Favorite Moments and Lessons of 2024

Dear 2024, you have been the calm before the inevitable storm.

I feel like some years break you, some years make you, some heal you, and some years you are simply just waiting. I felt like this year was a year of healing I knew I always needed, but also a transitionary period of awaiting what is to come.

At the end of last year, if I’m being quite honest, I couldn’t say I was in the best place mentally. I felt like I was grappling through a fog where every corner I turned, all I saw was this gray murkiness that threatened to pull me back at the hands of my depression. I could never escape this constant feeling like depression was trying to find me again and make me it’s friend, and for a while, we were friends in the most complicated relationship that a person could have with emotions. So to be where I am today mentally and physically, reminds me how much a year can make a world of a difference.

I am not the same person I was at the end of last year, and in many ways that is a beautiful but complex thing to feel.

Because so much can change in a year that changes who you are and how you feel.

And I needed the time and space to let go of Depression’s hand to find my way to myself again. When I finally let go of Depression, I could walk with more freedom into rediscovering who this person was on the other side of all the anxiety, sorrow, and grief I felt. I have been friends with Depression when I was sixteen, but I had no idea who I would be now as an adult when I befriended her again. I like to think that because we were well aquatinted before, I could become a stronger version of myself to recognize how unhealthy that relationship was for me even if part of me felt like that relationship was also a life raft to the darkness of my mind.

And I do think I am—-stronger.

More undaunted.

Because I’ve been there before, and I’ve made it through. And if I could make it through once, twice, then I could get through anything.

Like the inevitable.

Bound to happen.

Meant to be.

Because this year was knowing the tide was receding, being sucked out to sea. Each time the wave was incrementally growing in strength and size, while I was standing by shore, ignoring the fact that there was no more restraints. The wave was going to come. And it was going to destroy everything in it’s path, including the very person who was praying that it would never come to such a disaster.

It’s a special thing watching something break over and over again.

It’s a horrid thing.

A frightful, destructive thing.

My lungs felt concaved in, breathless, grasping onto anything around me to help me stay afloat. But there was nothing but the sounds of my sobs mingled with the very thing that was destroying me. No one could hear my pleas for help or feel the way my hands and body shook with impact as everything in me wanted to give up and give out because that pain felt less potent than the pain of everything crashing down on me all at once.

But I knew that this was going to happen. I knew that this was going to hurt.

But I think as people we disillusion ourselves that things will get better when we know it will not because we hold onto the idea of hope—-hope that the storm won’t actually come.

And I held onto hope for years. I believe in hope. I believe in more.

I did not believe hope could fix years worth of fractures and an insurmountable wave of hurt.

Nothing really can.

So the inevitable happens. It happened.

And to be quite honest, I may be still standing on the other side of that hurt, but on the inside, I’m still that girl trying to catch her breath and stay above water.

This year felt like an intake of breathe only to be released with tears.

This year felt like being pummeled and lost in the cyclone of the water, not really knowing when I would come up for air or see light again.

This year felt like music and laughter in the recesses of my mind as I tried to fight my way through the current.

This year felt like my arms growing weak and tired, but stronger as I tried, tried, tried, tried to be okay.

Sometimes we try so hard to be okay that we convince ourselves we are when we’re not.

Not really.

Some days I don’t really know if I’m as okay as I claim to be. But I try.

Just like last year, I’m still trying.

I wonder when I won’t have to feel like I’m constantly trying to stay afloat and I can just float.

I can just be.

I can reconnect to me.

Yes, I spit some rhymes there 😅.

Some levity.

Oops, I did it again.

My word for 2024 was reconnect.

I had the intention of reconnecting to myself, the things I love, the things that make me happy.

I feel like I lost that person a lot last year in befriending Depression again, that I wanted to be me again.

It took months of holding back tears, letting the waterworks fly, of running and hiding, and pretending to be okay before I finally felt like I could breathe again, be me again.

The person who came out on the other side of the first half of the year is someone—-I tear up just writing it now—that I am proud of.

I don’t tell myself I’m proud of myself often because, I don’t know, it’s not something we as people ever acknowledge as often as we should.

But I’m proud she got through some of her hardest days where she pretended she was okay being where she was and fearing if she would have a job because she didn’t feel valued. I’m proud of the person who continued to show up for fourteen kids who trusted her everyday to help them learn something more than just academics. I am proud of the person who formed meaningful relationships with these fourteen students who welcomed me into their life when I wasn’t really supposed to be in their life, and now they continue to let me in whenever they come visit. I am proud of the girl who danced her way through moments with them and cried tears of love when I had to say goodbye. I am proud of the girl who faced a big fear of mine and discovered that there was more outside of the where I lived. I am proud of the girl who continues to show up for herself even if her heart is half broken. I am proud of the girl who has found more assurity in the person she is becoming each and every day, doing things that make me feel confident and happy and saying screw saving my happiness for a different day if it makes me happy today.

I am proud of the girl who has gone through this year feeling elated, hurt, broken, confused, and lost and despite everything tries to lead with a kind and loving heart—- a heart that fears that its been too hurt by people who I thought cared about me that I fear that I fear the very thing that I have always wanted.

Because at the end of the day, all we should do as people is to love.

To show other people love and kindness, and to show ourselves love and kindness.

That’s something I’m still working on for sure.

This year wasn’t everything I thought it would be, but I know in the grand scheme of things, this year was everything it needed to be on my journey. I know I can’t see it now, but in someway somehow every moment is leading me to where I am meant to be in life, and every moment has helped me grow into the person I am today.

As much as people might think differently, I do like the person I am becoming because she has been through some of her darkest days with a kind heart and is still learning how to be in this vast, complicated world.

There were moments that brought me unfiltered laughter, firsts that sparked a feeling of forever, moments that had my eyes puffier than a pastry, there were moments that had me wanting to hold on a little longer. There were lessons that were hard to understand and lessons that I felt I already knew, but never put into words until this year. All of these moments and lessons shaped me into the person I am today, writing this with a heart that feels grateful for the lightness and the heaviness and the sorrow and the growth because it meant that I lived. Sometimes I feel like I am not doing enough in a year like I haven’t experienced this or that or been here or there, but I’ve realized that even if I feel like I haven’t done enough, I have lived through more than I give myself credit for; that I have felt and experienced things that only I know of. And that’s more than enough because how grateful am I to say that I had another year to try and to grow—-don’t diminish your experiences or growth just because it doesn’t look like someone else’s.

So without further ado, here are my favorite and hardest lessons of 2024 and my favorite and hardest memories of 2024.

🍃✨🕊 Favorite and Hardest Lessons 🕊✨🍃

Enjoy Each Moment As You Live It

I always knew what these sayings were imparting, but I never truly understood the sentiment of either sayings until I caught myself in multiple moments this year, wishing I could live in it forever.

I think the very first moment for me started back in March when I was with my students, when they started dance class for the Song Fest our school does. As March bled into April, which bled into May, I found myself relishing in the moments of joy where I would see my students smiling as they sung and dance. In those moments I also began to discern the subtle changes in my kids. Their faces started to grow more thin or angular and their bodies stretching as they grew in height. I saw the way they started to wear different accessories, finding a newfound confidence that wasn’t there when I first met them in September—–tiny tots in their school uniform, but starting to wear hoodies, bracelets, sparkly berets. I began to see the ways their personality begin to shine through with unserious sass or unexpected humor. All of a sudden it was April and lightning struck my brain in jolting me awake to the realization that I only had a few more months with my kids left.

I wish I had forever with them—-time to watch them grow up and always be part of their lives.

The day Song Fest came, I remember making the conscious decision to put my phone down and be present. As much as I would have loved to film every dance that happened that day and take an ostentatious amount of photos to remember the moment, I didn’t. I lived in the moment as much as I could, relishing in seeing all the grades perform, and savoring the two minutes from when our grade walked onto the field to the minute the confetti went off and they walked off. That was the first moment I remember to actually live in the moment for me. You never get a moment back once it’s gone, and I distinctly remember wanting to be present as much as possible because after that day was the last day of school—the last day with my students.

Even then, I wish I could have stopped to breath and enjoy the last few hours where we were a class family. It boggles my mind how you can be in the same time and space as a group of people—-that you were part of their journey and story for that portion of time you are with them. I will always be grateful for how I met a group of kids I was never supposed to meet, and I became part of their life, their journey—- a gift. We truly were a family who laughed everyday, danced at random times, and learned more than just what I was given to teach. And I will never take for granted how incredibly grateful and lucky I was to be able to live that moment—that year—-with them for the time that I did.

So when I had to say goodbye to them—had to let go—my heart felt like it was breaking anew for the love I formed for them; the love I formed based on all the memories we had—-memories I wish I could go back and relive.

But I can’t.

And my experience with my kids reminded me how precious a moment is because you can never get that moment back with the same exact people or the same exact feeling as much as you want to. There is no time machine or do over button where you can go back to a certain time and do everything all over again, even though sometimes I wish there was. You have to be present in the moment as much as possible to enjoy the gift that that moment truly is—-and I know that sounds cheesy. But it’s true. Because if you’re constantly thinking about the next moment, the next thing, the next person, what may happen, what may not happen, you miss out what is happening right in front of you—–you miss out on the laughter, joy, adventure that life is gifting you right now.

And I would know firsthand how sometimes you can go a whole year with a broken heart and wish you would have felt differently about memories you did enjoy if they were not tainted by some sorrow, but to also enjoy the moment as much as you can even with your broken heart. Live despite your broken heart. Enjoy in spite of your broken heart.

Because you never know how quickly a moment changes or what you lose after a moment is gone.

I miss my kids everyday because I loved them, and gosh knows I had the absolute worst withdrawal from my last year’s kids—-a trauma bond, I guess 😂, but I know that as much as I miss them, I am grateful to see the beauty of them growing. I appreciate how they still allow me to be part of their lives whenever they visit me, us forming new memories.

As much as I miss the moments that we had, I know they are never truly lost if I always have the love there—-if the love always live.

That love always will.

I also just think about how quickly things can change in life that you don’t really appreciate what you have until things have to change.

I was delivered the inevitable this year, which made me reflect on how much I had to lose with such a blow.

I am about to lose everything I thought I knew for so many years.

And my heart feels like someone keeps beating it with an anvil and I have no reprieve to save myself no matter how many times I try to get up.

Every time I look around the four walls of my room, I look at how that room will not be mines pretty soon—-how the four walls where I grew the most, felt the most pain, and felt the most love will no longer be a place I can go to. Every time I sit on the ground to write or sit at my kitchen table to type, I think about how in a year from now, this table will not be here, and I will not be writing from the same safety of a nook in the corner of a room. Every time I walk outside, seeing my neighbors or the passing buildings that have become as familiar to me as my own home, I grieve the idea that in a year, I will not be walking the same paths, seeing the same people, or gazing at the same buildings. Every time I walk through the door of my home, I think about how in a year from now, this will be someone else’s home.

Every day I think about how much I am losing.

I didn’t realize I never wanted to lose this house, this community until I had to.

You see, I’m not the best with change—-have not been so far, anyway. I knew that one day I had to move—-that I would not stay in the same place forever—-I just always thought this place would be somewhere I could come back to when I was older the same way my parents could visit their childhood home. I don’t really have that anymore.

I never really had that the day I was told to leave.

