2025: Find the light

It’s taken me a few days to get the time (and mental space) to sit down and write this. My brain is not at its best right now, and writing feels harder than usual. Whatever. Here goes nothing:

In the lead up to New Year’s Eve, I always start thinking about what I’m going to write for my “year that was” post.

This year, I realized that this is the first time I’m confident that the year ahead is going to be tough. And that’s a hard thing to reckon with.

(As I’ve mentioned before, I can’t be explicit about the situation, but here’s what it feels like: Take a large dose of visceral, complex, anticipatory grief. Throw in anger, frustration, and regret. Slow the pace down to an agonizing crawl. Now imagine you’re forced to watch it increase in severity, with no power to stop it. It’s fucking brutal, has already consumed much of my 2025, and is unlikely to improve.)

But instead of dread, this realization triggered surprise and gratitude. Because it means that it’s the first time in my life that I’ve had to endure this type of protracted hardship.

That’s not to say I’ve never experienced any hardship or survived difficult years. But it’s the first time that I’ve known in advance that the year ahead is going to be – at best – challenging.

I know that sounds depressing. I’m making it sound like I’ve had a horrible year and that everything is falling apart. That I sat around on New Year’s Eve ruminating on how much 2026 is going to suck ass.

But that’s not what happened or how I’m feeling, because 2025 repeatedly reinforced the lesson that kept me going:

A bad day can still be a good day.

Or:

Life is beautiful, despite the horrors.

Sorry. Ugh. I’m not good at distilling this into something pithy. Here’s what I mean:

I had many days that could’ve been derailed by distressing interactions. Conversations that should never have happened, that left me trembling, heart pounding, shattered. Futile, confusing arguments that ran in circles for hours. Raised voices, crying, pleading, never making any progress.

I’ve discovered information that was long buried and should have stayed that way. I’ve played the role of therapist, communications conduit, and caretaker. I’ve screamed into pillows and cried into Jesse’s chest. I’ve been flung from the height of hopefulness to soul-crushing disappointment in seconds.

But on every single one of these brutal days, there has always been joy, beauty, and laughter.

It could have been as simple as one of the cats acting an adorable fool, Jesse wrapping me in his arms, or spotting a new bird while out on a walk. I post here a lot about the simple things that I’m grateful for or that I’ve enjoyed – they’re the things that shine light on dark days. Gratitude does a lot of heavy lifting, but privilege plays a major role, too. I have flexible employment, a beautiful, tranquil home, and a divine partner. I’ve learned to prioritize my health in a way that provides me with mental, emotional, and physical stamina.

Every day I’m lucky enough to wake up in a place I love, with a person I adore, living a life that most people could only dream of. The swings from “life is perfect!” to “could this get any worse?” are fucking exhausting. But having an abundance of love and peace in my life helps me work through the hard parts without feeling like I’m always on the edge of completely losing it.

What I’m trying to say is: even on the darkest days, light always finds a way in. And I’m getting better and better at finding the light.

I had so much more to say about 2025. About moving into our dream home, escaping the clutches of social media, drinking less alcohol, thyroid surgery, our delicious vacation, yada yada yada. But it’s getting late, most of it is already on this blog, and I want to get off this screen.

2025 was somehow both one of the hardest and most beautiful years of my life so far.

Here’s to finding light in 2026, even on our darkest days. Happy New Year.