, and that’s worth celebrating.

May 2026 bring you more presence, more peace, and more reasons to be glad you stayed.

Thank you for reading

Sending you all peace and love

Wendi Kehn

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