Twenty twenty-five was not the year I planned—but it was the year that reshaped me.
It started with a promotion and pay raise in January, which gave me false confidence that my struggling company was closing in on a deal. I put off updating my résumé and opening myself to new opportunities. Two months later, I was laid off. Fifteen years of service earned me four weeks of severance. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
But I was.
At the same time, I recommitted to my writing, pulling years of work into a memoir about my grief journey after my husband’s death. I enrolled in a series of online memoir-writing classes that brought structure, accountability, and momentum. Weekly assignments, peer feedback, and thoughtful instruction helped me stay with the work instead of letting it drift.
The first half of the year became a juggling act: job searching, continuing nursing education, a part-time caregiving role, and writing whenever I could. After repeated warnings about a brutal job market, I cut expenses quickly and looked for ways to stretch my savings. I trained the puppy, prepared for the possibility of full-time office work or travel, and even considered renting out a room.
The stress showed up physically. I gained weight, my running slowed, and my yoga practice felt heavier. I scaled back from the half marathon I’d planned and ran an 8K instead—meeting myself where I was.
In July, I landed a fully remote role with an East Coast–based biotech company. Their focus on blood cancers pushed me back into an indication I hadn’t worked in for over twenty years, and the learning curve was steep. Like many companies right now, they were also navigating funding challenges.
By the end of the year, my memoir was nearly complete. I invited a handful of early readers to share feedback, and their insights helped me shape the manuscript more clearly. As I plan to self-publish, their voices have mattered more than they know.
Now, as the year comes to a close—and with just one more early reader still to hear from—I feel excited about what comes next. I turned sixty this month, and I feel deeply grateful to still be running, staying active, and showing up on my yoga mat. Some days the practice feels steady; other days it feels humbling. Either way, I don’t take any of it for granted.
This year asked me to slow down, recalibrate, and trust forward motion even when the path wasn’t clear. I didn’t land where I expected—but I stayed in motion, learning to meet myself where I am. And as I look ahead, that feels like more than enough.
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