2025: A year of noticing

It’s been a while since I’ve posted on social media about my life or tried to do a year-end recap. Not because nothing was happening, of course it was, but because this year felt less about chasing momentum and capturing moments, and more about simply noticing.

Noticing what energizes me and what drains me. What asks for more of my time and care, and what quietly asks for less. What my body has been telling me, not just this year, but for a long time.

I found myself lingering more. With thoughts, with places, with conversations that didn’t need to resolve into anything practical or useful. I took more time to be quieter. More time to be present.

What follows isn’t a list of accomplishments. It’s a few lessons that stayed with me.

You’re always learning from your children

I feel deeply grateful to have a young adult child who actually likes me as a person and wants to be close.

We’ve always been close, but this year felt like something shifted. Not dramatically. Not suddenly. Just clearly. Our relationship unlocked a new level when I stopped worrying about what it should look like and focused instead on getting to know her where she is now.

I’m really enjoying the person she’s becoming. Listening more. Reacting less. Letting the relationship meet us both where we are.

Now it feels lighter. More mutual. Still deep, just with more room to grow.

Motherhood isn’t meant to be done alone

One of the quiet gifts of this year was fully leaning into the hood in motherhood.

The friendships where you can talk about your kids endlessly and never feel judged. Where no one rushes you, fixes you, or tells you what you should be doing instead.

I felt held by that. The joy, the worry, the repetition. All of it had somewhere to land.

Sharing the weight didn’t make it disappear.
It just made it lighter.

And it reminded me that motherhood isn’t meant to be carried alone, even if at times it has to be.

I learned to romanticize my life

Not in an Instagram way. In a paying-attention way.

I stopped waiting for big moments to make life feel meaningful and started noticing the days I was already in. Light through the trees on our walks. Being loved by our puppy. Morning walks with my husband after dropping our kid at school.

Romanticizing my life didn’t mean pretending things were easier than they are. It meant choosing presence instead of autopilot.

Joy didn’t need permission.
It just needed attention.

Self-care wasn’t optional

Rest has never come easily to me. I was raised on hustle and productivity.

This year, therapy came first. Then self-care followed, slowly and imperfectly. Toward the end of the year, I finally planned a full week of doing nothing. I took time off work and unplugged completely. No projects. No productivity disguised as rest. I still can’t believe it was the first time I had ever done that.

My body stopped being subtle. Over the last couple of years, my energy has shifted, and ignoring the signals stopped being an option.

There’s still a lot I’m learning about self-care, and I know it needs to be a bigger priority. But I’ve noticed this: I’m better all around when I’m not depleted.

It didn’t take anything away from my family. If anything, it made me more present.

Joy doesn’t need an audience

I stopped sharing everything.

I made things quietly. I wrote without publishing. I played with color without explaining myself. Creativity didn’t need to perform. It just needed space.

Some of the best parts of my life this year were private. That didn’t make them smaller. It made them mine.

I miss my voice

At some point, I noticed how careful I had become. Not silent, just edited.

This year made it clear that I miss my voice. My opinions. My way of seeing things. And I’m determined to bring it back.

Being awake also means showing up. Not just privately, but publicly. Standing where it matters.

This space exists because I want my words to live somewhere with room to breathe.

Carrying it forward

I don’t think 2025 needed to be wrapped up or explained.

It gave me clarity about what sustains me, what drains me, and what I can’t ignore anymore. That feels like enough to take into the next year.

The lights are on.