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2025.

I've been writing these silly little end of year recaps for the past 15 years (!!!) and at this point, they are solely for me to go back and read. The takeaway from most is this: one year is not all good or all bad (except 2017 -- that one was all bad).

this year is the same - there was goodness, but there were also hard things that filled in all the space between.

I went to San Diego. I went to Vancouver by myself. I went to Raleigh for 24 hours to see a concert. I went to Japan and Taiwan. I flew first class six times (this is not a humble brag, it's just truly astonishing that I can live a life that affords me this opportunity and I think of all the people who came before me and how this wasn't ever a possibility for them, but it is for me now. I hope they'd be proud).

I got a new job. that's a big one. and it is so astonishingly great. which feels hard to believe at times. it's a great place to be and I've had a lot of early success (that's recognized!) so I want to keep carrying that forward while also not getting lost in the work again.

I FINISHED MY BOOK!!! after a lifetime of dreaming this up, three years of on and off writing, and a pretty intense final six months, I got to type "the end." it still needs work. no one may ever read a word of it. but it's mine and I'm so proud I actually did it.

this was a year for change. It's hard to feel the change as it's happening, but looking back to last December, so much is different (mostly for the better). I'm kinder to myself, I put up boundaries (spoiler alert: people don't like boundaries), I graduated from therapy, I lost things I thought I'd have forever (and also lost Millie three weeks which were the absolute worst weeks of the year), relationships morphed, I allowed myself to want after being scared for so long.

as we move into a new year, I don't really have any resolutions. but I do know that I want more ease, more softness, and more grace for myself.

2024.

this year, I went to eight countries. I flew first class twice. I saw lions, and elephants, and rhinos with my own eyes. I chartered a plane and wandered around a ghost town covered in sand.

I loved my friends and nephew and cats. I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift and Zach Bryan. I worked in my pretty corner office, though I was annoyed the majority of the time I was there. I took too many photos and sought safety in my cozy little home I've been in for seven years.

and yet. when I look back at this year, I think my biggest accomplishment is not ending up in the psych ward. that sounds dramatic, but as I sat in my living room and was honest with my therapist on the computer screen she said "do you need to check in somewhere for 72 hours to be safe?"

(I did not.)

though there were a lot of moments in the later half of the year, where I probably should have been put away somewhere for my own safety. the darkness grabbed hold of me and the pain on the inside had to get out. and so I hurt and hurt and hurt.

I've tried to spend the last few months getting better. being honest with friends and calling when I need to and weekly therapy sessions. it feels so impossible to take so many steps backwards.

and now here I am, standing on the precarious edge of "better." I don't want to get too comfortable here; feel too safe yet. because I know it's all still there, under the surface.

I read "The Midnight Library" (best book of the year, says the person who read like maybe 10 books this year) and during my final session of 2024 with my therapist (God bless Marina), I read her this quote: "She would never be ashamed for her own nature... she wouldn't run from her pain anymore. She wouldn't poison herself with the pressures of imagined perfection. She would see her own hurt, recognize it, and not imagine there was a life of unquestionable positivity and happiness she was being deprived from."

that's what we've been working on - accepting all the bad along with all the good. and not focusing on the things I am not.

so, here's to a year of working on accepting myself. all the bad and all the good and not feeling shame in any of it. and forever and ever working towards better (not perfect, never perfect) but healthy and safe and here.

i feel invisible in my own life

I had a panic attack last night.

I haven't had a panic attack in a good 15+ years.

It started in the exact middle of a sold-out theatre during Jagged Little Pill, sitting next to one of my best friends. It started getting harder and harder to breathe, but I was trapped in the center of the row so all I could do was keep trying.

And when it was over and we were outside, my friend asked me if I was okay. This friend of mine who I love so much and trusted enough to share my story with looked at me with her kind, warm eyes and asked if I was okay. She asked me twice. Maybe three times.

I told her I was. Which didn't feel like a lie when I was saying it. Maybe it wasn't then.

We went our separate ways and on the three minute walk to my car the panic started flooding in. It was hard to breathe, sobs were choking me, my heart beat so quickly against my chest it hurt.

