“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” -Anaïs Nin

My Interpretation: There is a moment when staying the same hurts more than growth ever will. Change stops being a threat & becomes a lifeline. You do not bloom because it is easy – you bloom because it is time.

---

THE YEAR I STOPPED SURVIVING

& STARTED SEEING MYSELF CLEARLY

There are years that feel like fire.

There are years that feel like winter.

There are years that feel like unraveling.

& then there are years like this one –

years that feel like standing in front of a mirror

for the first time in your life

& finally seeing yourself

⇢ without distortions

⇢ without excuses

⇢ without shrinking.

Not prettier.

Not softer.

Not more polished.

Just real.

This was that year.

─ Not the year everything got easier.

─ Not the year everything got better.

─ Not the year everything fell into place.

But the year I saw the truth of myself

with terrifying clarity.

The year I stopped pretending

I was not breaking.

The year I stopped performing

the version of me everyone preferred.

The year the shine cracked

& what was underneath finally spoke.

Not politely.

Not quietly.

Honestly.

---

THIS WAS THE YEAR I REALIZED HOW MUCH I WAS HOLDING

& god…

I was holding everything.

➜ Holding the emotional temperature of every room.

➜ Holding the schedules.

➜ Holding the memories.

➜ Holding the grief.

➜ Holding the responsibilities.

➜ Holding the weight of cycles I did not create

➜ but somehow felt obligated to undo.

Holding motherhood

⤷ with one hand

& the girl I used to be

⤷ with the other.

Holding myself together

even when I did not want to.

This was the year I understood

that being strong

& being unsupported

are not the same thing.

I was not resilient.

I was over-functioning.

There is a difference.

---

THIS WAS THE YEAR GRIEF BECAME A SEASON, NOT AN IDENTITY

Grief came in waves.

It came in mornings where the air felt too heavy.

In nights where I stared at the ceiling

& wondered why certain losses never softened.

In the moments where I looked at my son

& felt the simultaneous ache

of what I lost

& what I gained.

But this year

for the first time

grief did not swallow me.

It walked beside me.

Like an old, tired companion

I no longer tried to fight

or outrun

or silence.

I learned to carry it

without letting it carry me.

That mattered.

---

THIS WAS THE YEAR I STOPPED MAKING EXCUSES FOR OTHER PEOPLE

The year I stopped calling inconsistency

⤷ “miscommunication.”

The year I stopped dressing up emotional neglect

⤷ as “he is just going through something.”

The year I stopped romanticizing potential

⤷ instead of accepting patterns.

The year I stopped doing the emotional labor

⤷ for people who did not notice the cost.

I did not burn bridges.

I stopped rebuilding ones other people kept setting on fire.

That clarity tasted like freedom.

---

THIS WAS THE YEAR I LEARNED WHO ACTUALLY SHOWS UP

Not in the big moments.

Not in the public scenes.

Not in the highlight reels.

But quietly.

✧ In the texts that do not need anything from me.

✧ In the check-ins.

✧ In the “I thought of you today.”

✧ In the people who notice my exhaustion

⤷ before my collapse.

✧ In the ones who save me a seat

⤷ instead of a lecture.

This year taught me:

✌︎ Love is not loud.

✌︎ Loyalty is not loud.

✌︎ Consistency is not loud.

It is quiet.

Steady.

Unimpressive to the untrained eye.

But unmistakable

to the ones who have been starved for it.

---

THIS WAS THE YEAR I GREW, EVEN WHEN I DID NOT MEAN TO

Some years you evolve intentionally.

This was not one of those years.

This was survival growth.

Messy growth.

Angry growth.

Soft growth.

Accidental growth.

The kind that happens

because life keeps ripping you open

& your only choices are:

∼ stay the same

∼ or become someone stronger.

I became stronger

even when I did not feel strong.

Even when I felt like a cracked-glass version of myself.

I did not bloom gracefully.

I bloomed through grit.

& that counts too.

---

THIS WAS THE YEAR I FOUND JOY IN PLACES I NEVER LOOKED BEFORE

In my son’s laughter

that pulled me out of spirals.

In ordinary mornings

that felt like second chances.

In quiet moments

that felt like exhaling after years of holding my breath.

In simple things

that did not need to impress anyone

to matter.

Joy was not loud this year.

It was not cinematic.

It was not Instagram-worthy.

But it was real.

It was mine.

---

THIS WAS THE YEAR I LEARNED WHAT I DESERVE

Not perfectly.

Not consistently.

Not without backslides.

But clearly.

I learned that:

being loved well

⤷ should not feel complicated

being supported

⤷ should not feel like begging

being understood

⤷ should not feel like decoding

being wanted

⤷ should not feel like an afterthought

being yourself

⤷ should not feel like a performance

I learned the difference

between someone choosing me

& someone keeping me as a placeholder.

& I chose myself

in every moment

where someone else failed to.

---

THIS WAS THE YEAR I STOPPED APOLOGIZING FOR BEING HUMAN

For crying.

For needing.

For breaking.

For resting.

For pulling back.

For raising my standards.

For not being the version of me

other people preferred.

I started letting my emotions exist –

⇒ Without narrating them.

⇒ Without defending them.

⇒ Without shrinking them.

⇒ Without translating them into something prettier.

I stopped pretending “I am fine”

when my body was exhausted

from carrying the weight of everyone else’s comfort.

I let myself be human

for the first time

in years.

---

THE YEAR ENDS, BUT WHO I BECAME DOES NOT

That is the real truth.

The calendars flip

but the lessons stay.

The clarity stays.

The boundaries stay.

The softness stays.

The fire stays.

The version of me who refuses to disappear

for the sake of anyone else

stays.

I am walking into the next year

not healed

not perfect

not magically transformed…

but aware.

– Of myself.

– Of what I want.

– Of what I will not tolerate.

– Of what I am capable of.

– Of what I deserve.

– Of what I will no longer carry alone.

This was the year I stopped surviving.

Next year?

I live.

Xoxo ♡