What I Have to Say

It’s January 1, 2026, and I’m sitting on my couch staring at a pile of laundry I really don’t want to fold but know I will eventually have to. And suddenly, I’m overcome with the urge to write. To get something down on paper (well, computer) to process everything I’m feeling in this moment. 

To say 2025 was a transformative year for me would be an understatement. And the irony is that I’m very much in the same place I was a year ago: jobless, single mom, not sure exactly what the next year holds. Not sure where I’ll be living six months from now, not sure how long it will take me to find another job, and not sure how to get my darling children to learn to cohabitate without daily meltdowns and endless blame games. 

And yet, I know in my soul that I’m not the same person I was a year ago. Maybe it was having to renovate and pack up the home I’d built with my family over the last 10 years. Maybe it was my many tried and failed attempts to find love again that made me realize my true worth — and taught me what I do and don’t want in my future. Maybe it was being two weeks from buying the home I fell in love with only to have the rug pulled out from under me when my new employer told me I was being laid off after less than eight months. Maybe it was finding a therapist who made me feel seen in ways I never had before. Maybe it was deepening my understanding of spirituality, a journey all about discovering who you really are and your purpose in this lifetime. Maybe it was all of it.

The person I was a year ago didn’t know how to exist if it wasn’t in survival mode. She felt guilty doing anything that was strictly for herself. She had to be pouring every ounce of herself into everyone around her to feel worthy of anything — of love, of stability, of feeling valid. She made herself small to keep the peace. She said sorry when she dared to take up space or voice what she wanted. She let people walk all over her and did it with a smile. She pushed things down until they came to the surface as an eruption. She was constantly trying to hold together a sandcastle as the tide repeatedly washed it away. 

I can’t pinpoint exactly when — or maybe it was a gradual thing — but somewhere along the line, I started to let go. Of constantly needing to control. Of constantly needing to know what I should do next. 

I may be in the same uncertain place today that I was a year ago. But this time around? I feel a strange undercurrent of calm. Like I know I’m exactly where I’m meant to be, even if I don’t know my next life steps or even what I want to cook for dinner tonight. I think above all, this year has taught me how to trust — in the things I can’t see, and in myself. I’ve always loved the Winnie the Pooh quote, “You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think,” but now? I finally believe it. 

I didn’t really know what direction this post was going to take when I first started writing it (maybe a message in and of itself to trust where I’m led), but I think what I really wanted to do was to tell myself, “I’m proud of you.” I know that sounds corny and maybe even self-indulgent in a society that doesn’t believe people (and especially women) should celebrate their own victories. But the person I am today doesn’t care. 

The person I am today knows that every ounce I pour into myself just makes me a better version of me for the people I love. I know that spending $30 to get my nails done every few weeks makes me happy and that’s more than enough reason to do it. I know that enjoying nights to myself doesn’t make me a bad mom. I know that speaking my mind and putting up healthy boundaries isn’t an inconvenience, and that the people who are meant to be in my life will appreciate and respect me for it.

This year, I started a skincare routine — and vowed not to beat myself up on the nights I was too tired to do it. I created a YouTube channel where I post reaction videos with cheesy thumbnails. I tried a new career that was short lived but taught me a lot. I became closer with old friends and showed up in ways that made me feel good without overburdening myself. I spent more time being fully present with my kids. I fell in love without fear of having my heart broken. I auditioned for a community theater production where I completely choked up and forgot how to breathe mid-song. But I did it. And I’m so damn proud of myself. 

I know I’m just at the beginning of what will be a lifetime of learning, growing, evolving, and becoming the best version of me, but this year taught me to appreciate the journey — even when it’s hard, even when it seems like life just wants to kick me down. I’m learning that every little step, every risk, every mistake, every embarrassing, awkward moment led me here. And I’m grateful for all of it.