A Love Letter to 2025: Grief, Healing, and Redefining What Truly Matters
I don’t think I’ll ever forget 2025. Not because it was beautiful or easy — but because it fundamentally changed me.
This year was heavy. It was humbling. It was heartbreaking. And while I would never choose to relive many of its moments, I can now say, with clarity and honesty, that it reshaped me in ways I desperately needed.
This is my love letter to 2025 — a year that broke me open so I could rebuild myself with intention.
Healing After Loss: Losing My Father Changed Everything
In March, I lost my father.
Watching someone you love struggle with health issues and cancer is something no one is ever prepared for. It strips away illusions. It forces you to confront mortality in a way that words
can’t fully capture. Seeing my father’s body fail him — and witnessing my mother care for him with unwavering strength (all while facing her own cancer battle) — fundamentally altered
how I view health, aging, and advocacy.
It made one thing painfully clear: health is everything.
If you’re not changed after watching someone you love physically leave this earth, then you likely don’t have feelings at all. Grief doesn’t arrive once and leave politely — it’s a daily presence,
sometimes quiet, sometimes overwhelming. But through that grief came resolve.
Selfishly — and honestly — I never want my spouse to have to take care of me the way my mother did for my father. If I can do anything now to protect my future health, then better late than
never. I owe that to myself, and to the people who love me.
Living With Chronic Lyme Disease: My Health Battle
As if loss wasn’t enough, this year also delivered my own health diagnosis: chronic Lyme disease, among other complicating diagnoses.
There are no words strong enough to fully explain what this journey has required of me. The treatment has tested me physically, mentally, and emotionally in ways I never imagined possible. It has
forced me to slow down, to surrender control, and to accept help — something I’ve never been particularly good at.
I would never wish this path on anyone.
I’ve had to give up things I love. Things that make me me. Activities, routines, freedoms — all put on pause in service of healing. And while I am still very much in the process (and likely will be for
some time), this experience has taught me patience, resilience, and a new level of self-respect.
Healing isn’t linear. And sometimes survival alone is the accomplishment.
Redefining Priorities Through Grief, Illness, and Healing
Through grief and illness, my priorities were stripped down to their core.
Material things no longer impress me. Being spotted at the newest restaurant for the sake of social media holds no appeal. None of it compares to the quiet, deeply human moments that
now bring me joy. I cherish time — truly cherish it.
Time with my husband, who has been there since day one and carried me through this year in ways I’ll never fully be able to thank him for. Time with clients, doing work that feels meaningful
and grounding. Time spent reading, resting, snuggling with dogs (both ours and the ones we lovingly dog sit), walking the countryside, visiting wineries, and being present.
Quality time is no longer a luxury — it’s the point.
Personal Growth Through Adversity: Coming Out the Other Side
There’s no sugarcoating it: the past year was one of the most terrible I’ve ever experienced. But I am better for it. Stronger in ways that aren’t visible. Softer where it matters. Clearer about what I
will protect, pursue, and let go of.
As I look ahead, next year isn’t about hustle, appearances, or perfection. It’s about continued healing, longevity, and placing emphasis on what truly matters — while learning, slowly but intentionally,
not to sweat the small stuff.
2025, you took so much from me. But you also gave me perspective, depth, and a renewed respect for life itself.
For that — and only that — I thank you.
