I think it’s fair for me to say that 2025 didn’t go the way I expected.

It started off hopeful. I had recently picked up running and had big goals for the upcoming year. I had cut off toxic friends and had a whole new friend group. I was part of a volunteer group I believed in. I truly believed it was the beginning of a magical year.

And then life happened.

Work became increasingly stressful, and it became more and more clear I needed a change.

Now, the thing is that I already spent a large part of the previous year job searching, and multiple rejections really wore me down. Logging onto LinkedIn made me want to physically puke, and I was at the point where I never wanted to speak to a recruiter again.

Unfortunately, my therapist wasn’t sympathetic to my struggle. Every session began with him asking, “How are the applications going?”

“I haven’t made much progress,” I’d say.

“What’s it going to take? You’ve been in the same boat for… awhile,” he’d respond.

Week after week, this wore on me and made me question my identity and self-worth. There was a point when I said that my biggest stressor was my therapy sessions where I’d feel ashamed for not being “proactive enough.”

I then decided the pressure was too much and fired my therapist.

Around the same time, my physical body started betraying me. This was hard for me because I consider myself very athletic, and up until this point, I hadn’t experienced major problems.

I’d vomit out of nowhere. There were days when I couldn’t eat. I’d experience extreme bouts of dizziness and muscle aches.

I stopped running entirely and had a traumatic illness that sent me to the ER. Seeing my body behave in ways that were foreign to me was genuinely frightening.

And the worst part? Every doctor said I was fine. My blood work was exceptional. Saying I felt gaslit was an understatement.

But it wasn’t all bad.

That spring, I took an introspective look and started thinking about what I was good at. I’ve always been told I ask good questions. I’m funny, emotionally intelligent, analytical, and probably a little bit too honest.

This period of life coincided with reading I Who Have Never Known Men. As I’ve described in an earlier piece, I relate to the main character, and I see a lot of myself in her. She was an overthinker with a very obsessive personality. And as I read, I had a newfound empathy for myself, through looking at her. She was so admirable and never gave up. Seeing this changed my self-image, in a way that no prior therapist or mentor had. I realized I didn’t need fixing. I needed to embrace who I am.

And that’s when my world started collapsing inward. None of these “gifts” were things that I used in my daily life, and especially not in my day job as a software engineer. I knew something had to change, but I was stuck in this limbo phase for a couple months.

But then it clicked. Writing was there. It was an avenue I could be completely myself, whether that’s obsessive, too deep, goofy, controversial, or dramatic. It’s a discipline that rewards my individuality, rather than represses it.

The best part? Once I started, I knew it was natural. Doesn’t mean it’s not hard. It is. But it’s aligned with who I am, and I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.

Early that summer I wrote my audition piece. This piece showed my insecurities—but also, defiantly, declared that I was done hiding and shrinking myself. It’s very easily misunderstood, and that’s exactly it. It’s who I am, and I didn’t explain myself.

It might seem as though I’m very confident, and in some ways I am….

But calling myself a writer makes me uncomfortable. I distinctly remember getting a paper back in middle school with a ridiculous amount of misplaced commas, and being told in red letters that my mechanics needed fixing. And to this day, grammar doesn’t come naturally, and I often write clunky sentences. If you want neat and polished writing, I am not your girl, and will probably never be.

And while I do think that mechanics and craft have value, I came to see that there was more to writing. A unique voice, a sense of humor, a compelling set of arguments, and emotional intelligence are also valuable, and nobody had articulated this to me before. Figuring this out gave me a new passion and a sense of purpose my life had been lacking.

These two things, writing and physical health struggles, made up much of my year.

My writing obsession made my world open up. I started a substack, and did more and more “overthinking.” And absolutely no regrets. It was all so much fun. Genuinely.

What wasn’t fun was watching my physical health deteriorate. This summer it only got worse. I barely saw my friends, and when I did, I was way too exhausted to be present. I had a Doordash obsession, worse than I’d like to admit.

And predictably, it only made my job even more stressful. I was too tired to focus or keep my eyes open on meetings. It didn’t take long for me to be called out.

The pressure came to a head on a Saturday when I was doing an overnight upgrade. I consider this the worst day of the year.

After drinking way too much caffeine and not sleeping the whole night, I vomited violently the next day—and then was written up when I couldn’t complete post upgrade tasks! I felt like my whole world was coming undone, and I told my manager impulsively that I was ready for my two weeks notice.

I realized I probably shouldn’t make a career change at my lowest, so I quickly settled to take a medical leave of absence to buy myself some time.

Then I went to Arkansas and wrote this. In some ways, I regret this piece because I think it’s obvious I was mentally unwell and all over the place. I needed more distance to reflect, but regardless, it was a time of healing, and it became very obvious that I had no option BUT to quit my job that had been eating me alive for months.

And with a newfound freedom, I knew that I couldn’t just go to Arkansas once, so I planned a second trip a week later. I was healthier and with the weather being much cooler, it became one of the best experiences of my life. I found joy and contentment in solitude, in a way that was new for me. It was a rare time where I felt there were no outside pressures put on me. More of my reflections here.

And while I’d love to end this with a happy bow, and say that God completely healed me, I can’t do that.

God is still asking that I trust him in ways I don’t feel comfortable with. As of writing this, I haven’t picked up running for months. I have no income. Physically, I haven’t recovered, and I spend my days in bed or on the couch. I still have not seen my friends, and am just too exhausted.

Yet, I’m reminded that those aren’t the only markers I can use to reflect.

I’m more confident than I’ve ever been. I have a voice, and for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of it.

I now know that my physical and mental health matter far more than a job. Nothing will ever change my mind.

And I have dreams for the future. Ones I wouldn’t have touched a year ago nor had the courage to even think about.

You want to know the craziest part of this, especially considering that I’m a very anxious person?

I’m not scared.

Life didn’t go how I wanted in 2025.

It won’t in 2026.

But I know God has plans for me.

And my only prayer is that I’m ready to receive them.