What Surviving 2025 Taught Me

2026 Has Officially Begun

And while some people are busy posting highlight reels and champagne wins from 2025, others of us are still clinging to the edge, fingers numb, lungs burning, just trying to keep our heads above water.

Both realities exist. Neither cancels the other.

The Year of the Snake was a doozy. For me, it was a year of expansion and contraction all at once. My business did well. I grew as an artist. I checked off bucket-list experiences. I helped countless women turn their insecurities into art. And underneath all of that beauty, I was grieving, unraveling, and surviving some of the hardest personal chapters of my life.

In short, my art saved me.

Looking back now at the wreckage that was 2025, I can see my growth. I can see my strength. I can see the woman I became. But none of that changes the fact that much of the year felt dark, heavy, and relentless.

The year began with loss. I lost both of my fur babies just five days apart. Because my husband and I are unable to have children, our dogs weren’t “just pets.” They were our babies. Our family. Our daily joy. Losing them felt like having my heart ripped straight out of my chest. I cried every single day for eight months. Grief didn’t visit. It moved in and rearranged the furniture.

A month later, I received notice that a long-awaited court date tied to ongoing family issues was finally set for June. It was a reminder of betrayal by people who were supposed to love me. People I fought hard to keep in my life. The outcome ultimately forced me into the most painful realization of all: I had spent years trying to fix something no-one else cared to fix and the only way I was ever going to heal was to walk away.

Even though the court proceedings landed in my favor, the damage was done. I was punished for standing up for myself in a family system that had no intention of being held accountable. Walking away was devastating. And necessary.

Through the summer, I stayed busy. I pushed myself into little adventures I had always dreamed of but never prioritized. Those moments didn’t erase the pain, but they gave me sparks of life when everything inside me felt like it was dying. By the end of August, I started to feel like myself again. For the first time, I gave myself permission to stop fixing, stop carrying, stop bleeding for other people.

I could think about my dogs without collapsing. There were more smiles than tears, even though the ache never fully left. Gratitude started to replace devastation. I felt optimistic again. My nervous system finally exhaled.

And then my body crashed.

What followed was a full-body rash that began on my face and spread everywhere. No clear diagnosis beyond histamine reactions. My body, after holding everything together for so long, finally said enough. I slowed down my work. I shifted priorities. I poured energy into caring for myself and managing a physical crisis layered on top of emotional exhaustion. Healing is still ongoing. The road ahead is long.

I’m not writing this for sympathy.

I’m writing this for the women who feel invisible during seasons of struggle. For the ones who look around and wonder why everyone else seems to be thriving while they’re barely functioning. For the ones who feel ashamed that good things and devastating things can coexist in the same chapter.

They can. And they do.

Life isn’t meant to be easy. It’s meant to shape us. To challenge us. To force us to face what actually needs healing. It demands brutal honesty and deep faith. Even when life feels like a dumpster fire, it isn’t forever.

I know that on the other side of this chapter, there will be grace. Prosperity. Joy. Experiences I’ll savor differently because I’ve earned them the hard way.

As so many people set resolutions to make 2026 the “best year ever,” my intentions are quieter. Slower. Deeper.

This is the year I sort through the wreckage of the last two years.
This is the year I let my body heal.
This is the year I move at a softer pace.
This is the year I become more present.
This is the year I practice gratitude for what I have, because nothing is promised.

Not every year is for building empires. Some are just survival.
Some are for rebuilding yourself.

And that, too, is sacred.

Here’s to those who didn’t conquer 2025, but survived her brutal shedding, and are stepping into 2026 simply hoping for gentler ground beneath their feet.

Here are a few selfies for you to enjoy. I discovered a fun new lighting trick that turned my once-boring staircase into something a little more magical. After writing this blog, I needed a moment to celebrate my survival and honestly, selfies felt necessary. One should take their own advice after all ✨🔥