If January-me knew what this year would ask of her, she might not have believed it or she might have quietly bowed out before it even began (please, the last bit is a joke). 2025 was not a year of loud victories or perfectly aligned moments. It was a year of becoming. Of reshaping. Of learning how to live inside what is unfinished without rushing it to completion.
There is a traditional Japanese art called Kintsugi (金継ぎ), the practice of repairing broken pottery with lacquer mixed with gold. Instead of hiding the cracks, they are traced, honoured, and made visible. The breakage is not erased; it simply becomes part of the story. The object returns not as it once was, but as something more layered, more intentional.
That was this year for me. Still mending. Still in process. Still becoming. So if my life had a Wrapped feature in 2025, this is what it would say.
Feelings on Repeat
I have always consider myself as being deeply emotional; perhaps more than I should be. This year required me to feel everything fully, without editing or rushing myself through it.
Peace found me in small, ordinary places: quiet Saturday morning walks, late nights at the gym, weekends by the sea, and sunsets that felt like gentle punctuation marks at the end of long days. I learned that peace does not always arrive dramatically; sometimes it simply waits for us to slow down enough to notice it.
Uncertainty lingered longer than I expected. Some questions lasted days; others stretched into months. There were difficult choices, and moments where these choices were not mine at all. Still, resilience remained an option. And the fact that I’m writing this reflection in December is proof that I survived 100% of my difficult days.
Comfort came in solitude. Time alone is’nt something I take for granted and this year it became a form of restoration. Evenings and weekends spent at home, though quiet, offered rest to a life that felt busy and eventful. I learned that comfort does not always look exciting, but it is often exactly what sustains us.
Where I Lingered (Physically & Mentally)
This year taught me how to return to familiar spaces while also daring myself into unfamiliar ones and even doing so alone.
Chicago
I welcomed the new year in a city far from my usual rhythms. Traditionally, New Year’s Eve for me is spent among familiar faces, but choosing solitude instead became a quiet act of courage. I didn’t know then how much that decision would shape how I’d not just live out the rest of the year, but also embracing the changes of adulthood and the parts of myself I had been avoiding to meet alone.
Atlanta
Birthday plans unraveled and Carnival had to also take the back burner. This however made the way for a last minute solo trip that wasn’t what I imagined, but offered something better: rest without performance, celebration without pressure, and time to listen to myself without distraction. I had fun doing site visits to places like the Atlanta Botanical Garden, Georgia Aquarium, Coca Cola Museum and so much more.
Therapy
This year, I began therapy—not because something was “wrong,” but because some things whether we believe it or not need a second opinion. Having a space free of familiarity and bias allowed me to speak honestly about the year as it unfolded. It reminded me that care does not need crisis to be valid.
Conversations with Loved Ones
And while theray serves it purpose, we still do need the ones who know us best. Family and friends became home in human form. Some conversations were heavy, others light—but each one anchored me. I learned that being witnessed, even imperfectly, can make all the difference.
People Who Shaped My Year
It would be so unfair to name persons separately (I’m afraid I’ll miss a few), but this year I had a different perspective on community and allowing persons to show up the best way they can.
There were persons who checked in quietly, consistently, without needing updates or explanations—just presence and vice versa. The kind that makes you feel remembered even in silence.
There were persons who challenged me, who asked harder questions and refused to let me settle for what was comfortable but misaligned. Growth did not always feel gentle, but it was necessary and as uncomfortable as it felt, you do need people who will hold you accountable.
And then there were persons who reminded me of balance; working hard, but also playing just as much. In comparison to previous years I was home more, but the outside activities felt more intentional and yes even the many Saturdays spent at the beach 🙂
Things That Brought Me Back to Myself
This year, I leaned into gratitude for consistency rather than perfection.
Journaling became a way to mark time honestly. Days and weeks blur quickly, and writing helped me remember not just the hard moments, but the good ones too; the laughter, the small wins, the interests that brought joy. At the end of each entry, I noted the song I had on repeat. Music holds memory, and revisiting these pages felt like listening to past versions of myself speak.