I got in my car and the second my phone connected to bluetooth, I was calling a friend. And when she answered and asked if I was okay, I told her I was not because the panic had really set in then. I was hyperventilating, sobbing...

A few minutes later, I was at her doorstep and could start to breathe again. And that was that.

Less than 12 hours later, I went to work where I pretended to be nice to people and care about silly things like seating charts and name tags. I know that's part of being a human being who pretends to be well-adjusted and secretly carries her trauma, but it is so exhausting.

There are countless books and shows and movies and news stories that deal with the same things as the show I saw. I normally do not get upset when seeing those things, because it's just so ingrained in culture it would be impossible to survive otherwise. This show got me, though. And the part that got me was when the cast had their signs held up on stage, all of them repeating essentially the same message: believe survivors.

I sat there, in a room of 1,700-ish people, who applauded this spectacle of woke signs, and thought to myself they agree with this in this dark theatre, but in the light of the day we still live in a world where we do not discuss these things out loud, only in whispers.

None of that is new, but it really hurt to remember it last night. To feel so alone in this world in which I know I am not alone, but so few of us are ever brave enough to hold up our own signs saying we are the survivors. (I am not one of the brave ones.)

I'm so so so tired of trying so so so hard and it never being quite enough.

2023.

The best way I can think to describe this year is how I entered it: in a cabin in the mountains of Tasmania, in tears. Because life is beautiful, but it is also hard.

In 2023, I did a lot of paint by numbers at my dining room table, snuggled with my cats, had to get Lasik twice, started supervising someone at work but got a pretty nice corner office, had a lot of glasses of prosecco, took quite a few couch naps, continued monthly therapy sessions, and had a fun summer with a fun bucket list designed for my 10-year-old self.

I saw Taylor Swift. I saw Noah Kahan. I was in Australia, Quebec City, Washington, and Costa Rica.

The snapshots of this year look really amazing, but a lot of them are tainted by the same old things I can never seem to shake - anxiety, self-doubt, that ever-pervasive fear of not being good enough. This year felt both stagnant and like taking 10 steps back somehow.

The happiest moment of the year was the night I spent at Salish. I laid in my incredible (and expensive!) bed in a place I had wanted to go for so long and thought "I did it! I did it all by myself." And while that's how almost everything in my life has been - doing it alone - this moment felt really significant and I was really proud of myself for making my own dreams come true.

Next year, I just want more of that: making my own dreams come true.

i started writing this six years ago

I started writing down these half-formed thoughts in 2017, where they have stayed in my drafts for the last six years:

On Friday I heard a sixth grader address a room full of 700 people at a fancy lunch at the Ritz. She told us how she felt at home in her own skin and she was confident in who she was. It’s a strange feeling to be nearly 30 and feel jealous of a twelve year old. But lately I feel as though I am composed only of jealousy, so I suppose it’s a comfortable place for me to be.

After we listened to this sweet girl and other strong women speak, my coworkers and I headed to the Ritz bar for the after-party (I mean, what else would you do on a Friday afternoon at work?). And despite knowing so many people who were gathered at the bar on a Friday afternoon, I felt so completely out of place. I do not belong with these people. These beautiful, sweet people. I am not one of them.

It is hard when you begin to realize that the thing you have been working towards might not be the thing for you.

And then today, I thought of it again. I was at this same lunch (different venue, but same event) and saw this same girl speak. And I looked across the table at one of my best friends and we both said “we were there the last time she spoke.”

Today, I did not feel out of place or like I did not belong. I felt like I was home. that I had a community. that I had friends. that I’ve made these extraordinary connections that continue to make me a better person.

I’ve struggled a lot with leaving my last job, even though it’s been a year and a half. It’s been really difficult to be in the same room with those people. Every time I have been in the past year, I have spiraled out of control. They were there today. I didn’t spiral. I wasn’t sad (maybe a bit, but not for them). I just felt... happy.

2022.

I’m three weeks late and have tried to write this a few times, but can’t seem to get any of the words out right.

Here’s what happened last year:

I started the year being so miserable at a new job, one that I had left my beloved, yet toxic job of seven years for.

The darkness took hold of me and in February, I found myself calling the suicide hotline because I was scared of what I might do.

