The moment you realize happiness exists in the smallest details of your day—from taking your first breath, to seeing sunlight, to being given another opportunity to create something new or experience something unfamiliar—you begin to understand that your days don’t just get better. They become lighter. Each step feels less like an obligation and more like an invitation, and joy starts to emerge from a sense of freshness that becomes easier to accept.
Honestly, it might be the spirit of the holiday season paired with the release of everything that weighed heavily on me this year, but I am deeply thankful for the opportunity I was given to heal and turn inward. It allowed me to peel back layers and become raw in a way that helped me see what had been missing at my core—who I am, how I operate, and how to exist in a way that feels authentic and aligned with my version of peace. A peace that requires no walls, no shrinking, and no reshaping myself to fit someone else’s interpretation of me.
I have grown individually through spirituality and intellect in ways that have made me a better coach, student, and friend—not only to others, but to myself. This year taught me how to pour into myself and realign with my priorities. Much of what I did in the past was driven by the crippling hope of becoming a “perfect” version of myself—the perfect friend, daughter, girlfriend. That pursuit caused me to shrink into a projected image of who I thought I was supposed to be. It didn’t begin that way, but over time I grew accustomed to being told I was “too much,” that I needed to “dial it down,” or that I was “weird” for the way I showed affection or revealed the rawest parts of my personality. Because I never felt fully accepted as I was, I eventually reshaped myself to fit certain circles, creating a version of me that felt more palatable to others. I became a shell of who I truly was—until the shell cracked, and I couldn’t pretend anymore. So I did what felt necessary: I blew it up.
Exploding the shell was a raw and difficult process.
Much of it I did alone. A handful of people I met—and unfortunately had to leave—were catalysts for this transformation, which made returning home uncomfortable. I realized that many people couldn’t truly handle who I am at my core, so I chose to release certain relationships in order to build a stronger one with myself. It was necessary. I needed to understand that if no one else was willing to truly see me, the least I could do was see myself—and learn how to move through the world openly and honestly. The journey hasn’t been easy, and I accepted that it would be lonely at times, but I refused to let it harden me.
Now, some people may see me differently—but that’s the point. I am introducing the purest form of myself. I am softer, yet powerful. Some see me as quiet, but that’s because I understand the power of silence. Not everything needs to be said. Silence carries weight—not only in what is felt, but in the space it creates for observation and to sit in thought and meditation. It brings a sense of peace that is deeper than anyone’s presence. It offers a peace deeper than anyone’s presence. Solitude has become a haven for me, a place for self-reflection and for joy to quietly settle in. I can honestly say that my happiest moments this year have come from embracing solitude and accepting myself fully.
Through this process, I lost friendships that once meant a great deal to me but ultimately became hindrances to my peace. I had been parentified—expected to carry emotional weight and solve problems that were never mine to fix. The moment I stopped doing the heavy lifting was the moment I realized those friendships weren’t reciprocal. Letting them go was necessary. I was never meant to offer therapy for free.
Unlearning the mindset that led me to over-give in relationships forced me to confront a painful truth: I was often tolerated for what I offered rather than celebrated for who I was. That realization hurt deeply. Still, I understood that letting go was essential to recalibrating my mind and breaking cycles that had repeated themselves throughout my relationships. Now, I care for myself more intentionally and understand the kind of relationships I truly deserve.
While I am currently stepping back from romantic relationships, I haven’t stopped believing in or rooting for love. What I have stopped doing is settling for connection simply to feel it. I want depth. I want people who are willing to see beneath the surface and give love freely—not after it’s proven, but from the moment it’s offered. I deserve that. And while I haven’t yet received that kind of love romantically, I continue to receive it through friendships and give it to myself. For now, that is enough—and I hold space for the love that will one day meet me where I stand.