Two Goodbyes, One Beginning

I watched my dad and beloved soul cat take their last breaths in 2025. I watched two things I love die. Both wildly unexpected, both victims to medical circumstances neither could overcome.

My dad from a rare cancer, and Céline from complications of congestive heart failure, kidney disease, and asthma.

In a sea of collective grief, despair, and hopelessness, it feels selfish to claim sadness, uncertainty, and hardship as my own. I’m not the only person who felt loss in 2025, and I’m not the only person carrying that loss and residual hopelessness into 2026.

It has taken me so much time to write here because it feels selfish. The country is collapsing, the world feels increasingly violent and uncertain. In such moments of pain and tragedy, writing about my small world feels insignificant.

But for me, it’s not, and as I sit here returning to my craft, bleeding on pages, I return to a simple sustained belief: Maybe someone out there needs this, too.

After Céline died, my mom and I decided that what would’ve already been a dialed back holiday season would quickly become somewhat nonexistent. It’s not that I wanted to take joy away from others or expect people to have the same somber attitude, but after such sudden loss, such big losses, my heart was weighted and it was hard for me to believe in anything, let alone the magic of Christmas.

Unlike some humorous Threads that mentioned staying up on New Year’s Eve to watch 2025 die, I went to bed early and woke up in 2026. For most of us, a new year marks a new beginning. If not, you’re likely at least struggling to remember what year to write down on all important documents.

Outside of the chaos of the current world we find ourselves in, I consider myself to be a positive and spirited person. I have hope. That belief that someone anywhere could find my herpes story and find meaning and light in it was what started this very work.

Somewhere in me, that light and positivity still exists, but I’m still working through not only the tragedy of last year, but of the last three.

The traumatic breakup. Moving and living at home with my parents. The corporate layoff. Losing my dad. And now, Céline.

Selfishly, I find myself asking, “Haven’t I been through enough loss?”

Realistically, I know I can begin again at any time; I don’t need a new year to start over. But a part of me enjoys pressing reset. I can’t forget the loss that has weaved its way through my nearly 33 years of life in the last three years–it’s ingrained in me.

So while I don’t want to live in pain, in loss, in defeat, I also recognize it’s shaping me differently. Loss is generally a challenge, but loss in this cultural and political landscape, at home and abroad, feels silencing. But such insurmountable loss also forces you to look inward, reprioritize, and recenter.

Because of these experiences, I am different. My work is different, my voice, my approach, how I move is different. And while my core beliefs and identity are there, I’ve grown. And my business is growing, too.

As I write this, staring out large windows at the Atlantic Ocean from Carova, North Carolina, I begin my reset. Like many do with their computers when they find them unresponsive, I’m taking time to reboot. Not only for my mental health, but for my business and personal goals.

My social media presence nearly halted in the latter quarter of 2025, with the exception of Threads, my main news and media source. I froze. Not because I didn’t care about this work or this community, but because grief doesn’t leave room for much else. And stepping into my dad’s business took everything I had left.

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Logging in to check notifications became a tedious exercise in, “What terrible thing will someone have to say about me today?” Not to mention the state of the world being so on edge that the anger within me viscerally boiled to the surface.

In an already sensitive environment in my mind from an emotionally abusive breakup, I’m still working through finding my voice and being confident in it in the face of haters (for lack of a better word). Fear of not saying the right thing, being the right voice, covering the right cultural topic became limiting, and ultimately, self-defeat.

Two words I’m focusing on this year are joy and self…in a world where it feels impossible to find both concurrently. For me, 2025 was marked not just by grief but obligation. Stepping into my dad’s role as CEO of his now 40-year residential fence company deprioritized my goals. Which is why it’s so important for me to take the time this week to sit with myself, my thoughts, absent of noise, and ask: what in 2026 will lead me closer to joy and self?

A large part of that answer is reinvesting in myself and my aspirations. Which means changes are coming, risks will be made, and my voice—authentic, unapologetic—will be heard.

I’ll share more about what I’m building when the time feels right. But, for now, I’m holding it close while it takes shape. I will say this: I’ve always believed that taking care of oneself is a priority when caring for others. I cannot commit to caring for you all if I don’t get myself in a position to do so.

That’s what this reset is about. Recalibrating what I’m doing, what’s on my plate, what I want to do, and how it can all work together systematically to create something dependable and transformative.

I don’t want to share too much too soon, or overcommit myself, but I wanted to revitalize this space and my voice, as well as share a brief glimmer of hope for stepping into something I’ve dreamed of since I started this work.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for letting me be human. Thank you for allowing all of me to arrive in this space.

With Gratitude,
Emily

I’m keeping this space open and writing when the words come, when I have something that needs to be said. I’m not committing to a posting schedule at this time because I’m still in the middle of rebooting, and I need that freedom. I am allocating time to get systems in place to support the life I w

Herpes support and education remains central to my vision for the future. I’m not going anywhere, just recalibrating how I show up and being intentional about what I’m building.

If you’re a paid subscriber or considering becoming one, I want you to know what you’re supporting: my voice, my work, and the larger vision I’m building toward. But I can’t promise weekly posts or a set cadence right now. What I can promise is that when I write, it will be real. If that uncertainty doesn’t work for you, I completely understand. There are no hard feelings if you need to pause or cancel.

If you’re here for the journey, even the messy rebuilding parts, I’m grateful to have you.