And in those constant torrent of thoughts I now reflect on how I never really appreciated how much I truly enjoyed being in this place and space that allowed me to feel immense pain but also immense growth. To leave all of that feels like I’m leaving a part of myself—-the part that has felt like I became who I am in the span of staying in this place. But now, I’m losing this place. Will I lose myself?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that as much as I feel like I am losing a big part of myself, I am also trying to relish in the time I have left. Every time I look around the four walls of my room, I appreciate how much the room allowed me safety when I needed to be alone and let my emotions go. Every time I sit on the ground or type at the table, I feel a newfound appreciation and nostalgia for wanting to memorize the feeling of a place where I felt comfortable enough to voice the inner workings of my mind. Every time I walk around the neighborhood now, I soak in the familiarity and love of seeing my neighbors and walking the same path—-I bask in the gratitude for a path that allowed me to find a healthy routine for myself. Every time I walk through the door of my house, I take a moment to look around me and remember all the good, the heavy, and the complicated.

Every day I think about how much I want to appreciate what I have until I have to say goodbye.

I think it’s the moments where you feel immense joy or sorrow that you start to fully appreciate just how much something matters to you for you to cherish it—-the juxtaposition of loss and love. That you don’t fully comprehend the loss or the extent of your love for a moment until you stand to lose something.

So while you’re living in a moment, live it well because you never know how quickly things can change or what can change. Enjoy the people you share that moment with. You never know when you will be with those people again or in what capacity. Enjoy the laughter that rattles through your whole being. You never know if you will feel that sense of euphoria again. Enjoy the ambiance of the place around you. Yever know when it will be the last time you walk through doors that you thought you had more time to walk through and places you thought you had more time to explore. Enjoy each moment as much as you possibly can.

A moment is supposed to be lived, so live it well while you can 💕.

You will never regret living in a moment than living in regret for a moment you failed to be present in or appreciate while you had it.

Grief is More Than A Person

When people speak about grief, they usually speak about losing someone they love.

What people don’t tell you is that grief is more than a person.

Grief is a feeling—–a laden emotion.

If grief is a feeling, then grief is not limited to just losing someone you love, but something you love.

I had to grief three great loves this year.

One of them being losing my second year of students.

That sounds like the dumbest and weirdest thing to say as a person, but I don’t think anyone truly understands what it means to teach a group of kids and love them with your whole heart only to watch them leave you. You feel like a parent who is letting your kids fly the nest too soon, wishing you had more time with them and could be part of their lives for longer.

I don’t know. I am someone who feels every emotion and experience deeply, and having deep emotions has always felt like a double-edged sword—-a sword I never regret piercing me if the emotions allowed me to feel. I know some might say that I pour too much love into my work as a teacher and that I should separate my emotions from my work, but when you’re around the same group of people for the majority of the day for the majority of the year, of course, you begin to love these people—-you care for them.

They become your kids.

Some may say jokingly that being a teacher feels like being a mother, but there is so much truth to that. You put all your care and love into your kids—-you are there when they are hurt and crying and you try to comfort them with a band-aid, an ice pack, or kind words; you are there when they succeed and you give them a high-five or round of applause; you are there for them when they struggle so you help them through guidance and patience; you are there for them for the adventures when you watch plays or go on adventures; you are there for them when they misbehave and you try to understand them through compassion; you are there for them when they sing, dance, laugh, create; you are there for every moment that matters just as much as every moment that matters with a parent. So when you say goodbye to these kids, you feel like you are saying goodbye to your own kids because they genuinely are.

I had to grieve my second year kids in such a different way, and it wasn’t even until the new school year started that I understood the depths of my love and grief.

To see my kids as older kids with a different teacher almost felt like betrayal 😅. In my heart, they were still mine. But now they were with someone else?

My heart felt like it was walking outside of my chest.

I had to let them go as much as I wanted them to stay—-as much as I wanted them all to be in my room again so we could learn together for another year.

But time goes on. Kids grow up. That’s just life.

I read this book to my first year kids called, “Love is.” Love Is is a picture book about a girl who finds a duck and takes care of the duck. She raises the duck until the duck sees a group of ducks flying out the window, and the girl knew she had to let the duck go. The girl knew love was letting the duck fly—-letting the duck go—-and hoping the duck came back when day—-that the love was still there. I like to read this book to my kids because the book reminds me that love is letting go and hoping that if the love was there, they’ll find their way back in some capacity.

And they did.

My kids from last year all came back to visit me at least once.

The love was there, and I’m grateful that that was what they took away from their time with me.

I cannot be anything but appreciative for the time I had with them because our time was spent with love.

Being with my new kids—-unfamiliar faces I didn’t really have a connection with—felt weird the first month because my heart was still yearning for what was. I never allowed myself to move on because I was still in denial and in sorrow for what I had.

Slowly, I formed a relationship with my new kids and they became more my kids than my last years kids. And I look forward to the connection that we will form too. I know that saying goodbye to them will also feel like my heart is walking outside of my chest, but I know that feeling was because of love.

My second bout of grief had to do with the idea of losing my home.

At first, I was depressed and angry that I was losing a place I felt like I grew up the most in. I mean, how could he just kick me out like that over something absolutely ridiculous?

But in hindsight, I did see it coming—that one day this house would not be home.

I just didn’t think it would be this soon or for this reason.

I can distinctly remember the day in mid October when I was trying to do work at my kitchen table, and he approached me like he always does, my defenses going up like they always do, and he starts to berate me for something inane. I remember my heart quickening faster than the speed of light, my hands shaking harder than a window in a storm, and my eyes welling up already with the tsunami of tears—the greatest destruction. A betrayal of trust, a lie, all to end with the final blow of I was being kicked out.

I hurried outside to catch the breath from the outside air, sitting by a tree in nothing by my Folklore cardigan, shorts, and crew socks as I heaved on the pavement. Sometimes I wonder if I cry so loud because I wish someone could hear me or see me to ask if I was okay.

Sometimes I wish someone would ask me if I was okay.

I called anyone I could as I tried to find my heartbeat and my vision.

I felt like I had no one left to talk to, no where left to go. I was going to be homeless was the first thought to pop into my mind.

I no longer had a home.

I no longer had safety.

I no longer had security.

But did I ever have those sentiments when I lived with a monster?

The whole day my eyes would not stop their tears; my eyes felt as broken as my heart, as my strength, as my resolve.

I wanted to curl up into that tree outside and disappear.

I have never felt so lost before, so without somewhere or someplace that felt safe for me.

And the past few months have felt like a constant battle of putting on this facade that I’m okay because I have to be okay for work, while finding somewhere to live, while getting rid of things because I need to start packing things, and grappling with the idea that I will no longer have a childhood home to return to. The past few months have felt like one sobbing conversation after another with my brother or my mother about where I am to live and what to do, and feeling like I’m going in circles in my mind and in reality with not really knowing where to land. Will I ever have a place to land again?

I feel stuck in this state of depression and denial and acceptance—-a maximum of emotion that I don’t know how I hold.

Depressed with feeling like I am losing some place I love, not the sense of home because gosh knows this house has not felt like a home for years. But a sense of community and growth for the people and experiences I had here. Sorrow at feeling like everything is about to change and fear that I don’t know how I will be on the other side of that change.

Denial that I am actually moving because it hasn’t felt like I am moving. All the times I have moved before, I already had boxes or a place to go. I don’t have boxes ready, but I have a temporary place to go. It scares me that I don’t feel like I have some place that would feel like mine, but a place is better than nothing.

Acceptance that next year I really will be different—everything will change. And as much as I can’t see that or feel that change right now, I know it’s going to happen whether sooner or later.

Wrapped up in everything is this overwhelming sense of grief for what I thought I knew or what I felt like my life was going to be. I knew things were going to change and I was going to leave one day, but to be told to go without a safety net feels like falling without a parachute.

Which brings me to my third sense of grief in grieving the loss of what already broke once.

My brother said it best but it feels like I am having to watch my family break all over again.

What a horrific thing to experience.

It’s funny because I remember as a kid, I CLINGED to the idea of a nuclear family—-a picturesque family—only for us to turn out to be anything other that.

I think the little girl in me who always wanted to feel close to her family grieves the idea that I will never get to experience that in a way that is normal—-that I still hurt from feeling like my family wasn’t really a family. And to watch my family break apart all over again, demolishes everything I thought was okay but was never really.

My heart has learned to hold a lot of room for sorrow for many years. My heart has learned to love and lose, not just the people closest to me, but the places and ideas that I also held dear. Something I learned this year in terms of grief is that the greatest grief comes from the greatest love. This sentiment reminds me of something I said a while back to myself how from the greatest pain comes the greatest love because if there had not been that much love, there would have not been that much hurt. As much as grief and pain cut you open and expose all the darkness within, grief and pain also allow the light to shine through to how much love you felt for someone or something.

Grief is if not a reflection of our love.

And that love can take many forms, any and all of them just as real as the feeling of such love and loss.

The Best Family Is the Family You Find

In the midst of witnessing my family breaking all over again, I have found people who have felt like family.

And for that I am eternally grateful.

Family is built on love

More than it is built on blood.

I wrote this late at night in my notes app as one does as a very introspective enneagram four 🙃.

I always thought that family were the people who loved you. I had this ingrained belief that family were the people who were there for you, cared for you, and wanted the best for you. I thought family was the people you felt the safest with, the most comfortable, the most free. I thought family were the people that you watched movies with, ate meals with, sang with, danced around the living room with, cried with, lived with.

In some regards, I do believe that family is what you do all those things with and more, depending on the family.

I don’t think my family was ever that family.

When I was a kid, I remember trying to plan family weeks because I wanted our family to be a family so badly. I remember creating art competitions for us or wanting to have movie nights because that’s what I saw families did.

But my family never truly felt like a family.

We felt like people who lived together.

People who barely tolerated each other because we were all stuck in our own heads, our own selflishness getting in the way of what it meant to build something together. And I don’t blame that on my siblings and I because gosh knows we were only kids and we had no idea what it meant to grow up in this world, yet alone, what it meant to maintain a family. But that meant, I never really felt like I knew what it meant to be part of a family that actually loved you and cared for you. I don’t say this to gain pity, but just some honest thoughts about how I never felt safe around my family—-I never felt secure in what we were.

Family was just the people who hurt me the most because they were the very people who were supposed to love me.

I never really knew who my family was.

I always think this to myself, but I owe a lot to my best friend who has felt like my sister. I have known my best friend for nearly twenty-years, and she has been with me through every high and low, and without her, I genuinely would not be where I am today. I may have not found a romantic partner in life yet, but I have been granted the greatest gift in finding my best friend—-a life partner. She is one of the best things that has ever happened to me because gosh only knows the time and space that allowed us to meet each other. I don’t think she’s reading this, but I want her to know that she has always felt like family to me more so when my own family hasn’t really been there.

I have such a complicated relationship with my actual family, and it sounds like I’m saying my entire family is unhealthy. But that’s not true. I think our upbringing was unhealthy and that’s why my brother and sister were never close. As we have gotten older and have understood more of the complications of our childhood, the more connected I do feel with my siblings. They are my family even if it took a while for us to feel like we were.

I also have let someone else into my life who I would have never fathomed letting into my life when I was this angry sixteen-year-old. But now he’s one of the very people who I feel safe around and I trust, and that means a lot to me. He was there when I bumped a car last year and was scared out of my mind and confused as to what to do. He took the time to guide me to where to fix my car and he was there to help me drop off and pick up my car. He took the time to show me how to fill my car tires with air or how to check the front of my car. He helped me figure out how to get a safety check and get my car renewed—a big car guy. He was there to gift me a pen that could protect myself or a lock pick to help me get into places. He gave me a flashlight for my keys so I was safe. When we went hiking, he let me borrow a backpack water thing. He lent me a thermometer when I needed a new one to bake because my old one died. He offered to give up his office space to give me a place to go when I had no business being in their home.

