To say that 2025 was a challenging year is an understatement.

It wasn’t one setback.
It was one punch after another — before I could even stand back up.

From February through June, it felt relentless. I was doing everything I knew how to do: showing up, handling responsibilities, keeping things moving. But inside, something was breaking down. By June, I finally had to stop. I took a short trip — not for luxury, not for escape — but to reset and re-configure. I knew something had to change, even if I didn’t yet know what.

The truth is, 2025 didn’t just tire me out.
It emptied me.

I am not someone who normally stays down. I am optimistic. I am resilient. I have built my entire life around coming back, recalibrating, and moving forward. But this year was different. It left me so depleted that even dreaming felt dangerous. Even planning felt pointless.

And that is not who I am.

Now, as 2026 begins, I find myself in a strange in-between space. I’ve made plans. I have goals. I know some of the things I want to build. But underneath it all, there is doubt. Hesitation. A quiet voice that sometimes asks, What’s the point?

That voice didn’t come from nowhere.
It came from surviving too much for too long without enough restoration.

Right now, I feel like an enclosed glass bulb with a little vapor inside. Not full light yet. Not fully energized. But not empty anymore either. There is a glimmer. A thin layer of hope. And that is enough to start rebuilding.

Rebuilding doesn’t always look bold.
Sometimes it looks slow.
Sometimes it looks cautious.
Sometimes it looks like simply staying connected to what still matters.

For me, that means focusing on what I do want in 2026 — even if I’m not fully confident yet. It means staying grounded in the few things that still feel true. It means allowing hope to exist without demanding that it perform.

There is a poem by James McRae on YouTube called “Instructions Before Visiting Earth.” It reminds us that this life is fragile, strange, painful, beautiful, and temporary — all at the same time. That perspective matters when you’ve been through a year that stripped you down to the bone. It helps you remember that this is not punishment. This is the human experience.

So this is the year of rebuilding.

Not pretending.
Not rushing.
Not forcing.

Just slowly, gently, deliberately filling the glass back up.

And for now — that is enough.

Before any goal in life can stand, you must stand.

Life management comes first—confidence, discipline, and a solid foundation that won’t shake when life does. I help women build tools so they can rise, thrive, and stay grounded through it all.