If I had to name the hardest personal goal I’ve ever set for myself, it wouldn’t be something grand like earning a degree, passing an exam, or landing a dream job. Those are hard, yes, but they come with a map—deadlines, milestones, instructions. The hardest goal I’ve ever set was the one without a clear path: to keep going when life felt heavier than I could carry.

There was a time when simply getting up in the morning felt like a victory. When even the smallest tasks—making the bed, replying to a message, facing another shift—felt monumental. It wasn’t about laziness or lack of will; it was about survival. Grief had taken up too much space inside me, and my mind had grown quieter in ways that scared me. That was when I made the hardest promise to myself: to choose life every single day, even when it doesn’t feel like it’s choosing me back.

It’s not a goal you can tick off a list. There are no medals, no applause, no certificates. Just the quiet act of showing up—at work, for your loved ones, for yourself. It’s remembering that healing doesn’t happen in leaps but in small, stubborn steps.

I’ve set many goals in my life—career goals, travel goals, creative goals—but none have demanded as much honesty and grace as this one:

to keep my heart open, even after loss.

Because after pain, the temptation is to harden, to protect yourself from more hurt. But I’ve learned that strength isn’t about building walls; it’s about allowing light to enter the cracks. To laugh again, to love again, to trust again—those are the hardest goals of all.

So, if you ask me now what my hardest personal goal has been, I’d say it’s this: to continue becoming the kind of person who chooses kindness over bitterness, presence over distraction, and faith over fear.

I am still working on it. Every day. Quietly. Imperfectly. But maybe that’s the point—some goals aren’t meant to be achieved once; they’re meant to be lived, one brave breath at a time.