And he did all of this without being asked or being told. He did all of this even if I am not related to him. And I can’t express the amount of gratitude I have for his kindness and thoughtfulness for someone who absolutely detested everything he stood for when I met him.

I can’t believe I’m in a place where I respect him more than my own father.

Because he showed me unconditional kindness when I needed it most, even when I didn’t need or deserve it.

He’s not really family, but I consider him someone who matters to me, and that’s what matters.

Yes, family is the people who you are related to by blood because that’s what basic biology says. But family is so much more than who you share a bloodline with. Family is the people who love you unconditionally and without fault. Family is the people who make you feel safe physically, mentally, and emotionally to be your truest self because you know they would never judge you for who you are even if who you are is being dumb. Family is the people who you can sit with in those difficult conversations and not be completely upset with them because you know their words are coming from a place of love. Family is the people who knows you—-when you are being silly, when you are grumpy, when you are tired, when you are sad—-and wants to help you in any way they can even if it means taking time away from what they were doing but they do it any way. Family is the people who you can laugh with about simple things because everything feels lighter. Family is the people who opens up their hearts to you when they are hurting and doesn’t intentionally want to make you feel bad about yourself. Family is the people who believes in you and believes better for you because they know how much you have been through and just want you to be happy. Family is the people who love you for you and chooses to love you with kindness every day.

Family would not want to hurt you.

Family would not want to break your trust or promises.

Family would not leave you with nothing.

I may have not had the best experience with family, but I do know that I am slowly finding the people who feel like family.

And the kind of family I know is not what I envisioned for myself, but the kind of family I am building with the people around me is better because I know that what we choose to feel and do is a choice rather than an obligation. And to me, that is much stronger than blood.

Choosing to love, what is stronger than that?

Being Lost Means You’re Moving Towards Something Else

With all that said about my situation this year, when I sat in the depths of my grieve, I realized for the first time I couldn’t really place this other emotion I was feeling.

I was sad and hurting, but I don’t know what it says about me that that sadness didn’t feel as potent because I was used to it.

I was angry because I was hurt and uprooted.

I was in denial that things were actually going to happen, and quite honestly like it won’t happen because most days it doesn’t even feel real that everything around me will change in less than 30 days.

I was in acceptance that I had to find somewhere new to go.

But there was another emotion beneath all of these other feelings.

Exhaustion?

Oh yes I was tired. My body was slumping over in lethargy.

Numbness?

Been there felt that. This wasn’t it.

And in the throughs of rampantly searching where to live, talking to everyone about my situation and what I should do, feeling torn if I should move here or there or move in with someone else or if I should move in with my friend but I don’t know if I would like moving in with my friend, but oh wait, another place opened up and I could apply for it but I have to apply within the next few weeks only to find out I can’t afford and affordable house and then going back to the idea that I could move in with my brother, but oh wait, he has a different idea, so I’m back to do I move in with this person or this other person.

I was just lost.

I was confused as freak, for sure, but I was lost.

I have never felt so completely and utterly lost before.

I’ve been lost in the overwhelming labyrinth that is my mind, but navigating feeling lost in my reality was different. I have yet to feel like I had no idea what I was doing or what my next steps would be.

I still don’t.

And that scares me in many ways as someone who likes to plan things or likes security even if I haven’t had that much growing up.

I felt like I was looking at a GPS and every time I felt like I was going in the right direction of where I was supposed to go, the GPS would tell me to turn the other way and then go this way and go that way and I ended up farther from my destination to the point I had no idea where I was trying to go in the first place.

Everyday my mind and heart hurt because I was being torn in all these directions I took as signs or opportunities and I didn’t want to let them go in case I had nothing left or nowhere to go. But I went through all those side turns, only to end back at the start with the same two options I began with. But in the midst of navigating what to do, I truly did not know what was best for me because I just wanted something, anything. When you are looking for a place to land, sometimes you are just looking for anywhere to land.

I just wanted a place to go.

I didn’t know where I was going.

I didn’t know where I wanted to go.

I didn’t know where I could go.

I just knew I had to go.

Go

go

go

go.

When you keep going when you are already lost, you end up being even more lost than when you started.

In my sense of feeling lost, I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to do. Sometimes we grasp at signs because we want them to feel right, but I didn’t know if the signs were meant for me when something didn’t feel right. I wanted the signs to be right, I really did. I don’t know.

There was something I read on Reddit because you know, where else do you go when you have an existential crisis and are looking for connection 🤪?

There was something someone wrote that went along the lines of, “When you are lost, it means you are moving towards something else.”

Those words stuck with me in the way that it’s easy to feel lost and to feel like you don’t know where you’re going—-like every move you make is wrong or it’s bringing you further from where you thought you wanted to be. But sometimes, maybe being lost is a good thing because that means you are moving—you are not stagnant. You are lost and moving towards something new.

I have lived in the same house for eight years, running the same paths, seeing the same people, doing the same routines. I am a home body for sure, so most days all I see are the four walls of my house and my work place. I have been stagnant. I have been comfortable. I have been staying in the same place, doing the same things, seeing the same people, all in the comfort of the four walls I have built around myself and called my life.

That’s not life.

That’s hiding.

That’s caging myself in because I’m scared of . . .

growth?

meeting people?

change?

Maybe all of that and something else.

But I have not been going anywhere for the past eight years that gave me the gift of being lost—-the gift of movement, momentum.

And maybe despite everything that the inevitable caused, it caused movement—-a push forward to something hopefully better for me.

A change.

I’m not good with change, I don’t know if I said that already, but I’m not.

But change happens every day in every way, subtly or in significant ways.

The inevitable was signficant enough to knock me over, move me, and leave me lost.

And maybe that’s exactly where I need to be and what I need to feel right now. Maybe that’s what I need to feel to help me move toward the next part of my life to where I can hopefully grow more as a person and heal parts of myself I know I need to heal. Gosh, knows being in this house has been nothing but hurtful for the past six years.

There’s this saying that you shouldn’t stay in the place that hurt you. But that’s what I’ve been doing because this house was all I had and it was all I knew. I knew I had to leave, but this was the push I needed because I should not have to literally live in this hurt everyday and tolerate it just because I’m comfortable—-just because i’m used to living in hurt. That doesn’t mean I should live in hurt.

Maybe being lost is a good thing.

Being lost allows you to move toward and find yourself and find where you need to be.

There’s also this sentiment of when you run away, you are really running toward something and that’s what being lost kind of feels like right now—-like I’m running towards the next thing as much as it terrifies me and pains me.

Being brave does not mean being unafraid.

Do it scared.

Do it broken-hearted.

Do it tired.

Do it lost.

I don’t really know what the next year holds for me. I don’t know where I am going to live. I don’t know where I will be working. I don’t know where my mental stability will be. I don’t know who will still be in my life. I don’t know.

Not knowing terrifies me.

But I have come to know that as much as I feel scared and lost, maybe what’s on the other side of this fear and loss is peace and safety—-joy and confidence. Maybe what’s on the other side of being lost is being found where you were meant to be—–where I am meant to be.

And that’s something to look forward to—-toward.

I would have never known there was more out there in the world or that I could go out there in the world again if I didn’t allow myself to be lost a little.

So yes I feel very lost and directionless right now, but I’m embracing the journey of going down the paths that take me every which direction, trusting that whatever happens I will find my way

I Am Worth More Than the Bare Minimum

This is the pathetic side of me coming out, but so be it 😂.

Also, this lesson sounds like the bare minimum and it is.

I feel like I always accepted the bare minimum treatment from people because I was not used to being treated with respect or kindness from the people who were meant to love me. So whenever someone would do the bare minimum, that treatment felt like the maximum. I was also never the person people really noticed. No one ever stopped to give me a second glance. Most boys never really liked me growing up or asked me to dances. I was just there. So whenever someone does the bare minimum too, that treatment feels like the entire world.

But I have grasped my self-respect era, finally, to know that the bare minimum is just that—-the minimum.

Because I deserve so much more than that.

I deserve so much more than the basic bare minimum of human decency and respect 👏🏼.

I am truly done tolerating less than below zero 😅.

Truly, someone could open a door for me in and I would make it this HUGE deal that, “oh my gosh, he likes me because he opened the door. What a gentleman.” JAIL MINDSET 😑

Someone said hi to me? In my head, I’m thinking, “Oh my gosh, they want to be friends, they are soooooo nice.”

Someone looks at me for more than a second? In my head I’m internally screaming that someone notices me.

NO no no no no NO NO.

I’m out of that desperation mindset now.

Opening the door, saying hi, and looking at me is basic human interactions and common decency. There is nothing special. And my GOSH, I feel awful for the me all these years that tolerated the bare freaking minimum from people because no one ever made me feel significant.

Opening the door, saying hi, and looking at me is basic human interactions and common decency. There is nothing special. And my GOSH, I feel awful for the me all these years that tolerated the bare freaking minimum from people because no one ever made me feel significant.

I don’t know, just growing up, I always felt likeI was the person people barely noticed or wouldn’t care if I was there or not. I wasn’t the one people asked to to dances. or chosen first for teams. I wasn’t the ones friends asked to go places with. I wasn’t the one who felt seen. So I know that whenever people see me or treat me nicely, there’s a huge part of me that feels elated because it means the world for someone to even notice me, which is kind of sad to think about 😅. And I think that’s why for years I would latch onto any kind of common decency as something because that decency meant everything to me. I know that sounds desperate, and trust me, I was, but when you feel invisible and someone or something makes you feel the opposite, it’s hard not to believe that that will be the only time you will ever be given that sort of attention.

I have grown to a point to say I know my worth and it’s not the minimum decency of a human being.

I should not read a double meaning into every single thing because a big part of me used to want that attention and validation that I was good enough to be seen—to be noticed.

But I was always worthy of that attention and that kindness from others.

I was always worthy even when others were not paying me attention or showing me kindness because I am enough for me.

Gosh, typing that I am enough for me is one of the hardest things to do because I feel like part of me still struggles with fully believing this sentiment. And that’s just something I always have to work on.

But I am learning to believe that I am enough for me in the way I show up for people, in the way I care for others with my whole heart, the way I take care of myself on the heavy days or lighter days, the way I laugh with my whole being, the way I dedicate myself to my passions, the way I try despite the days where trying feels like swimming in the trenches, do I try. I just want to hug my younger self who never felt worthy or other people’s love and attention that she grew up craving anything from anyone just to feel like she was worthy of care and love. That girl and this girl who is typing this right now—-sorry, this woman 😅—-was always worth the moon and more.

And she heck as does deserve the moon and more from the people around her and the situations she is.

I hope she continues to remember her value and her worth and that anyone who is supposed to be in her life or anything that is supposed to be in her life will match her moonlight with stardust and galaxies.

Every Version of Myself Deserved Love

This was literally a lesson I had to remind myself of today.

I don’t know what it is with us girlies out here, but does anyone else feel like absolute a** before their period??? Like you just feel like you look like garbage?

I don’t think that’s PMSing, but it very well might be PMSing. But tell me why whenever I’m about to start my period, I have to feel Shrek 😅?????

All jokes aside, I had a really difficult moment today where I felt all my body dysmorphic thoughts creeping back in. I knew what triggered these thoughts to come swirling in my mind again, and it’s not just the PMS, but still. I sat with myself today and felt absolutely disgusted with myself. Like why is my hair too long? Should I cut my hair? What if I cut my hair and I don’t like it? Why is this so big? Why do I look like this? Why don’t I look like this? I’ll never look like this? Gosh, do I really look like this. And I started to go down this rabbit hole of not liking the person I was seeing in the mirror—-picking everything about her apart.