Early nights became sacred. Outside of the gym, you’d often find me home early—reading, watching a series or winding down slowly. I stopped apologizing for rest and began treating it as necessary, not indulgent.
Saying no was uncomfortable, but transformative. This was a year of boundaries; of choosing short-term discomfort over long-term resentment, and ending cycles that relied on my silence to survive.
Movement looked different this year. While gym consistency wavered, pickleball filled the gaps. I showed up tired. I showed up imperfectly. And I learned that showing up at all still counts.
Cooking for myself became a quiet form of care. Nourishing my body with what it needed not just what it wanted shifted my relationship with food (I’m terrible at eating consistently) and with myself. Time in the kitchen became another way of choosing myself gently.
Many of these comforts were disrupted by Hurricane Melissa, which forced me to release routines and possessions I had come to rely on. As I look toward the year ahead, rebuilding feels less like starting over and more like continuing with intention.
Top Songs of the Year (And Why They Mattered)
Music has always been more than background noise for me; like journals- it is an emotional timestamp. It was not just what I listened to, but when and why.
These weren’t just songs. They were checkpoints, looking back at my Spotify wrap my highest listening day was in fact one of the most interesting days I had this year which made so much sense as someone who turns to music to regulate.
The Song I Leaned on During Uncertainty
“Resilience” – Chronixx
Released just weeks before Hurricane Melissa, this song met me before I knew how much I would need it. The lyrics carried me through days when strength felt borrowed and clarity was distant. It reminded me that endurance doesn’t always roar—sometimes it simply refuses to quit.
The Song That Kept Hope Soft
“I Just Don’t Know You Yet” – Absolutely
I’m not one for wishful thinking, but this song gently made room for possibility. Learning that it was inspired by a dream of the artist’s future partner felt tender rather than unrealistic. It allowed me to hold hope without expectation, reminding me that not knowing doesn’t mean something isn’t coming—it simply hasn’t arrived yet.
The Song That Taught Me Surrender
“If I Could Have Anything” – Housefires, Blake Wiggan & Ajah Walls
This song became a daily prayer—played in the shower, at my desk, in moments where words failed me. It taught me how to loosen my grip on outcomes and trust God with both my desires and my disappointments. When I didn’t have language for release, this song spoke it for me.
The Song I Played the Most in The Gym
“Sweet Music” Voice, Trini Baby
As a lover of Soca music this song was on replay nonstop between the hours of 9pm-11pm. This had my gym sessions hyped! my motivation on the threadmill is me picturing myself walking down the street on Carnival Sunday and trust me the song got the job done. It’s a feel good music that helped to boost my energy even on the nights I’d rather skip the dumbbells and stairmaster.
I didn’t just replay these songs because they just sounded good. I replayed them because in their own special ways they held different parts of me together.
The Word of the Year I Accidentally Lived Out
I didn’t choose a word for 2025 (since 2020 I started using words to live out rather than actual resolutions)—but looking back, one chose me.
Trust.
Trusting myself after disappointment.
Trusting discernment when clarity felt delayed.
Trusting God even when answers arrived slowly or not at all.
I didn’t embrace it easily. I questioned it. Resisted it. Tested it. But over time, trust stopped feeling like a leap and started feeling like a posture—one I learned through repetition, surrender, and quiet obedience.
Trust asked me to release control without demanding certainty in return. And though I’m still learning what it fully means, I carry it forward now with steadier hands.
[In 2026 I’ll be sure to give more context to this word and what it meant this year]
Still in the Potter’s Hand
2025 came as a restoration project- one that required stillness. A year of visible seams. Of pieces carefully rejoined. Of cracks that were not erased, but traced with care.
Like Kintsugi, I am still in the Potter’s hand. Still in process. Still becoming.
The breaks mattered, the skips counted and the gold is showing—right where I once thought I was broken.
What was your biggest take away from this year (lessons etc.) and what were some of the simple joys that brought you back to yourself?
The diary of a 20 something 
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