Happy New Year

The new year arrived quietly, but the one I’m closing was anything but gentle. It began with my health unraveling in ways I didn’t expect, and then came the loss that split the year cleanly in two, losing my mom. There are no tidy sentences for that kind of grief. It simply exists, heavy and persistent, changing the shape of everything that follows.

And as if the personal weight weren’t enough, the world itself felt bruised and unsteady. Every headline seemed louder, darker, harder to look away from. Some days, it felt like we were all collectively holding our breath, unsure of what might break next.

But even in that heaviness, I found places to rest. In my family, who held me up when I didn’t have the strength to stand. In friends who checked in, showed up, and reminded me I wasn’t carrying everything alone. And in the written word, my quiet refuge. Writing became both shelter and release, a way to make sense of pain, to honor love, and to keep moving forward one sentence at a time.

This year changed me. It stripped things down. But it also reminded me why I write, why connection matters, and why hope, fragile as it may feel, is still worth holding onto.