I was not being kind to myself.

But I had to pause myself and literally say that I was not going to go back to the place I was because of one thought. I was not going to ruin the years I have spent rebuilding myself because of one bad moment.

After taking a step away from the mirror, I had a moment when I sat on my couch and scrolled through my phone. Yes, because berating myself in the mirror wasn’t enough 🙃.

I scrolled through old photos of me this year, old photos of me last year, and years before. As I was scrolling, all I could feel was how I felt in that moment when I took that photo—-confident, cute, silly, pretty, and beautiful. All the exact opposite emotions to what I was feeling a few seconds ago. But what was crazy is that I also know that in that moment of taking that photo and looking at it afterwards, I was making the same cruel judgements in over analyzing myself and picking myself apart. It’s funny that when you look back at a photo, all you can feel is love for that person, but in the moment all you might feel is disgust or dislike.

And that’s sad.

Because every version of myself was beautiful. Every version of myself was cute.

Whether I fully believed those sentiments in the moment or not. I believed it now looking at this girl who liked her outfit and had to get a picture, or liked her hair or makeup and wanted to document it. This girl who is in these photos was the same girl I was berating five minutes ago. This girl I was berating five minutes ago was the same girl who had the same facial structure, same hair, same outfits, same look. Sure, I look a bit older and different, but she’s the same girl.

So why am I not giving that same girl the same love?

Why was I hating on this same girl who loved herself in this moment?

Why?

She is me, I am her.

And I need to love her in every moment, even more so in the moments where I am trying to pick her a part and make her feel bad about herself. I need to love on her even more in the moments when I feel myself starting to berate her for how she looks because she is having a moment of insecurity and weakness.

Because that girl is never going to change so much to be a completely different person. She is exactly who she is for a reason, and made exactly who she is. Celebrate her. Honor her. Love her. Take care of her.

I think I’ve forgotten how to be kind to myself because I’ve been so focused the last few months on everything else except her and how she feels. I’ve never taken a moment to ask how she feels or what she needs, and today I think she really needed love.

There was a part of me that wanted to call my mother and tell her I was spiraling. I wanted her to tell me, “No, you’re not this, you’re ______.” But when did that validation ever truly make me feel good about myself to have a lasting effect?

I didn’t need love from someone else, I needed it from myself. I had to remember there were so many—-are so many—-things to love about myself more than my appearance or insecurities. I had a personality to love, I had a passion to love, I had a humor to love. So much to love. I am more than just what I look like and sometimes I forget that there’s more to me than that because I feel like I always wanted to be the girl people noticed, that I didn’t notice I lost myself to what other people wanted of me, but what I wanted of me.

I want myself to be loved as I am—all versions.

As I was looking at my pictures of all the versions of myself, to be honest, for a second, I picked her apart too. Just for a second, before I said that I needed to love those versions of myself because they made me who I am today. When I flipped my perspective, I found so much to love about that younger version of myself who spontaneously wanted to take a picture because I felt good. I remembered that she deserved love as much as the woman I am becoming.

Some days you might not love yourself and feel absolutely awful about who you are, and that’s natural. I feel like we all have those days. But I hope you never sit too long in that feeling of that you are not enough that you start to hate the person looking back at you. Because when you think of your younger self—the self you were a year ago, a year before that, a year before that, all the years before that—-can you truly say you hate that person? The person who you are? Can you? Because you carry that person within you and on the outside of you. Please don’t dislike her or be unkind to her. Show her love, tenderness, and care because she needs that love from you today and every day forward. Appreciate who you are now because what you look like does change, but I hope the way you view yourself never changes.

You deserve love. Every part of yourself. Every version.

Even now.

More so right now.

💕🌿🌻 Favorite and Heart-breaking Moments 💕🌿🌻

My First Song Fest

When I went to elementary school, we had this thing called May Day.

May Day was the one day in the school year, obviously in May, where each grade would perform a song and dance as families gathered and watched. May Day was a celebration of culture as well as the end of the school year; it was also an event to include families to celebrate the accomplishments of their child for that grade.

I remember absolutely DETESTING May Day 😂.

More like mayday mayday mayday. I’m joking!

Okay, maybe detest is a strong word, but I remember I didn’t thoroughly enjoy the experience because if I did, I would have had positive things to say 🤪.

All I remember was that we had to carry our heavy a** plastic chair with silver, metal legs all the way from the classroom, and gosh forbid your classroom was on the second level of the school and you had to haul that chair down a flight of stairs, all the way to the field in the blazing hot sun 🙃. As a little kids, hauling a chair that was bigger than my body and more than triple my weight, was not my favorite experience. I also feel like the older I got doing May Day, the more shame I felt 🙈. Not going to lie! You know the feeling! When you’re five-years-old, you really have no conscious to give a flying rat’s a** as to what people think of you, but then you hit third grade and it’s like anxiety takes root in your head along with embarrassment and you suddenly don’t want to sing and dance in front of the whole school, yet alone all these parents. Or I didn’t as a quieter kid. Sing and dance in front of my friends and family??????

I’d rather take a state assessment and fail.

OOOPs, been there done that 🤪.

I’m joking, not about the failing a state assessment, but I really would have liked to take another test than attempt to swing my arms, jump around while the sun mocks me, and have all eyes seemingly on me.

Nevertheless, May Day happened each year. There’s one distinct memory I have of May Day that really cemented the memory of my discomfort with the day. But I remember I was sitting in my red plastic chair after dragging my chair halfway across the field, and then my parents found where I was sitting and made this huge deal of taking my picture with the people sitting next to me. Mind you I sat by boys! No other parents were that up close and personal to seek out their child and take pictures of them in the sitting area. I think they have to invent a whole new shade of red for the mortification I felt with only my parents taking pictures of me with classmates I wasn’t even close with 🥴. Where’s the state assessment when you need it?

I just had the WOST attitude in my stomach after feeling knotted up by the way everyone saw how insistent my parents were of taking pictures of me. As someone who didn’t like to take pictures or liked attention, I was not thriving.

All this to say, I did not have the fondest memories of May Day.

May Day is now called Song Fest—I can’t fully tell you why, but I can fathom a guess as to the name change. This year was my first song fest as a teacher.

And can I tell you, on the other side of the experience, I THRIVED 😄👏🏼👏🏼!!!!!

I thoroughly LOVED being a teacher witnessing the joy of Song Fest, and I truly say that with my whole heart.

I guess it’s because I didn’t have the best experience with Song Fest as a kid that I enjoyed Song Fest more as an adult because I wasn’t performing, but seeing my kids perform. I understand the excitement that parents feel now because I felt like a proud parent watching my kids. Heck, I kid you not, on the day of Song Fest, I was more thrilled than my own kids who I genuinely felt had no idea why the heck they were performing in the first place no matter how many months they practiced their performance. I just felt so much elation for all their hard work—-the hours, afternoons—-come to fruition in a performance that I am very (un)biased to say was the best performance because their performance came from passion and love; Being on the flip side was more special to witness because you know how much effort they put into what they were doing, that seeing them perform felt like the celebration that the performance was.

I loved every second of going through Song Fest 💕.

I was healing the parts of my younger self through my kids who I slowly saw enjoying themselves despite how much they didn’t want to.

Oh my gosh, the first dance class my class had, I already knew my boys were going to be awkward about ti 😂; I knew it in my chest, they were going to be embarrassed. Good for them when the dance teacher called them out and asked them why they were laughing at nothing 🤪. But I get the embarrassment because I was there once. But gosh, it’s nice to be the teacher and not feel super judged for dancing with them because they can’t judge me 😂. I’m joking, they could very well judge me, but they don’t, which was nice. I could not stop laughing the one time one of the boys said, “That was just the warm-up,” after the dance teacher finished the beginning stretch with them. Oh boy, did not know what was in store.

The first time my kids danced, they had no idea from left to right and had the speed of drunk turtles. They would laugh at popping their chests or moving their hips because it looked weird or they felt weird about doing those movements so publicly. As someone who used to be a dancer and repulsed the idea of moving my body in any way that seemed vulgar or sexual, I completely understood. Being a dancer, however, I learned that you look more awkward if you don’t do the move fully rather than if you did the move in full completion. That’s not to say any of my kids looked awkward or weird, but I could tell they weren’t comfortable moving just yet.

It’s amazing what a few months of practicing every week for twice a week can do.

My kids said goodby drunk turtles and said hello leaping dolphins. They said goodbye misdirection, hello knowing where I am going and what steps to take. They said goodbye laughter, they said hello sweat and tears.

I saw the arms lose tension and find more vulnerability in being free. I saw the way they let their legs lead them as their minds guided them to the steps they knew by heart. I saw the way their eyes would focus in on where they were going and what to do next. I saw the way they gave themselves over to the dance. I saw them gave themselves over to the song.

Not all my kids would sing, but gosh when you try put a microphone on them, they start to sing 😂.

But they all danced, even the boys. Heck, some of my boys who i didn’t know would be good dancers, surprised me.

Something all my teacher friends and I noticed was how much joy our kids had from having an hour or so a day to move their body—-to leave behind academics and to just enjoy. They didn’t have to worry about being the best at math or reading this passage and answering questions, they could just tell a story with their body and let go. We saw the kids who were quiet, be loud in movement. We saw the kids who were not the most academic, bloom. We saw the kids who were jokey, subtly turn serious in what they performed. Dance brought out a brighter side to my students. I could see it in the way they wanted to shine.

They would sing the song every brain break. They wanted to play the dance every brain break. I was honestly getting tired of the song 🤪. Honestly, if I heard the song now, I could dance the performance with my eyes closed. It was truly a joy to learn the dance with them because we would practice as a class on our own, or if they forgot a movement, I knew the movement. But to dance with my students? What a gift.

What other job besides being a dance teacher can you say that you can dance along with your students and learn with them?

Can I just take a moment to also shout out the dance teacher? She was a star. I know she is not reading this, but she had always been such a phenomenal dancer in my eyes and deserved so much more love and appreciation than she ever got. She had a year full of uncomfortable changes as well, and I knew she wasn’t doing what she originally wanted, but when she choreograph our Song Fest dance, I could see the way her whole being lit up from within—-there’s just such a different energy to someone when you see them doing something they love. I loved seeing the dance teacher be in her element as she should be. There was a lot of things going on that made her experience challenging, and I wish I could give her a hug and tell her how much she impacted our kids life because she will never fully know her impact. I also wish I could tell her she deserved more appreciation and care for what she did to not be treated the way she was. She was a human-being who had a lot to think about now on top of finishing what she started, and my heart could do nothing but break for her. When she came to our grade with a surprise element idea, I CACKLED. She said go big or go home because I have nothing to lose anyway 😂.

Honestly, I was here for it 👏🏼.

The day of Song Fest was one of those surreal moments that I knew I just wanted to live in.

I didn’t want to record everything even though a big part of me wanted to. I didn’t want to take pictures of every second.

I just wanted to live in the moment.

And live it I did.

I lived with how adorable each grade was. Can I just say, I also have the best view on the field!?!? Literally in the middle first row! Preach.

My heart literally was beaming with seeing my old Kindergartners dance a Hawaiian dance, seeing my now first graders dancing in their cowboy outfits, the third-graders dancing to Megan Trainer “I’m Better When I’m Dancing,” the fourth-graders paying a beautiful tribute to “Heal the World,” and the fifth-graders really giving energy. But the second-graders????

ICONIC.

