Word for 2026: Integrity

As I enter the year 2026, I am carrying forward a tradition I began several years ago—one that has quietly but consistently shaped how I live my life. Instead of creating long lists of resolutions that tend to fade by February, I choose a word—or sometimes a small handful of words—and live the year through that focused lens. These words become touchstones. They don’t demand perfection; they invite attention.

A word of the year doesn't sit neatly on a vision board or get checked off a list on my spreadsheet. It follows me into ordinary moments: conversations at the kitchen table, during a Zoom meeting, pauses before responding, choices made when no one is watching. It becomes a gentle companion, nudging me to notice not just what I'm doing, but how I'm being. Over time, this practice has evolved from being primarily about self-improvement to being more about self-relationship.

Over the years, I have journeyed alongside words such as curiosity, compassion, and courage. Each one arrived at the exact moment it was needed. Curiosity encouraged me to ask questions rather than rushing to answers—to stay open when certainty felt tempting. Compassion softened my edges, especially toward myself, reminding me that tenderness is not a sign of weakness but rather a sign of wisdom. Courage asked me to keep moving forward even when fear was loud, and my confidence was quiet. None of these words solved anything outright, but they changed how I showed up—and that changed everything.

In other years, a lighter, more playful energy was called for.

Words like play, love, live, and laugh reminded me that growth doesn’t always have to be serious to be meaningful. They nudged me toward joy, toward presence, and toward remembering that delight is not a reward for having life figured out—it’s part of living it. Those years taught me that laughter can be grounding, that play can be deeply healing, and joy is often found in the simplest, most unplanned moments.

As I stand at the threshold of 2026, I find myself drawn to the word integrity. Not in the rigid, moralistic sense we often associate with the word, but in a more personal and embodied way. Integrity, as I am coming to understand it, is about alignment. It’s about the quiet work of bringing my inner values into a closer relationship with my outward actions. It asks me to notice where I am congruent—and where I might be gently drifting away from myself.

Integrity doesn’t shout. It whispers. It shows up in small, often invisible choices: saying no when it would be easier to say yes, resting when productivity feels more socially acceptable, speaking a truth kindly instead of swallowing it to keep the peace. It asks questions like: Am I living in a way that reflects what matters most to me? Do my choices honour my boundaries, my energy, and my truth? Can I be honest without being harsh? Can I remain kind while still being clear? These are not questions meant to be answered once and for all, but ones to return to again and again.

What I appreciate most about integrity is that it is deeply human. It allows room for learning, repair, and recalibration. It acknowledges that we will miss the mark sometimes—not because we don't care, but because life is complex and we are always evolving. Integrity invites us not to judge those moments, but to notice them, to listen, and to gently realign.

Living a year with a word has taught me that growth is not linear and clarity is not constant. Some days the word feels present and alive; other days it feels distant or elusive. And that’s okay. The practice is not about getting it right—it’s about noticing. It’s about returning. It’s about being willing to listen, again and again, to what feels true.

As 2026 unfolds, I don’t expect integrity to be something I achieve. I imagine it will be something I practice—moment by moment, choice by choice, with plenty of missteps along the way. And if the past has taught me anything, it’s that living with intention, curiosity, and a touch of humour makes the journey far richer than striving for perfection ever could.

What small moments are already inviting you toward alignment, joy, and a heart that feels quietly, deeply full?