12/30/2025
In 2025, I learned to walk again.
The passing of my mother in 2024 stopped my world. It was abrupt and unexpected.
She was diagnosed with MS when I was 4, and in a wheelchair by the time I was 9. I had been a caretaker my whole life. I was a dutiful daughter before I even knew what that meant, and I carried that role until her last breath.
Time stopped.
I had an abundance of time and no idea what to do with it. Quite frankly, I wanted to do nothing—and so I did.
On the outside, I was a functioning adult.
On the inside, I was recovering—not just from grief, but from a lifetime of over-functioning and an unusually high level of responsibility.
2025 was the space between.
It was a deep rest, and the emerging of what my life would look like as I re-discover, re-prioritize and rebuild, slowly.
I abide by my internal clock, and the seasons are my calendar. That being said, I have always loved the New Year. I love the symbolism—the closing of a chapter, the quiet of winter, the return to seed form before we sprout again in spring.
Each season serves a purpose.
Everyone searches for purpose, but purpose is not one thing—it lives in presence, and in everything we do, even the quiet in between.
Thank you “2025”.❤️