In March I got a new job. I mostly get to write and they pay me a lot to do it. I’ve worked hard to not lose myself in work because I know what happens when you do.

In May I went to Chicago and was miserable the whole time. I got Covid. I went to Italy and my anxiety snuffed out any hope I had of having fun.

When I got home from Italy, I knew I needed help. I got a therapist. I got a Prozac prescription. I started meditating and journaling and exercising and being kinder to myself in pursuit of feeling better. It took a good long while before I found anything close to better, but by November I stopped feeling so sad and anxious all the time.

A category five hurricane slammed right into us. It was terrifying.

I started going to a trauma support group. It was one of the scariest things I’ve done, but it has been an incredible tool to help me feel less alone. I was more open and honest with friends. I started to put boundaries into place.

At the end of December, I flew to Australia for three weeks. It was my 30th country and 6th continent. I saw things I had only dreamed of seeing - the Blue Mountains, the Opera House, the Great Ocean Road, kangaroos right outside our front door on Christmas morning. And while it was a lot (a lot!) more joyful, there were still dark moments in between. I rang in the new year in the mountains of Tasmania in tears because while I am “better” I’m not all the way there yet.

In between all of those things, I spent my time reading in the safety of my bed, snuggling with Millie, letting Eliza in and out and in and out, walking the same loop around my neighborhood, laughing and sometimes crying with friends, and working really hard to find out what it means to feel happy (or at least not so sad and anxious all the time).

2023 is the first year in a very, very long time where I do not have a resolution or a goal. All I know is that I want to keep getting better. I want to be kind to myself and to others. I want to be proud of my work. I want to continue to set boundaries where they are needed. I want to be a good friend. I want to give Eliza and Millie the best life. I want peace. ease. joy.

wanderingwitchofthewood

I’m not even good at being mentally ill

I went to Italy in May.

It was beautiful. delicious. everything you would imagine Italy to be.

I was miserable.

Anxiety clouded every single moment. Snatched the whole trip right away from me, cruelly and without any remorse.

I came home and decided I didn’t want to be miserable anymore. I made an appointment with a therapist and a psychiatrist.

It’s been five months. I meet with my therapist on my living room floor via zoom every other week. I’ve got a Prozac prescription with my name on it. I’ve been journaling, meditating, taking walks, sharing feelings with friends.

But I don’t feel any different than I felt in May. more depressed, maybe. but not less anxious.

My psychiatrist told me my symptoms seemed a lot like OCD. A few months later, my therapist told me the same thing. And while that felt hard to hear (another mental illness to add to the pile) it also felt like it made sense. Here was this thing I could point to and say “this is what is wrong with me.”

My therapist had me write down my obsessive thoughts and any compulsions for two weeks. I had a long list for her. But when I read the dozen or so things I had written down, she said “hmm... this sounds a lot less like a disorder and more like some OCD tendencies.”

Here I am. not even good at being fully one diagnosis. I flit between depression and anxiety, but to look at me from the outside you’d probably never know. I’m not really good at being those things either. Except when I am and I feel like I am drowning, drowning, drowning... taking everyone down with me as I go.

These things - anxiety, depression, the OCD tendencies - they have been woven so tightly with who I am that I am frightened without them I am just this... just this person who is average and borderline mentally ill. Even more than that, I fear that this is who I am. This is how I will always be. There’s not anything better to strive for or anyone else I could be. There’s no illnesses to fight off with some pills or talking, because this is just who I am.

I am still miserable. But I am also scared. and tired. and still clinging tightly to the belief that maybe, just maybe, there might still be a chance for me to be more than this. better than this.

i’m so angry.

i’m so heartbroken.

i can’t say anything that hasn’t been said a thousand times over. i am mourning the loss of control over my own body. i am mourning the loss of the girls and women who are going to die because of this. i am mourning for the girls and women are going to be tethered to a life they didn’t want because of this. i am mourning.

and while this is not at all related, it feels connected because i have been in a position where my body was not my own and i had no control over it. and how 20+ years later i am still paying the price (literally and figuratively) for someone else’s crime. for a choice that was made for me. for something done to me that i had no control over. and it hurts in a way i cannot even begin to explain. i know it’s selfish of me to make this connection and my own personal loss is not at all comparable to this larger loss, but god dammit it hurts. it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

2021.

