What This Year Asked of Me

As this year comes to a close, I’m not rushing to wrap it up with a bow. I’m sitting with it. Holding it the way you hold something fragile - not because it was beautiful, but because it was heavy.

This year asked more of me than I knew how to give.

We moved through ongoing health challenges that are still unfolding. We grieved the loss of two family members. There were moments when my body carried more than my heart could name, moments when getting back up felt like its own quiet act of defiance.

And still - I got back up.

This year cracked me open. It stripped things down to their most honest form. In the breaking, I began to hear my own voice more clearly - shaky at first, unsure, but real. I learned something I can’t unlearn now: silence costs me more than speaking ever could. Every time I swallowed my truth to keep the peace, I felt it lodge itself deeper inside my body.

I am learning how to be gentle with myself in ways I never was before.

I am learning that rest is not weakness - it is survival, and sometimes, it is love.

I am learning that I am worthy of love, even when I am tired, even when I am quiet, even when I am still figuring myself out.

One of the bravest things I did this year was keep writing when it hurt (even if I didn’t share it publicly). Letting myself be seen and heard fully for the first time. Allowing my words to exist without shrinking them, without explaining them away. Writing stopped being something I did and became something I needed - a place where my truth could breathe.

There is still shame that lives in the corners. It has been a familiar companion, convincing me that silence is safer, that hiding is protection. But I’m learning that shame doesn’t deserve the power I’ve given it.

As I look ahead, I’m not setting goals or chasing a better version of myself. I’m choosing an energy.

I’m choosing calm - the kind that settles my nervous system.

I’m choosing authenticity, even when it feels uncomfortable.

I’m choosing healing that happens slowly, honestly, and on my own timeline.

To this community - thank you. You have made me feel less alone in the most tender parts of my story. Sharing publicly has changed writing for me. It has given my words room to exist, and in that space, healing has begun. Your presence here has mattered more than you know.

So as this year closes, I want to ask you something - not to answer quickly, but to feel into:

Where in your body are you still holding your breath, and what might change if you let yourself exhale - even just a little - this year?

However you’re entering this new year, I hope you move slowly. I hope you listen closely. I hope you honour what’s been whispering instead of shouting. I hope you let yourself breathe a little deeper as you go.

Thank you for being here 💕