A DIFFERENT TAKE ON THE 13 WISHES RITUAL THAT'LL SURPRISE YOU

You know that end of the year vibe where the days feel soft and slow, but your mind just refuses to match the vibe. Not surprising because as much as you want to wind down with the year, you can't. Because you're busy trying to finish things. Clearing out whatever is hanging over you. You're running around trying to settle everything. Sort things. Fix things. You're cleaning things that honestly could have waited.

You're staring at the calendar like, How did I even get here again.

And then a small part of you wants something softer. Something gentler. Something that makes you feel like you're still allowed to hope for good things.

I discovered this 13 wishes ritual a few years back. I know. It sounds like an eye-roll. A bit woo woo. A bit witch-crafty. But the more life keeps happening. The more the world feels noisy. The more I keep looking for tiny things that lets me catch my breath. Lets me sit still. Lets me reflect. Lets me calm down.

And weirdly. This one lets me do just that. And I don't care if it's woo woo. I don't care if it works or doesn't work. The act of doing it brings me peace.

The ritual is quite simple. In December, some people start on the 21st, some on Christmas Eve, you write down thirteen wishes you have for the new year. Thirteen. Not ten. Not twelve. Thirteen.

You don't overthink it. You don't have to make it perfect. You just have to sit yourself down and write what you want. What you really want. Not what sounds impressive. Not what feels adult. Not what you think you should want. You write the stuff your heart keeps whispering to you.

And maybe that's why the 13 wishes ritual feels so inviting. Because you don't give yourself many moments like that during the year. You're busy. You're doing everything. You're keeping people alive. You're answering emails. You're trying to earn more money. You're switching between a million tabs in your brain.

This ritual slows you down. It pulls you back to yourself.

I'll tell you how it goes, but most importantly, I want to tell you how it feels.

You take a quiet moment. It doesn't have to be fancy. You don't need candles or some aesthetic vibe unless you want to. Sometimes the best moments happen when you're just sitting at your dining table with yesterday's mail off to the side.

Then you grab thirteen small pieces of paper. You write one wish on each. One per paper.

Keep it simple. And while you write, you might start noticing something. The few wishes are always obvious. You want peace. You want a better routine. You want more money. You want more time. The usual list of things you think you should want.

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But then, when you get to number seven. Number eight. Number nine. Something shifts. You start getting honest. You start tapping into the real stuff.

You might want to feel happy in your own body again.

You might want to stop feeling so guilty all the time.

Maybe you might want to laugh more next year.

Maybe you might want to feel like your days aren't just a blur of chores and tasks.

And you start surprising yourself.

That's why the 13 wishes ritual gets to you a little. Because around wish number ten, your guard drops. You stop performing for some imaginary audience in your head. You start writing from a place that feels honest. And that's the part of you that maybe you've been ignoring for months.

People don't talk enough about the exhaustion that builds up around this time of the year. Or that quiet sadness you sometimes feel, even when life is fine. Or how parents, especially, move through seasons without ever stopping to think about what they actually want.

This ritual hands you that pause.

In the original version of the ritual, you write your thirteen wishes on thirteen pieces of paper and fold them up. Every night, you randomly pick one piece of paper with your wish written on it and burn it. You do this over twelve nights. You don't open these pieces of paper to see which wish it holds. You just burn them and let the universe handle them. You're leaving it to the universe to bring these wishes to you.

But on the thirteenth night, you open the last wish that remains. This thirteenth wish stays with you. That's the one you work on yourself.

You can follow that exactly if you want. Or you can do your own version. Think of it as a reflection tool. A way to check in with yourself before the new year sweeps you up again.

I like the idea of the last wish being yours. The one that chooses you to care for it. The one you keep close. The one you're not waiting for magic to fix. The one that relies on you to make it happen.

Because yes, the 13 wishes ritual can feel rubbish. But it's also grounding you. You get to nurture one wish on purpose. And that's powerful in a life that constantly pulls your attention everywhere else.

When you're looking at your thirteen wishes before folding them up, you might start noticing patterns. You might notice that you wrote the word more a lot. More peace. More energy. More time with your kids. More money. More lightness.

Or maybe your wishes sound like less. Less stress. Less chaos. Less trying to be everything at once.

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These tiny papers become mirrors.

They show you where your heart has been aching quietly. They show you where you've been pushing your needs aside for too long. And when you burn the twelve wishes or keep them away, if fire is not your thing, it feels like a small release. A moment of letting go. A moment when you trust that not everything has to be solved by you.

Then you hold the last wish. And it hits you.

You get to make this one real. You get to decide how you want to show up for yourself in the next year through this one wish. Maybe not perfectly. Not with some dramatic transformation. Just with small, honest actions.

Maybe that last wish is to feel healthier. So you decide to drink water when you wake up. Maybe your last wish is to feel close to your kids again. So you decide to put your phone down more often. Maybe your last wish is to feel less tired all the time. So you start sleeping earlier, even if it feels impossible.

Small shifts. Small promises to yourself.

I like the 13 wishes ritual because it mixes two things we don't get enough of.

Reflection and hope.

You get to look back at the year and see what worked and what didn't. You get to reflect on the hard moments without needing to pretend that they didn't happen. You get to honor the small wins no one saw. And the best part is you get to dream. To hope. Maybe not in a huge way. More like in a quiet, personal way. A way that feels like you're whispering to yourself, I still want things.

I still believe good things can happen.

And if you're reading this, maybe you need that belief too. Maybe this year drained you. Maybe you went through things you didn't have the space to process. Maybe the noise of the world drowned out your voice.

This ritual helps you hear yourself again. You get to sit down and ask, What do I want for me? Not the mom version of me. Not the responsible version of me. Not the person who is just surviving. Not what I want for my kids. Just me. And that me gets thirteen wishes.

There's something healing about that.

Here's something I want you to remember when you're writing your wishes. Don't judge your wishes. Don't filter yourself. Don't try to make your list look logical or mature. Just let it flow. Your heart's probably waited all year for you to just listen.

Write your wishes. Read them once if you want. You can follow the ritual to a tee and burn them. Or keep them in a little envelope. Do what feels right to you.

If you're keeping them in an envelope, choose one wish that feels personal and important. The one that scares you a tiny bit. The one you know could shift something in your life if you committed to it. That's your wish for the year. The one you work on. The one you check in on every few weeks.

The 13 wishes ritual is playful. It's light. But it's also a reminder that you still get to want things. You still get to hope for things. Even in a chaotic world. Especially in a chaotic world.

Let this be your little reset. Your doorway into a new year that feels more intentional.

Not perfect. Just more you.

So when the year ends, sit with yourself for a moment. Let the noise fade out. Let the pressure fall away a little. Write your thirteen wishes.

Reflect on them. Hold the last one close. And walk into the new year knowing that you listened to yourself.

That alone is magic.

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