Writing one of these year in review posts feels like as much of a new year’s eve tradition as cleaning my home or drinking champagne, despite the fact that I post to this little space once or twice per year. What a time capsule I’ve created over the past decade (!) of my life.

I don’t know what to say about this year. There were big things that happened and slow moments where time dragged on. I was happy and sad and mad and proud and every feeling in between over these past 365 days, but it all feels like a blur standing on this end of the year.

Here are some of the big things that happened:

After seven years, I got a new job. This was the really, really big thing that happened. It was hard to leave behind something that felt so stable and known for something new and risky. But there was really no other choice for me, so I made the leap and I still can’t even believe I walk down different hallways now.

The last moments at my job felt so precious as they were happening, but now they’re mostly a blur. In a job that is based on relationships, it’s hard to end a chapter where you have to say goodbye to so many people you can’t take with you. I wish I could remember all of the kind things that were said to me, but I left feeling like I made a difference and what more could you ask for?

I went to West Virginia. I went to New York. I went to Ecuador. The moments I spent there were the once-in-a-lifetime kind. Traveling during a pandemic when you’re someone who already has anxiety is not for the faint of heart, but swimming with penguins and sea lions and seeing blue footed boobies with my own eyes was something I will remember for the rest of my life.

Those were the big things. The time in between was spent working (I wrote and produced a 50 minute video and it may be among the hardest projects I’ve ever tackled). It was spent spiraling about work. It was spent in the safety of my home that I’ve poured so much money, time, and effort to make it just how I wanted. It was spent at happy hours, letting cats in and out, doing a lot of Youtube workouts (but not nearly enough), and wasting way too much time on TikTok.

This December seems like it should feel so different than last December, but it doesn’t really. I have a new job, but I’m stilling ringing in the new year in a cozy little home filled with cats. The champagne is just way more expensive than it’s been in the past.

how it is possible to feel so at home, but also so lonely? so welcomed, but also an outsider? it’s incredible to me that we feel such attachment, love, and affection for people but then time and distance and life goes by and they become a memory. and when we’re with them again it feels like a memory come to life, but there’s nothing to say because so much life has happened between then and now and you don’t know each other anymore. it makes me so heartbroken. not just for these past friendships, but my current ones. is this what becomes of everyone? is it just me?

2021 goals.

I do better with goals each year vs. resolutions, especially the quantifiable kind but some self-improvement defies metrics, so there’s still those immeasurable-type goals on the list this year.

Learn to trust myself

Discover the things I love and that make me happy. Then keep doing those things.

Communicate more openly and honestly

Meditate every day

Learn how to eat intuitively

Move my body every day

Stop hitting snooze

Floss more

Play with Eliza every day

Do one kind thing for someone each week

This year is going to be about investing in my self. In big ways and in small ways. I did a lot of this in 2020, but I want to be more intentional about it as we move into this new year.

here’s to trusting ourselves. investing in ourselves. and accomplishing goals that make us better.

2020.

Every year, for the past 10 years, I have written one of these end of year reviews. What is there to really say about this past year? In all my wildest nightmares and with all the big scary things I worry over, I never could I have predicted we’d be living through a global pandemic that has changed everything. even still, nothing will ever top 2017 as being the worst year ever.

This year, I stayed put. I poured everything into this little house of mine - a new bathroom (finally), an updated kitchen, hurricane shutters, new furniture. which was one of the best investments to make this year, of all years, because I spent a lot of time at home. working from my couch, the island, my bed... I worked in the solace of my house most days, but I worked harder this year than any year before.

I spent a lot of time in local parks. 32 to be exact. which was the kind of project I needed in 2020 when there was nowhere else to go. I did go to Wyoming for 10 days in August. It was beautiful and it was hard (90+ miles hiked in that span of time).

There was a lot of time spent with Millie and Eliza. There was a lot of coffee made. There was a lot of Facetime and Zoom and phone calls. There was a lot of music listened to (mostly Caamp and Taylor Swift). There was Sidesgiving with my dearest friend and a scavenger hunt for secret passageways and lions roaring with Jax. There was a lot of workouts and a few pounds shed.