I did have to record my grade-level dancing because as much as I wanted to live in the moment, this moment was the one I wanted to remember most. I was intentional about having my phone to the side as I watched with my eyes because I still wanted to witness my kids dance in person.

Gosh, the second it was time for our grade to go up, my heart started roared like a Taiko drum—-why was I so nervous for them!??!?! 😅 Once they started dacing, UGH, I can’t even begin to explain the sense of magic that bestilled my heart. I LOVED seeing all the classes dance their part and then everyone come together to dance the chorus. GORGEOUS. STUNNING. BEAUTIFUL.

You know, if my eyes 💕!

As they were dancing, all I could feel was how my heart was healing, glittering, and breaking all at once. Healing for the part of me that went the whole school year with a broken heart only to be so grateful to experience the journey of dance with the kids that I was never supposed to meet but were my class— a grade i was never supposed to be in, but was more than thankful to have joined for this year. I often think about timing and kismet because these things were never supposed to happen for me, and the fact that things changed as they did and I got to experience such a rare, beautiful moment in such a way, made me believe that things do happen as they are supposed to and maybe even better than we could imagine; that there is something better and greater to believe in/ trust in. I could not believe I had the opportunity be part of such a moment and to witness such a moment if it were not for the people who welcomed me and the experiences that allowed me to.

I don’t know how to express the magic of something that never was supposed to be, but was.

My heart was glittering with seeing my kids perform with the pride and joy reflected in my heart. They deserved this moment and then some.

As the surprise confetti went off—gosh knows it would be my kids who pulled the confetti late—-I was struck with a mixture of celebration and sorrow. Song Fest truly did feel like a celebration of everything we had been through together, and in that moment when my heart was breaking because this was the day before the last day of school. Tomorrow would be our last day as a class—-the last day as a family that we built. As the confetti rained down around them and the struck their pose, I took a snapshot in my mind. I wanted to remember them as they were in the that moment—elated, untied, and celebratory. They were my kids and we did it together—-every confusing change, every point of laughter, every pent up tear—-we got through the year. I did not want to say goodbye. Not yet.

Not ever.

Some moments you want to live in forever, Song Fest was that moment.

I am glad I got to live that moment well.

Afterwards, most kids went home. Some kids stayed, and gosh knows we did absolutely nothing but play games and clean up the classroom. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way because I got to spend more time with them 💕.

I Did It

If you read my Favorite and Challenging Moments of 2023, you would know I experienced one of the most unexpectedly quick changes I never thought would happen.

And as someone who absolutely let’s change drag me and throw me around, my mental health went to the Mariana Trenches.

I was unwell.

When Taylor Swift released the Tortured Poets Department this year and I heard the song, “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” I felt like she wrote the song about me 🙃. I have never felt more seen.

In all honesty though, many people do things with a broken heart whether we like to or not or whether we want to or not. That disheartens me to say because I feel like it is painful that in our culture we keep going even when we are breaking and hurting on the inside because if we don’t keep going, there’s no food on the table, the bills don’t get paid, etc. We don’t ever feel like it’s okay for ourselves to rest or take the break we need because there’s always something else that needs to be taken care of besides what we actually need to take care of—ourselves. We put ourselves last and put on this show or this image that we are the epitome of okay because if we don’t we’ll just fall into the trenches. Sometimes we fake being okay because if we don’t act okay, we won’t and other people will think differently of us. So we put on a show, we act, we perform. We keep going even if on the inside, everything inside us has stopped the moment something broke.

I felt like ever since last August up until March, I was doing everything with a broken heart.

I was putting on a show day in and day out by going to work when I didn’t want to go to work. I was putting on an act by acting like I knew what I was doing when every week I struggled to grasp what I was doing and trying to make things up as I go, but you know, seeming confident as I did it. I was putting an a performance that was sooooo well that everyone around me told me I looked happier or I seemed better because I looked lighter.

Whenever someone told me I looked better, I was so f***ing confused.

Yes, because of course I look better and happier when I was literally not sobbing every day, trying to help a child who needed help and also trying to be a teacher to the rest of my class who I couldn’t help. Yes, I looked lighter when I didn’t have to stress about a kid hurting another kid or doing all these other things that I can’t really say but I had to be the one to control while also trying to teach and manage everyone else. Yes, I looked better than the absolute below ground level zero of okay.

I was just so confused because everyone would tell me I looked better and yet on the inside I was still hurting. I still felt stabbed and bleeding out, but had to keep going. I still felt like I was running on exhaust and had nothing left to give but I had to keep going. I felt like I had to keep going or I risked losing everything again. I risked being a failure. I risked proving everyone right again—-that I couldn’t do it.

So I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t rest.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t enjoy most of the year because I was hurting.

Every day I went to work my heart was slightly broken. And every day at work it felt like I was trying to give my heart to the work that broke my heart in the first place to kids who need my heart to help them learn and grow while all trying to keep going.

And through it all, I did it.

I did it with a broken heart.

I don’t know if I’m proud to say that I experienced my second year teaching with a broken heart, but I made it through. I wish I could say I enjoyed my second year with a different kind of heart because I often think about how special my second year of teaching was because it was the year that broke me and made me. But it was also a year I reflect on with nothing but love and the wish that I could do that year all over again with a heart that was healthy enough to live in love of every beautiful, special moment that felt slightly tainted to me because of the brokenness I felt inside.

I really wish I could have changed how I felt.

I really do.

But I also think about how I wouldn’t have changed a thing if I could have experienced what I did with my kids, broken-heart and all.

Because they mended my heart.

They mended my heart every time we laughed together.

They mended my heart every time they let me in.

They mended my heart every time we shared a high-five.

They mended my heart every time they succeeded.

They mended my heart every the ime we grew.

They mended my heart when we were a part and I had the time to rest and appreciate all I had with them.

The family we built together mended the hurt after I had time away from the place and situation that hurt me.

Because every day of last school year, I had this internal monologue that screamed at me that I just needed to wait until summer—-I needed a break. I went from one thing to another in such a short time, I never had time to fully process, grieve, and heal what losing that other thing meant to me. I never had the proper chance to say goodbye or let myself feel the sorrow when I had to chug on. That’s not healthy. That unhealthiness felt like shards pushing down every single emotion that stabbed at my broken heart, until I had the time and space to deal with removing the shards and mending the broken parts. I couldn’t do that until months later.

I was so exhausted mentally and emotionally and physically by the end of the year, that saying goodbye to my kids was hard, but I also let out my first breath of air.

I could breath.

I could begin to heal.

I loved them, but I didn’t love how this year made me feel—-like I was barely surviving.

But damn, I put on the best show I tell you.

There was this moment back in summer as I was preparing my classroom for the next year. I was putting up new decor to make the room feel more like mine because gosh knows even if I may not be in this room next year, I am darn well not going to feel like it’s not my room. But I had my door open, and I was sitting on this new carpet I bought, and in walks the old teacher who’s position was gifted to me.

He came into the room and he gave me a hug and asked me how my year was. He told me something that stuck with me—-such simple words that cemented the last pieces of my healing heart.

You did it.

I did it.

I know in hindsight, I did it, I taught the school year last year, but I never really paused to reflect what exactly I accomplished. I never celebrated just how much I did.

Even writing that now makes me tear up because it’s sad to think I went through most of last school year with my heart absolutely gutted and no one knowing how much I was hurting every single day, only for me to feel like I didn’t do enough because a teacher never does enough. A teacher never feels good enough because there’s always more—-always more lessons, always more ways I can better manage, always more strategies I could do. I feel like everyone was telling me I looked better, but now I had to do more to be better.

But one person, one person recognized all I did, and that person wasn’t even me.

I did it.

With a broken freaking heart.

And I am proud of that woman each and every day because she never let anyone fully change her or bring her down to the expectations they had of her. She rose higher than they thought and they could say nothing awful about me because I did my absolute very best with every single piece of change they through my way, every single injustice they seemingly made me feel responsible for, and every single time they wanted me to fail. They couldn’t say I didn’t do it.

It’s crazy because I remember the last week of school, I was meeting with all my mentors and I just was so on edge because my emotions were strung out, I was done, and I just remember crying to one of my mentors and she told me I was doing a good job. That’s the first time she ever said that to me. The whole year, I never felt like I was doing enough, and now she said I did good. Even the very person who I felt like hated me, said I did good because no one could have taken over a class easily. I wanted to record her words as proof that she said a nice thing about me because gosh knows I don’t know if I’ll ever hear it again. But I’m a words of affirmation person, and I don’t know if they meant anything they said, but their words meant something.

But the person who’s position was now mine, his words meant the most.

He saw me being dragged to the trenches, and he saw me now.

I was on the surface.

The sun was shining, music humming softly in the background.

It was okay. I was okay.

He said something when I was taking over his position, “That it will all be okay.”

It didn’t seem like it then when I had to move every single thing of mine and change everything I knew all while battling a cold that everything would be okay.

But it did.

It took a year, but it did.

Oh, what can change in a year. And what you can accomplish in a year.

As much as I did it, I could have not done it without my kids last year. I owe them everything.

I couldn’t have imagined doing what I did with any other group of students. Everyday I think about how lucky I am to have met these kids who were never supposed to be mine, but I couldn’t imagine not knowing now. They welcomed me into their life without question and trusted me every day to teach them and be there for them when their other teacher was no longer there, and I did not take that responsibility lightly. The fact that every day, they let me in was truly the best gift I could ever ask for because as they let me in, the more they let themselves into my heart.

They built a home there as well.

Some of my favorite moments would be the moments they would randomly tell me things I didn’t ask about.

I just think how special it is when a child opens up to you because they feel comfortable sharing things with you—-that they feel safe to do so 💕. I always feel honored when my students do let me in. My kids last year especially, I don’t feel like they were the type to open up because they had this strange maturity to them where they understood dirty jokes and had sarcastic humor; I truly felt like I was teaching eight-year-olds with middle school humor. Sometimes it was nice, sometimes a bit weird. Nevertheless, when they opened up, their vulnerability meant the world because I know they did not say or share things easily, but for some reason they trusted me. I will forever be grateful for their trust and hope I can always be a person worthy of that trust.

I also just loved our dumb moments of idiotic laughter.

Contrary to popular belief, learning can be fun.

I like to laugh with my kids, and some might think that’s wrong, but laugh!!! If something is appropriately funny, I believe it’s okay to laugh. Sometimes kids forget teachers are human, and when they see you laugh and be yourself around them—-or as much as yourself in a professional setting—-you feel more like a human to them as well as a teacher. I laugh with my kids because life shouldn’t be taken so seriously, especially not at school. I have no idea what some of these kids experience at home or what they do after they leave my classroom, and if they only time they laugh is in my classroom, then I’m going to make sure that they know it’s okay to laugh and feel joy even if it’s just for the eight hours they are with me.

Through everything we truly created magic, a magic that was hard to let go of, but made everyday working with them more endurable by a broken-heart.

I do think you can endure things with a broken-heart because gosh knows each day we all battle something on the inside or in our personal life that we have no idea about. We have to choose kindness and compassion for others as well as ourselves to know when we need a break or to rest because I don’t recommend waiting a whole year to heal the pieces of yourself you feel breaking every day because you ignore or push down the problem. If we keep ignoring the pieces that are broken, the greater the risk is of stepping on something that will hurt again and again and again until you take the time to pick up every single piece. And sometimes we are lucky in the midst of our broken-heart that we have people who will stand there with us and help pick up the broken pieces and laugh as we hurt our fingers doing so. Sometimes we’re lucky that in that brokenness we find a wholeness that we never thought we would find. Sometimes we’re lucky to have people who cement the pieces back together as something renewed, something you do together.

