“The year of loss, of having to grieve the loss of people who are still alive. The year of endurance. The year of accepting that some things are out of my control. And forgiveness. Forgiving someone who never gave me an apology. The year of saying “no”. Saying “actually I deserve more”. Dignity. Anger. Fear. The year of the unknown. The year I learned I am my own best friend. Loneliness. The year of being alone and having to like it. The year I broke open and dug rot out with my bare hands. Then mended the cracks with the same pair of hands. The year of distance, silence, starvation to say something I can’t. Humility. The year I learned not everyone in my life is supposed to stay, that some people are only lessons. The year of watering flowers that had died months before. The year of carrying the weight of the world and doing it in total darkness. The year of finally admitting “I’m not okay” and realising that’s okay. Strength. The year of feminism. The year of finding things out that I should have been told. Naivety. The year of knowing the whole truth, even if it hurt. And knowing I told it right, knowing I was honest even if it left me isolated. More anger. Gossip. Rumours. Blame. The year of not accepting blame for things I did not do. The year of not having a voice, of saying nothing when I could have said a lot. Laying low, making my next move quietly. The year I trained myself to defend my own corner, to become the fighter instead of the punching bag. Control. The year of hunger for money and power and Instagram followers, and then only freedom. The year of feeling numb. Feeling lost. Feeling nothing at all. Like I’d been turned upside down and shaken until I was emptied out. The year I found myself drowning in a sea of people and no one threw me a rope. Realisation. The year of friendship: new faces, old ghosts, one golden friendship, friends that stopped being friends for no reason at all. Exclusion. Invitations lost in translation. The year of people saying unkind, untrue things about me, and not needing to correct them. The year of pulling multiple knives from my back and then using them to cut ties. Drama. Karma. The year of exhaustion. Self doubt. Surprises… one good for one night, the rest bad. The year of realising that the sky is still the sky without someone, and not being surprised by that at all. The year of anxiety and panic. Struggle. Walking through a supermarket like the floor was made of broken glass. The year of crying. Caring and not caring. Clarity. Closure. The year of conversations in a parked car that felt like it was flying. The year of goodbyes that were never even spoken, then carving mine into a wooden bench. The year of eating whatever I want. The year of talking to strangers. Misperception. The year of missing people, hating people, pitying people, finding myself in all the people. The year of wishing on eyelashes and dirty pennies and 11:11’s, wishing for a time machine, to be anywhere but where I was. The year of accepting I can’t have something back. Then realising I don’t need it anyway. The year I learned you can’t find love in the same place you lost it. The year of being dealt a hand of cards and pulling out a queen instead of a jack. Growth. Finality. The year of falling out of love with one person and falling in love with myself. Confidence, without arrogance. The year I grew to hate my sighs and love my thighs. The year of dying my hair then cutting it off like the strands were strings attached to toxic people, nooses around my neck. Freedom. Saying “yes” to new things. The year of getting stronger, smarter, harder. Resilience. Understanding that a phoenix must burn first to emerge later. The year I turned broken porcelain into steel and wore it as thicker skin, but somehow felt lighter than ever before. The year of wanting to be anything but alive, and still living. Getting out of bed again and again and again. Courage. The year of losing everything and being rich in loss. Change. Changing because I wanted to, needed to, had to, because when the flowers finally grew back, I realised not all roses are red. The year of fighting, of climbing out of a black hole and seeing light, of not drowning but swimming to the other side. Letting go of hatred, anger, bitterness. The year of having faith that my time will come. Determination. Hope. Self love. New plans. The year I made peace with myself and became the journey I was on, one that did not end but simply changed direction. The year of saying “that almost killed me, but it didn’t”.”
