Words for 2025

I’m not sure exactly when I began the practice of choosing one word as a focus point for the year. Above is a page from my journal of possible candidates for 2025. I use an app called Word Hippo to suss out the definitions and synonyms that add depth and dimension to the words and what they may render throughout a year of focused intention for growth. I thought I had selected one—a scary one for me—but now, as I review the page again, I’m uncertain. I suppose I’ll have to put my Ask, Don’t Analyze mantra into practice.

Scary or inspiring, I know that a consistent focus and intention is helpful for me, Miss easily distracted by just about anything. I know from experience that this practice can be fruitful. Last year, I chose Freedom as my word, and it turned out to be incredibly rich. I found freedom in unexpected places—in my relationships, in my schedule, and even in my thoughts. I became more aware of what I have freedom around and what I don’t. It wasn’t just a concept; it became a way of seeing the world. I was tempted to continue with Freedom into 2025. There’s still so much to explore in that space. But Freedom feels safe now, and for my 60th year on the planet, I want to choose something a little more edgy and terrifying, quite frankly.

On my list of words for 2025, Trust feels like a challenge to lean into that inner knowing without the need to fix or control and still feel safe in the knowledge that things will unfold perfectly no matter what I my analytical fearful inclinations may point out.  Trust invites me to release my white knuckle grip on certainty, embrace faith, and honor the unfolding unknown with ease and grace.  Responsibility calls for clarity in owning my physical body, each word I speak, all my actions reactions and choices, asking me to step up with accountability instead of avoidance. Responsibility isn't a burden; it's a form of love, authentic empowerment and self-respect. Acceptance nudges me toward peace with what is, asking me to release looking good, being right, defending and resistance instead to surrender to the present moment. Acceptance whispers that beauty lies in letting life be—messy, raw, and untouched by my need to fix or control.  Accountable brings up a kind of stern self-discipline I’ve been avoiding for years. It feels like a mirror, reflecting back what I need to own and inviting me to hold myself to a higher standard with compassion rather than judgment. Accountable invites me to align and make friends with my natural rhythms and choose curiosity and creativity to guide me forward. And finally, Commitment dares me to focus with consistent purpose, to follow through on what I set out to do without distraction. It feels like a promise to myself—a chance to show up fully and prove that I can sustain my efforts over time. 

​Many of the synonyms are overlapping and similar once I see them together on one page. Each of them challenges me to face deep-seated fears and long-ingrained behaviors of avoidance and resistance. Each one stirs discomfort, yet that discomfort feels like a key to transformation.

Each word feels meaningful, and yet none of them feel easy. I’m drawn to the discomfort they stir in me, even as I want to turn away. I know I’ve spent a lot of my life avoiding certain truths—about myself, my choices, and the ways I show up in the world. Maybe choosing a word that unsettles me is exactly what I need to grow. After all, I’m still stuck in the grike of “more pain, more gain”! Ha.

But how do I decide? My Ask, Don’t Analyze mantra reminds me that I don’t need to overthink this. Instead, I’ll ask the question: What word feels true for me this year? And then, I’ll wait for the answer to come. Maybe it’ll arrive when I’m journaling, meditating, or halfway through some mundane task like washing the dishes. Maybe I already know the answer, and I just need to trust it.

So, what about you? What word would you choose for 2025? Would you stick with something safe and familiar, or take a leap into the unknown? Either way, the journey begins with just one word.