We did it 💕

Moving On, Letting Go

If there’s one thing you can call me it’s a masochist.

Oh gosh, I hope I’m using that word correctly or this would be weird 😂.

In all the sudden changes I experienced last year, I never got to properly say goodbye to a place where things all began.

If I’m being honest with myself, for the first months or so, I would constantly walk by this place every day—-taking the absolute LONGEST way to my new room—-just because I would stare at the door where everything started and where everything went wrong, hoping, just hoping that maybe by walking by that door I would find myself walking through that door again soon.

I would constantly borrow the keys to my old classroom because most of my things were still in there—-my decorations were still up and my personal supplies and student toys were all in there—-and I would go in there and grab what I needed. I would grab paper, I would grab pencils, I would grab all my art things. I would go in there with the intention of grabbing all these things, but subconsciously—maybe not so subconsciously—-I went into my old room to remember the feel of being in there.

I remember the last day of being in that room, I sat on one of the bookshelves by the door and just stared out at this empty room with the desks that were taped off by sections as if the desks were prison cells, most of the posters discarded on the floor from removal, and things falling a part just like the reflection of my life at the time. However, I stared at the room with nostalgic longing for what was and what could have been. I let myself breathe in the last moment I was going to be in this classroom where I became a teacher, and a large part of me didn’t want to say goodbye because I wasn’t ready for a change I didn’t deserve.

I read somewhere that you do not walk through doors that have closed for a reason.

Part of me wishes that weren’t true because I would have loved to walk through some doors again.

But being in the place I am now, I understand why you don’t walk through doors that have once closed. You have to let a chapter go—you have to move forward. Because why would you walk back to the place that hurt you?

As time went on, the less I visited the old room because I knew it was unhealthy of me to continuously return to a place that hurt me and I wanted to be. I needed to accept and step into my new role and new room, and I couldn’t do that when my foot and heart was in another room. I had to cut ties.

I felt like I had my foot halfway out the door while tip-toeing with my feet in another—never really feeling like I belonged in either place.

I mean, I would go back sometimes for supplies I absolutely needed and didn’t want to buy again, but other than that, I tried to stay away. I didn’t take the long way to my new room. I found new paths. The dull ache in my chest wasn’t as potent because I didn’t give into the pain of letting myself relive that hurt by walking or going into the place that caused damage.

Also, that room didn’t feel like mine any more the more time went on. They changed the room into something else, splitting the room with a roll out whiteboard and different desks. The room was more unrecognizable, and I did not want to return to a room that no longer felt like mine, but partially was. My heart mourned for the room I could have kept if not for the situation, but also for how different the room was before my very eyes—-like watching a child go away to college to notice all these changes when they came back. Jarring. Daunting. New.

It wasn’t until this year that I finally and officially said goodbye to my old classroom.

I had to pack up my new classroom while simultaneously pack up my old classroom, and if that sentence doesn’t feel like what my whole school year embodied, I don’t know what does.

So in May, I gathered the boxes, I borrowed the key for the last times, and I placed everything I thought would stay longer in this room in boxes to move. I took all the toys I bought, I took all the craft things, I took all the books I spent money on. I took it all. And in taking everything away or taking everything down, I felt like I was taking away a part of myself that believed I would stay here longer. Or the part of myself that became a teacher out of love.

I had moments over weeks where I packed my things, so I had time to gradually say goodbye to this room by myself. But gosh knows I couldn’t take down all the bulletin boards by myself. Gosh only knows, putting up the bulletin boards took my friend and I literally days of climbing on desks and bookshelves to reach high with a stapler in the hopes that the paper was straight—-spoiler, it was never straight. Our motto became, “border,” because nothing couldn’t be fixed with a good border to hide the crookedness.

Similar to building the classroom up, I had people to help me take the last of the classroom down.

I couldn’t have imagined saying goodbye or gathering all my things up with anyone else—-the people who were there for me when I fell apart. I had my mentor and old teacher who offered to help me take down the bulletin boards. They truly had better and more things to do, but they took time out of their busy schedule to help me take each poster down and remove the staples. My heart felt full knowing that there were there to make the goodbye less sorrowful because I could enjoy our teamwork instead. Because the whole school year felt like they were trying to hold me up or check on me, and helping me in this way felt like the last push of strength to help me through.

We chatted casually and rolled up every poster with care. We swept the room and moved shelves to reach even the tallest of posters. But we were able to make the room empty again—a blank canvas for a new teacher to begin.

There’s beauty in knowing that there were so many people before me and so many people who will come after me into this room, and I am glad that I had my sliver of time to grace this room.

I know this sounds dumb to have such an attachment to a room, and maybe it is dumb, but that classroom was the first place I felt like I became a teacher. It’s where I learned how to be a teacher and how I grew as a person. It’s where I formed relationships and memories that were magical and special, that I truly can’t put into words. It was the room I decorated with my family and friends—-created out of love and care because they believed in me. So taking all that down and saying goodbye, felt much more significant than just removing a frame and putting it in a box and leaving. I felt like I was taking down years of snapshots and all the wallpaper we hung because we thought this was going to be a home.

Even though it was difficult to say goodbye to my first classroom, I know that in the end, it was just a room. And there will be more rooms, more classrooms that I will take down and move in and out of. It’s just a room. But also not. It’s a home.

To the little cubicle at the end of the hallway that felt like mine, thank you for being the place that felt safe and allowed me to grow. I also thank you for trusting me with the lives I got to meet and teach in the span of being with you.

Thank you for letting me live my dream.

Goodbye.

On a Plane the First Time in More Than a Decade

I am terrified of flying.

I mean, I’ve been on a plane before when I was like eight-years-old and couldn’t remember to feel absolutely petrified to fly in a metal tube in the sky, but you know, I’ve been on a plane.

I feel like the older I got and the more time I went without flying on a plane, the more the fear settled into my consciousness because I was more aware of all the risks of being in a plane. I know they say there is more danger in driving on the road than flying in a plane, which I can believe, but still, planes are SCARY. I mean, think about it, a metal tube in the sky carrying all that weight, that high up in the air, and that fast???!??!!? I took physics to know, but still. WhAt!?!?!?!?

Insane.

Modern ingenuity and technology.

As much as I fear flying, I fear not seeing the vast world more.

I have wanted to go on a trip ever since I was ten-years-old and the only trip I can remember is going to Las Vegas for a dance competition. If we’re being honest a trip to a dance competition doesn’t feel like much of a trip when you rehearse most days and then spend days at the competition only to have a few days to explore and do nothing. Also, I can’t say I remember most of that trip. So I have been yearning to go somewhere different for five-ever. Or should I say a more-than-a-decade-ever 🙈.

This was the first year in sixteen years that I have traveled somewhere.

This was the first year in sixteen years I have been on a plane.

Gosh, was the experience stressful 😂.

But also very fun because everything just felt so new. Literally.

The last time I went to the airport, I remember they were still building in. And now it’s finished, and my first reaction was, “WOW, this is nice.” And I must sound like an idiot, but I didn’t realize they didn’t do the scanner wand anymore at an airport 😂. I remember you would walk through TSA or whatever it’s called and you would put your things in the basket and it would go down the conveyer belt, while you stepped through this contraption and this person waved a wand up and down your body. When did they get a full a** body machine!??!?! I was floored. I was so shocked. I felt stupid standing in the middle of the machine as this part spun around scanning me. What a odd experience, but interesting. Also, I don’t know if this is TMI, probably is, but what a inventive contraption because I was menstruating that week, and they literally pulled me aside and had to pat me down because there was something in my body. Yea, it’s called a menstruating product 😂. GOSH, I was MORTIFIED.

But like, what are they seeing on the flip side of this machine????

I feel ViOLated 🤪.

I’m joking, I know it’s for safety purposes, but still, the fact they could detect my woman products was insane.

The takeoff was terrifying. Or does it always sound like the plane is going to absolutely break down as it’s taking off? 😅

Literally, the plane would make the loudest, discordant sounds and I was so convinced we needed to stop the plane because it sounded like some nails or screws or a wing was about to fly off. Also, the way the entire body of the plane would shake as it’s about to takeoff had me wanting to thoroughly take off . . . out of this plane. Seeing the body of the plane shake—the very plane you are supposed to be in for the next however many hours—-is like getting into a car, knowing the wheel is screwed off.

Also, why does the takeoff of a plane rival the quietness of a morgue? I kid you not, silence was had as the plane was taking off. It was like everyone was collectively holding in their breath as if they were scared that if they released their breath, the air would disrupt the take off. It was also like everyone was turning inward to hope that things would be okay—-like a moment of silence and assurity. I understand the silence, but gosh, was the silence eerie because you could just feel everyone’s fear as well as tense hope.

Sitting on a plane was just as tiresome as I vaguely remembered. I remember sitting on the seats, which I am no rich b**** so I’m not flying in the comfortable reclining chairs. The chairs were okay, they were chairs. The food was eh because you know, airplane food. The movies were top notch, not going to lie; they had all the new movies that I could watch for free? I’m sorry, maybe I should just ride on a plane for free movies, but I guess riding on a plane is more expensive than going to a theater. DUH. But I don’t remember feeling so antsy or restless. I guess I felt restless because I’m not used to sitting for long periods of time in one area. I tried my darnest to sleep and entertain myself, and gosh was I bored. I could not sleep comfortably when my head was lolling to the side and I didn’t want to get in anyone’s space.

I also just wanted to do some jumping jacks or run or something other than sit all day. But you know, I don’t think me running and jumping on the plane will help my fear of being on a plane.

Other than that, I’m proud of myself for flying for the first time in a looooong time because I knew I would be absolutely terrified. And I was. But you know, sometimes you have to do things scared, and do things that scare you. I also know that if I never let myself fly because I was scared, then I would never let myself see the world, and I would love to see other places and what they have to offer. So this experience was a stepping stone to know that I could fly again. I mean, I will always be scared because there’s always that fear with transportation, but I know that I did it once, and I can do it again.

I do hope that whenever I or anyone travels, it is with the utmost safety and care because I wouldn’t want anything to happen to anyone. I am beyond grateful for the safety of my loved ones and myself on our journey to the best two weeks I had in such a long time.

Two Weeks of Living

If I’ve never been on a plane in sixteen years, you can best bet I’ve never been on a trip in sixteen years either.

I went to California with my family. We arrived in Los Angeles and explored San Diego where my sister lives.

I have never been to Los Angeles or San Diego.

Every second of every day felt brand new and like I was living again.

Going on this trip, was the first time in a long time where I genuinely felt like time did not exist. Each day we did so many things, and yet we could squeeze in more things because time felt like forever, but also like there was no sense of time because we were just exploring, enjoying, and living in the moment. I really don’t recall the last time time felt like a passing thought and not something I actively looked at like a countdown.

I’m so used to being someone on a routine, that I broke all those rules for myself on this trip because I did not care. I just lived and let myself in that moment even if that moment was past when I usually went to bed or did something. I would think that would give me anxiety to break my routine, but breaking my routine gave me the opposite. Breaking my routine gave me freedom. It gave me life.

I don’t know where I heard this, but as a kid, everything feels new and longer, but as we grow up, time starts to seemingly speed up and days feel shorter. That’s a feeling I have succumbed to recently with growing up, and I think sometimes we get so used to the monotony of our routine and the life around us, that we kind of lose our spark of everyday—not because we are ungrateful for everyday, but because we do the same things that nothing seems new or interesting. We just become desensitized to our own life in a way. And that’s disheartening to think about—-that we become so used to certain things that we lose our sense of enjoyment or excitement for life. But each day is a gift that we don’t realize because we are so lost to other things that we feel are controlling us. For instance, time. We want more time to do things we want, less time at work, more time to catch up on things, less time cleaning house, more time with friends and family. Most times, we want more time because we feel like we don’t have enough time.