There was also fear. a pandemic kind of upends everything you believe in this world. For someone who is very change-adverse, it was been difficult to fully process, especially the swiftness of it all. It came with sadness and loneliness and it required a lot of fighting back against depression (which change is a big trigger for). but, I made it through. even though I did allegedly get Covid and almost lost my mind in quarantine.

And on one chilly evening in December, I sat on my new couch with my two best friends. there was a glow from the lights in the fireplace and bubbles in my glass. they told me I was creative. empathetic. thoughtful. brave. the next day, I carried out the recycling (champagne bottles) and thought to myself “this is the life I always dreamed of.” and while that isn’t necessarily true, it felt true. I remember being 22 and alone and fooling myself as I picked out things in a store and said to myself “when I have friends over, this will be perfect” even though it was probably a good seven years later until I had any friends to come over. dreams we never even thought we had can be realized, even 10+ years later. what fortune. what magic.

I want to carry that feeling with me as I move into the new year. as I move through life. this is the life I’ve always dreamed of.

#End of Year Review

recap of my 2020 goals

all things considered (like, ya know, the ongoing global pandemic) I did pretty well with my goals this year. always room for improvement, but I think just surviving this year is all any of us could have ever hoped for. disclaimer: this is not to brag or shame anyone, this is just for my own memories.

Play with Eliza every day: this is carrying over to 2021 goals. considering I was home for the majority of the year, I could have done better.

Figure out my next career move: yes? decided I didn’t want to go anywhere and am happy with my current gig. more grateful than ever before to have a stable job.

Lose weight: yes! lost about 35 pounds. more to go, but happy with this.

Go on a local adventure once a month: yes! started Parks Project and ended up visiting 32 local parks this year. glad I had this idea at the end of last year... had no idea how much I’d rely on local adventures.

Continue to budget and focus on saving/realizing some big financial goals/be more proactive about retirement savings - yes! knocked out some huge home projects, finished my emergency fund, and sorted out retirement accounts. wasn’t as aggressive with retirement savings, but I increased by contributions at work and have a good plan for 2021.

Become more confident: kind of! when I was having my annual review at work in November, my boss remarked on my growth in this area and I really felt that, too. could always be improved upon, but happy with progress.

Stop jumping to conclusions: no! not even a little bit.

Make my bed every day: yes! made my bed almost every day this year

Read more: kind of? did pretty good the first half of the year, then just get in a non-reading funk. hoping to end the year strong.

Reduce single use plastic: sort of? again, started off pretty strong in the beginning of the year and then... pandemic! it became more about getting in and out of stores quickly and without touching things.

I’d say, I solidly accomplished about half of these. 5/10 isn’t bad. and 3 more were semi-accomplished. it’s hard to judge the success of the non-quantifiable goals, but again... just happy to have survived. to be healthy. to be employed. and to have gotten out of 2020 relatively unscathed.

this morning, I rolled out of bed at 9:06. I brushed my teeth. I made coffee. I fed the cat. I answered four work e-mails and had two work calls. I crawled back into bed around 10:40 with my coffee. an hour later, I’m still in bed. the coffee is gone, but the cat is here.

the first two-ish weeks of working from home were great. I was so productive. I was eating healthy and working out. I was knocking things off my home to-do list and my work to-do list. productivity was the cure for all the scary things.

and then Friday I got a migraine and it forced me to slow down. which made all the bad things catch up to me and now it’s Monday at 11:53 and I’m in bed.

change is a real depression trigger for me and the whole world has changed. quarantine is part of our every day vocabulary. it all happened so swiftly that it’s knocked me sideways.

in January I had a lunch meeting with a donor. she was telling me her spring break plans to go to China would probably be cancelled. I waved my hand and told her no, they’d get this taken care of and she’d still be able to go. how foolish.

I have it better than most. I am working from home. I have food in my house (which I check daily because scarcity is a real fear). My house is safe and comfortable. I communicate daily with friends and family.

and yet.

it’s overwhelming. the change, the swiftness of the reaction, the unknown, the aftermath... and even when this is all over, the depression might still linger.

and I want to fight. but I also just want to hide under the covers.

#life in the time of coronavirus

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