This Time Last Year

I shared this photo on Dec. 3, 2024 with this caption: “My arms grew tired from constantly reaching, so I wrapped them around myself and allowed them to rest.” I was hurting so badly.

December 13, 2025

I am thankful to not be in the same situation I was in at this time last year.

Last year, I was on high alert—my body screaming that something was terribly wrong—while my logical brain made every excuse imaginable for what was happening. I grew smaller and smaller, accepting terrible treatment that called itself love, feeding off of breadcrumbs laced with poison.

I am not thankful for what happened to me, or for the way I eventually had to leave.

But I am thankful to no longer be there.

I remember being at a conference in November of last year when one of the speakers talked about regret. He asked a simple question:

What are you allowing in your life right now that your future self will regret if you continue?

My immediate thought was him.

My future self was right.

The universe is always working in our favor—but it rarely does so gently. Sometimes it sorts things out through explosions, ruptures, collapsing stars, and black holes. Painful, violent endings that create space.

All of that destruction, just to make room for true celestial beauty to exist.

I see it.

Bright. Shimmering. Beautiful—

Me.