Gosh, with how much we did in a day on our trip, I realized how much time we had. And how much time I wasted doing absolutely nothing every day at home when I should go out and fill my day with life—with living. Because I can. You can do so much in a day and live and experience so much if we let ourselves.

As a kid, time seems infinite because every experience also feels new—-most times it is. And when experiences feel new, they feel longer and more meaningful—–enthralling. We lost the sense of wonder was we grow up because we get so used to things. This trip was the first time in a long time I felt such childlike wonder for everything.

Every place, every smell, every touch, every sight, every thing.

Everything was so fresh and new, that everything awoken my senses to the life around me—-the life that we still have a gift to live. I was taking in all the newness and processing it with so much joy and curiosity that I felt so different. I felt like I was a kid again, getting to experience life again because I had not experienced some of these things before or seen some of these things before. Maybe that’s why people travel? The sense of feeling like a kid who is living something new again.

And I remember thinking to myself while I was on this trip, I crave feeling more of that childlike wonder everyday, where I do things that make me feel excited, that are new, that make time feel endless.

Because that’s what life should feel like—should be.

Wonder, joy, love, adventure, and timelessness.

I forgot all about that the older I grew up and became comfortable with same places and same people. There’s nothing wrong with the same places and people because you need a home as much as you need to roam. I just never realized just how much you needed to do things that are new and different each day to feel like you are doing more than just existing.

I feel like we all get stuck in states of just existing.

Sometimes that’s the best and most we can do.

But we also need to remember to live and live well.

Because when you do all these things, then you will start to do more than just be, you live.

When I came home, I felt so different and so out of place because I was still living in those weeks where I felt free and alive in such a new way.

I wasn’t the same person. I was a person who had seen things and did things, and now I was back to my “normal life,” yet I didn’t want to be the same person who was so used to “normal.”

I fear that I have become that person again because it’s been a while and you do get stuck in routines, but you also don’t need to stay or be stuck in them.

I hope to continue to live and do things that bring me wonder and joy. I know not every adventure is going to be grand, but to find the grandness in each adventure I take.

For someone who hasn’t been on a trip in a long time, this trip was definitely worth the wait.

Now I just need my passport 😉.

Old Faces and New

My kindergarteners that I taught my first year were now the second graders I had the privilege to teach this year.

Isn’t that wild?

If I could BK have it my way 😂, I would have taken every single one of my kindergarteners and put them in my class because I would have loved loved loved to teach every single one of them again as older kids now. Even the students who drove me up a freaking wall my first year, I would have been honored to teach them again. Sadly, that’s not how choosing classes works out. Classes are given to you.

I knew going into my third year, realistically I would not get all of my kindergartners again, and would be fortunate just to even have one. Of course, there were certain kids I was hoping would be in my class because I had a different connection with them, but any of my old kids, I would have enjoyed being with again. We just had such a beautiful bond and that’s not something you can discount or forget—something you wish you could relive.

I did get one of my old students from kindergarten.

One.

I felt like I was only going to get one, hey, but one is better than none 😂.

It’s one of the girls who I always felt I had a special bond with, so I’m very appreciative that if it was one of my old students, I’m glad it was her.

She’s freaking hilarious, and her humor did not quit the older she got.

My heart cinches at the thought that my five-year-olds who I literally taught the alphabet, how to count, what shapes were, different colors, and all these other things were two years older and knew how to read longer paragraphs, add and subtract bigger numbers, tie their own shoes (who am I kidding, some of them still don’t know), hold a conversation, and so much more. It’s surreal. It’s absolutely surreal to watch these kids grow up feeling like I could witness their journey and growth from the beginning. Oh my gosh, and seeing how tall they’ve gotten to the point they almost are as tall as me? Insane. Or just how differently they dress and carry themselves. No more are they wearing tutu frilly skirts with all these bracelets and high heels, but jeans and combat boots or cargo pants with cute scrunchies.

They grew up.

And I’m so so lucky to be part of that growth even if I could not grow with them.

Just to see it and see how well their doing is all that I ask.

My old students who are not in my class, I see their faces everyday and they wave hi to me or come up and ask for a hug. This always warms my heart because maybe part of them remembers the care that I had for them and will always have for them. I always tell them hi attached with their name so they know I remember them just as much as they remember me. I remember it all too well 😉. Even the boy who drove me up a wall turned out to be the very boy who visited me the most 💕.

What’s funny was I remember when I was going through the changes last year, this boy was the first boy to visit me after school in my new room. He would visit some days with his brother, and my heart would inflate because he still felt valued and cared for even if I had multiple hard conversations with him when he would drive me up a wall—-to know that above all else he felt safe in my presence made me feel honored.

There are moments where I fiercely miss my old kids because they were my kids and we shared something special for such a long time. I’m glad part of them still remembers the feeling even if the memories might not be as clear.

I think it’s funny too how some new faces were old faces I saw in my peripheral.

In a lot of ways, I’m grateful I didn’t get my whole entire first year class because I got to meet so many more kids I wasn’t aware of or was aware of and wanted to work with. There’s one student who I remember from kindergarten testing and knew I wanted this student in my class. This student never was until now. Gosh, what a moment. Or how I knew of certain students from my kindergarten and now I get to work with them. Some kids are better left in the peripheral of not knowing if you know what I mean 😂. Some students I know from my kindergarten year who are not my students, but who know of me and say hi to me at recess duty or who just come up to me to tell me things because they feel safe to do so. I don’t know what I did to deserve such welcomeness from them, but my heart truly can’t express immense gratitude that they feel comfortable opening up to me.

That’s not a gift I take lightly.

Being halfway through the school year now, I can say that I am fortunate to work directly and indirectly with my kindergarteners who I am incredibly proud of every day. I can say that these kids are some of the most sassiest, kindest, weirdest (in a good way), and dedicated kids. I can also say that I do feel like sometimes you don’t get the class you want, but the class you need. And even if some classes are harder than others, there’s not one student that I have not taken away something from.

And what is life if not people changing people.

Losing Everything

What does it mean to lose everything?

Does it mean losing those close to you?

Does it mean losing the places you feel like are home?

Does it mean losing yourself?

Does it mean defeat?

It means every single one of these things.

This year the inevitable happened.

The inevitable was what I alluded to in one of the hardest lessons I learned this year, so I’m going to save you the eye sore of repeating everything I let go of in that spiel.

However, the latter half. of this year felt like the stark realization that I was on the edge of a precipece I had just been pushed off of.

There was the second rush of looking back, wondering if I could go back to what was, knowing I couldn’t. Then the fear of falling, the wind rushing around me as the fear settled in of not knowing—-and still not knowing—- what awaits on the bottom of falling.

For the last few years, I have been living with what I think of as a monster in my story—-the villain if you will. The very person who pushed me over the edge and kicked me out—-literally.

I tried to keep my head down, stay out of they way to not provoke the monster. But no matter what I did, he always came towards me to attack me over the most menial things that at the end of the day truly meant nothing. He would always attack me when my brother wasn’t home to say anything, knowing that I was cornered and had no one to protect me except myself. I couldn’t be strong no matter how many defenses I put against myself or how tall I’ve built the wall around my heart to the person I grew up loving and who I feel ashamed now of saying I actually loved this person. Every time he would bare his verbal attacks at me and my character, I felt like he was squeezing my throat, cutting off my oxygen. My heart would beat rapidly like my heart needed to escape my chest. My hands would start to tremor as if the rapidness of my heartbeat found it’s way to my fingers but in a cold sweat.

Every single time, I had to leave the room. Every single time, I left the room, I would go outside to where he couldn’t attack me in public because if he did, then people would know that actual monster he hid behind the falsity of a smile.

Every single time, my face would be red with tears, my body shaking with unshed adrenaline of fight or flight. Some days I tried to fight, and no matter the fight, flight. I had to leave.

I hate that he’s made me a runner.

I never wanted to be just like him—-running away when things got hard or uncomfortable.

But what do you do if you feel like you can’t breathe and you aren’t physically or emotionally safe rather than run somewhere you feel like you can breathe and be okay?

If that makes me weak, then I’d rather be weak than continue to let this monster hurt me to the point of not being.

Because he already stole my spirit, my childhood, everything, and he will not take what’s left of me too.

And he’s taking my home. He’s taking everything I know just because of some idea of happiness, which I don’t even think he can say is happiness but desperation and fear of never finding love again. He hurt everyone in his path for this idea of happiness, so much I hope that every hurt was worth hurting his family and taking our home. If that makes him a man, I hate who men have become.

That makes him a monster.

It’s always been a monster for no man would ever let their child run sobbing out the house because their terrified of the way they attack you for the smallest of things. It’s always been a monster when they sing and hum without remorse whenever I have tried to look him in the eye and say you’re hurting me. It’s always been a monster when time and time again that hurt I felt and voiced never mattered so much as it came from a woman who doesn’t put up with his b***shi* anymore.

He made me believe I was the monster for a while, that I was becoming someone I hated for the way he treated me.

But I know I’m not the monster he makes me out to be.

So what better way than to finally get rid of the one person who sees through the deceit and who is disagreeable than to take away everything she has.

And so in this war we’ve had for five years, an unfair battle, we found ourselves at the precipice.

And I lost.

I am losing everything.

Even as I am falling right now, I think to myself that sometimes you lose everything because you have some much more to gain on the other side.

So I cling onto what I can and call it hope because I feel like I have been on the precipice my whole life and I don’t know if things will be okay, but I do hope they will.

I hope on the other side of everything I have lost over the last few years, that things get better.

Being the Most Lost I’ve Ever Felt

I spoke to this experience as a lesson above as well; being lost was as much as a lesson as it was a core memory.

I truly did feel like someone gave me a map and was tugging me in all sorts of directions and I had no idea where I was actually going.

Feeling lost was jarring because I have never felt at a loss before.

After high school, I went straight to high school and I knew exactly where I wanted to go to university—my local university. I never really wanted to tell my parents I wanted to stay local because there’s this sense of shame that of going to your local university when you can go to better universities abroad. My plan was to stay local because my degree would be more useful if I earned the degree locally. However, I was still embarrassed to tell people that I chose my local university even if I did end up doing exactly as I planned.

I also knew exactly what I wanted to study—education. I took all my basic—fundamental?—-classes and education classes. I joined the cohort program at my university and did the whole student teaching semesters. My student teaching semesters were vastly unusual and different with the pandemic; I had to do most of my student teaching on Zoom University by sitting in a Zoom meeting, taking notes as my mentor teacher taught and I watched the kids from tiny rectangular boxes. Then my last year, we actually went into the field for student teaching, which was so bizarre because I wasn’t used to teaching in person, let alone felt comfortable teaching in person when I’m a germaphobe at heart 🙃. I also was thrown into student teaching with figuring out how to teach, but not really because my mentor did most things because it was still a pandemic year.

All this to say was I always knew where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do, and I went on the path to pursuing that.

I always had a plan.

But I never planned for the inevitable. Hence, the feeling of being uprooted and thrown around—-lost to the wilds of the rafters.

I never knew feeling lost could be so darn stressful and agonizing 😂.

