The Hues of Year’s End: Forgiving Ourselves for the Unfinished

by Alice Gaddi Roselo

I find myself lingering between gratitude and regret as the year turns its last page. It’s almost the end of October. I feel like I’m standing before a half-filled canvas with bright strokes of accomplishments on one side, unfinished corners on the other. Perhaps that’s how most of us feel at year’s end: grateful for what we managed to paint, yet quietly uneasy about what we left untouched.

Every year I begin with resolutions, plans, and promises. I imagine bold colors defining my masterpiece. But life has a way of smudging the lines. Distractions, self-doubt, overcommitments, procrastination, or simple human fatigue creep in. Before I know it, another year is closing, and my palette holds the hues of an unfinished project, task, write-up. I wish I could slow down the days or cram the last few strokes to complete my goals.

As we approach the year’s twilight—when autumn’s glow slowly gives way to winter’s stillness—let us gift ourselves the grace of forgiveness. We often forgive others easily, yet hold our own hearts hostage for not being perfect enough, disciplined enough, or brave enough. As students and instructors of Guided Autobiography, we write and reflect to find meaning even in the pauses and half-told chapters of our lives. What if the undone parts of our story are simply pauses and intermissions, not failures? What if the half-filled pages are resting spaces for new ideas to ripen next year?

Forgiving ourselves is the most tender goodbye we can offer the passing year. Like leaves releasing their hold on the branch, we can let go of harsh self-talk and guilt that weigh us down like heavy coats in winter. We can look kindly at the person we were in January, hopeful, moving, trying; we can whisper, “You did your best. That’s enough. You can bloom again next year.”

As writers and life storytellers, we know that transitions are never abrupt endings but gentle fades. The act of release—setting down the brush, closing the journal, resting the mind—is part of the art. When we forgive ourselves, we clear space for new colors, softer tones, and brighter stories waiting to be born with the year ahead.

The palette of letting go, just like autumn, is not gray. It glows with the gold of gratitude, the white of peace, the red of courage, and the green of renewal. As these hues blend, they prepare us for winter’s quiet reflection and the rebirth that follows. In that stillness, we find the strength to begin again—wiser, freer, and gentler with ourselves.

So as this year takes its bow, let’s close it not with regret but with acceptance. Let’s forgive ourselves for the undone and the imperfect, knowing that every brushstroke (finished or not) adds depth to the artwork of our lives. And when 2026 dawns with its promise of new beginnings, may we step into it like artists before a fresh canvas, ready once more to paint with hope and love.