I always think to myself how I am grateful that I had an idea for what I wanted because I know not many know what they want to do for their career, and my GOSH, I don’t blame anyone for not knowing because how in the WORLD are you supposed to know what you want to do for the rest of your life at just eighteen-years-old?????? Yea, impossible. If I didn’t know what I wanted to do, I would be right on the Lost ship with everyone.

And maybe we are all on the Lost ship at one point, and I just got there later.

But being lost is stressful because you feel like you have all these choices to make and you don’t know which one is the best and you’re scared of messing up and making the wrong choice. However, I heard somewhere that sometimes you just have to make a choice an stick with it because you can learn from that choice and pivot—-you don’t always have to be stuck with a choice you make. Being lost also tugs your heartstrings in various directions because of, again, that feeling of uncertainty.

I guess the pain of being lost is the uncertainty.

Being lost is being uncertain.

You don’t know where you’re going and hope that things will be okay.

And, sometimes, especially when you’re in that moment, it is absolutely difficult to see that a situation will get better or understand why you feel lost in the first place.

But kind of touching to what I said previously, maybe being lost is being moved toward something better.

As of right now, I still feel lost 😂.

I think in general, being in my 20s, I feel lost 😅 with relationships (lack thereof), work, family, etc.

However, in terms of my dilemma of why I felt lost, I think I have found somewhere for now, and I don’t think it’s a forever place—-maybe a pit stop—-but it’s a place where I think I may find myself next year.

I don’t know what will happen in terms of this situation, but for right now, I don’t feel as lost as I did before and that’s better than what I felt months ago—a small win. Granted, I still feel like there’s times where I’m going to be lost, and knowing that being lost is not negative, I’m much more open to let the journey find me.

Finding Time for Friend Moments

As much as I felt lost this year, I realized in the midst of all that loss, I had found people who I know will be there when the world is crumbling apart.

I truly cannot express my gratitude for the people in my life who picked up the phone when I needed to talk to someone. I truly cannot express my gratitude to the people in my life who messaged me to check in with me or offer me a place to go when I felt like I had no where else to be. I truly cannot express my gratitude for the people in my life who would give up rooms in their home just for me. And I truly cannot express my gratitude for the people in my life who still choose to see me despite all the heaviness I carry and the way I hide away when things get hard.

I thank them for finding me.

I thank them for sitting with me.

I thank them for forcing me to go out when the introverted nature in me wants nothing more than to sit on my couch and read a book and yet complain most days about how I am so boring.

There were many days this year that I spent with friends that I am thankful to have gotten to experience. From spontaneous summer days where we drove literally across the entirety of the place we live, went mini golfing, randomly went pawn shop hunting, ate some frozen yogurt, fed ducks at a temple, and watched the sunset near a lighthouse after climbing on a cliff and sitting there, afraid the breeze might knock us over.

I’ll never forget that moment when four of my friends and I sat on the rocks overlooking the ocean, the shapely clouds moving over us as the sun said its goodbye for the day. There was a peaceful silence between us as we heard the ocean whisper secrets to the rocks, our ears tuning in to hear. We were just together. We talked about how clouds look so different in the mainland compared to where we lived because we lived near the water where the ocean could provide the clouds more density or the water cycle whatever—-I’m no scientist. But mostly we sat in silence, content with how sometimes a day takes you no where and everywhere and just where you need to be all at once.

I was glad to be where I was.

To all the movies I watched with friends because gosh, watching movies with friends is better than watching them alone on your couch with no one to share your excitement or your sorrow with. I loved how we all seemingly dress up to match the theme of the movie like kids going to Disneyland, but instead finding joy in a cinema. You have to do things that bring childlike wonder.

Oh my gosh, don’t even get me started on how my sweet, angel best friend offered to drive with me all the way to the courthouse because I had no idea where to go if I possibly had jury duty 🥺.

I kid you not, if the dictionary needs a picture of an animal with a bad sense of direction, I will gladly offer up a picture of my face 🤪. You can give me a GPS and a map and I can tell you I still wouldn’t know how to get to most places even if I had lived in that place for my entire life. I’m shiz at direction.

Don’t ask me to drive you to places.

Oh wait, wait wait, update on the car. We fixed him! So yes, don’t ask me to drive you places ***cough cough last year cough cough*** and don’t ask me to drive you period 😂.

But my sweet friend, didn’t know better and offered to come with me to find the court house. So she literally had to sit in my car for an hour, probably shizzing bricks and sweating out of her mind to my slow a**, directionless driving. I felt absolutely sorry for her and apologize profusely for the ridiculousness that was my driving skills. But hey, we made it to the court house after ONE wrong turn, which was not bad. But I kid you not, the whole drive there, I felt like I was on autopilot, not really absorbing where I was going because I was too busy white-knuckling my steering wheel and trying to make sure we made it there safely. The whole point was for me to know how to get to the court house by myself because I don’t feel comfortable going places unless I’ve driven there before, which sounds dumb, but if you asked some people around me, they do the same thing!

I’m an anxious driver 🙈!

We joked about getting to the court house safely, but afterwards, we had a whole bestie day, which was really nice. We went to a farmers market and tried some new food. We went to the bookstore where I had to exercise some—-read, all—-my self-control not to buy every single book there. Gosh, it’s been literal years since I’ve been to a book store, and the way that book store’s have expanded ALL their sections had me wanting to WEEP 😭. Where was the huge A** young adult fantasy, new adult romance, and contemporary sections when I was a kid?!?!??!!? I was CHEATED. There is LITERALLY only one bookstore where I live, and it’s like a road trip to Las Vegas from where I live. I’m exaggerating, but a sis needs a closer bookstore.

We drove home after exploring the mall and the bookstore, but I just remember thinking after I dropped my friend off how fortunate I am to have someone in my life who does not only not judge me for being a scared driver, but who would sit scared in the car as I drove just to make me feel more confident about where I was going.

I guess, that’s honestly a perfect metaphor for the last two moments spoken here—-that the majority of this year, I felt lost. Despite being lost, I had friends and found family who would sit with me while I was lost to guide me or who would brave the fear of the journey I was scared to traverse alone.

And I couldn’t think of a better gift than that.

This year has not felt like I have accomplished a lot, but when I think about all the things I have done and all the things I hope to continue to do, I realized I have not given myself nearly enough credit.

I have done a lot.

I have experienced a lot. More than I usually do.

What my year accomplished might be different than others, but it’s mine, and I’m learning to be proud of my year for me.

It’s weird because I was thinking about this the other day too in how when it was 2020, I felt like such a kid. Like how did I spend a whole year in my house, doing practically nothing and learning through Zoom University? How did I stay home all day with my raggedy a** sweatpants and my low mental health from talking to no one and being around a monster? How did I go through 2021, feeling like I had no idea how to be a human being again or interact with the world? How did I go through 2022, being an adult, a teacher, a daughter, a friend? How did I go through last year with the most uncomfortable changes I didn’t expect?

How did I do it?

How did I go through this year with my heart half-broken, lost, confused, grieving, living, and trying?

I did it.

And that’s life.

Growing, half-broken, loss, confusion, grief, love, trying, failing, hiding, finding, living. Life.

I am not the same person I was five years ago, four years ago, three years ago, two years ago, a year ago.

Sometimes the changes are so subtle we don’t see them because we live them everyday.

🎞 To All the Movies and Shows I’ve Never, Needed and Wanted to Watch Before 🎞

Going into next year, I already know that things are going to be different. So many changes are going to come, I fear those changes everyday.

But I know I have the strength of every change I’ve ever endured to carry me through the changes ahead.

I don’t know quite where I will be next year. I just know that it won’t be the same place where I’ve written these annual moments from for the past six years from.

I don’t know quite where I will be working next year. I just hope that it’s doing the same work I do with people who value and respect me for who I am and what I bring.

I don’t know quite who will be in my life next year. I just hope it’s people who have treated me with love and care.

I don’t quite know where I will be mentally. I just hope I will be okay.

My word for next year that I want to hold space for is healing, true, honest healing.

I think I’ve always tried to hold space for healing in each year, but I never really made it a focus. Next year, I want to try therapy for the first time to actually talk to someone about the things I’ve been through and the trenches I hold in my head. I think I need to actually get help in a way that my family and friends don’t deserve to be burdened with and in a way my younger self needed. I want to learn how to move forward as I move towards, and I think it’s time to face one of my biggest weaknesses—asking for help.

I think I want to actually be better about not buying things I want, but things I need because gosh knows I love fashion and books and crafts, but I don’t need to have it all—-contrary to popular belief.

I want to be more intentional in the ways I give back to others, whether it’s through my community, my family, outside just where I live. I feel like I’ve gotten so lost inside myself and my problems these past few years, that I have lost the side of myself that actively gives back. I want to start connecting to the part of myself that forgot that everyone is going through something, and I want to help alleviate the heaviness in whatever way I can.

I want to be confident in myself. I like to think I’ve become more confident since I was eighteen, and I think I have, but to actually believe in that confidence—to walk in it more. I get so nervous sometimes to do things by myself or I feel so insignificant in comparison—-which is something I know I shouldn’t do—-that I want to work on being confident in what I bring and knowing that, yes, I’m not the type of person who is bold or brazen, but what I bring is just as beautiful and meaningful.

I want to appreciate the qualities that people made me feel bad about being.

I want to be more gentle and patient with myself in understanding that being broken doesn’t equate to being unloved or unlovable. I think I spent a big portion believing that I am the problem or that everyone who was supposed to loved me didn’t because of me. I want to be in a place where I’m gentle with myself to know I was never the problem and to believe it because most days I don’t.

I want to continue to not faint at the gynecologist 😂. If I’m being quite honest, that’s the only manifestation from last year that I was able to manifest 🤪. Not me trying to manifest a nice man these last gajillion years, but could manifest not fainting at the gyno. But I’m grateful I didn’t fate at the gyno, and if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you should read last year’s momentous moments because I had a hoot and a holler laughing at myself for the absurdness of the situation because of course I would faint at the gyno.

I hope to have more days where time feels endless and nonexistent all at once—-days filled with adventure, days filled with things I enjoy doing for me from baking, painting, reading, writing, watching movies or shows. Because not everyday has to be jam-packed, but to remember to make the days matter to me.

I hope to be able to look at myself in a year from now and be able to tell myself that I got through some of the hardest days with grace, kindness, and love. To the person reading this a year from now, wherever you are physically, mentally, or emotionally, I would just like you to know how proud I am of your continuous growth and the way you keep trying. I know most days it’s hard to feel like you are worth anything or that you are worth the effort to keep trying, but you are. There are so many days, so many people, and so many more experiences to be had. You deserve to experience and feel them all. I also know that you feel like you should be somewhere more this stage in life; it’s hard not to compare because being in your twenties feels like everyone around you has it figure out—-a home, a partner, a family.

I hope they do.

You deserve goodness in your life and good people, and good experiences.

You deserve to feel appreciated and valued and respected.

You deserve to be in spaces that make you feel safe and comfortable.

No less.

Not anymore.

Going into 2025, which gosh, sounds insane knowing what that means next year, I hope you carry nothing but the hope of goodness ahead, while leaving behind the heaviness that 2024 left you feeling.

Thank you 2024 for being a year that juxtaposed what it meant to be human and to feel and to live. Thank you for gifting me the time and space to grow into this woman I am learning to be proud of every day and learning to be happier with every day because of the strength she has gotten me through. Thank you for gifting me the knowledge of knowing when I need to accept change and let go of things that have left me stuck or in an unhealthy place in more ways than one. But thank you most of all for being a year of firsts, lasts, and the vestiages of new beginnings.

See you next year,

As always, with love,