Falling Back in Love with Myself

2024 felt like wading through a quiet chaos. Not the kind that shouts or demands attention, but the kind that whispers, just keep going, even when you don’t know where you’re headed. There were days I felt like a stranger in my own life, stuck in the motions, barely skimming the surface of the deeper connection I craved with myself.

As I sit and finally reflect on the past year, I’m faced with the challenge of choosing to honor both the issues of the past year and the potential of the year ahead.

Wading Through Quiet Chaos

Sometimes, life isn’t marked by big events or loud moments - sometimes, it’s a quiet resignation that creeps in, slowly, day by day. Last year, I found myself caught in the undertow of life — not terrible, but not fulfilling either.

At work, I experienced a kind of disappointment that was hard to name. I wasn’t failing, but I also wasn’t excelling either. Each day felt like treading water—doing enough to stay afloat, but never enough to feel proud. It was especially defeating to try and inspire my team to bring their best when I knew I wasn’t at mine. How could I tell others to find their spark when my own felt dim?

Outside of work, the exhaustion followed me. I wanted to go out, to laugh with friends, to reconnect with the people who bring me joy. But more often than not, I stayed in. The idea of leaving the apartment felt overwhelming—not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t have the energy to push past the inertia. I’d sit in my space, scrolling through photos of people out living their lives, feeling a pang of longing that I couldn’t quite translate into action.

And then, there was the mirror. It became a place of judgment rather than reflection. I’d look at my body, picking apart what I saw, criticizing myself for the workouts I didn’t do, the meals I didn’t prepare, the energy I didn’t have. I was hard on myself in a way I would never be with someone else, as though I had become a stranger whose flaws were too obvious to ignore.

This quiet chaos was insidious. It didn’t scream or demand my attention; it just settled in, dulling the edges of my joy and making everything feel heavier than it should. I was surviving, yes—but barely. And even though I could see what was happening, I didn’t know how to stop it.

I let the noise of daily life drown out the voice within me that was begging for rest, for reflection, for love. And when I looked at myself—really looked—I saw someone who needed a soft place to land.

This type of chaos taught me that what I was going through did not define me, but rather, teach me. Teach me of the cycle I was in, what needed to be changed, where I needed to soften, and what I needed to let go of. 

As I reflect on last year, I see now that even in the midst of the chaos, I was still moving forward. Maybe not in leaps, but in small, quiet steps. And sometimes, that’s enough. Sometimes, just surviving is its own kind of triumph.

I didn’t win every battle this year,

But I did show up for every single one of them.

I didn’t move mountains, but sometimes getting out of bed and going to work was the mountain.

Nobody knew how many times I had to pull myself together,

But I woke up on the hard days;

And I survived.

This survival wasn't small. It was not insignificant. It was the foundation upon which I will build the next chapter of my life.

The Journey Back

Falling back in love with yourself isn’t about fixing what’s broken—it’s about remembering what’s always been there, even when it felt lost. This year, I’m starting the slow, sometimes messy, but deeply necessary work of finding my way back to me. Not the version I thought I had to be, but the version I am when no one’s watching. So, here are the promises I’m making to myself in 2025:

1. Embracing the Quiet

I used to think staying busy meant I was doing okay. Like if my calendar was full, my heart would be too. But really, all that noise was just a distraction—an easy way to avoid sitting with myself. I felt this pressure to always seem like I had it together, as if I was thriving even when I was just… surviving. That illusion of perfection was/is exhausting.

So, this year, I’m giving myself permission to be quiet. Not the kind of quiet that feels like loneliness, but the kind that feels like coming home to myself. I’m learning that silence isn’t the enemy—it’s where I hear myself the clearest. In those still moments, without the constant hum of “shoulds” and “what ifs,” I can finally ask, “What do I need?” And sometimes the answer is simple: space.

But here’s the thing—I also don’t want to get stuck in that space. So, I made a deal with myself: once a month, I’ll do something that gets me out of my comfort zone. Whether it’s trying a new coffee shop, checking out a restaurant I’ve never been to, or hiking a trail I’ve never explored, I’ll say yes to life in small, intentional ways. It’s not about being adventurous for the sake of it; it’s about reminding myself that joy doesn’t always find you—you sometimes have to go out and meet it halfway.

2. Choosing Grace

If I had a dollar for every time I was hard on myself, I’d probably retire tomorrow. I’ve spent years setting impossible standards—ones no one else even asked me to meet. I thought being the dependable friend, the high performer at work, the person who never drops the ball made me worthy. And when I inevitably fell short? The self-blame hit harder than any external criticism ever could.

But I’m tired of living like that. So this year, I’m choosing grace. Not the pretty, Instagram-worthy kind, but the real, gritty, everyday kind. The kind that shows up when I don’t. The kind that whispers, “You’re doing your best, and that’s enough,” even when my inner critic is screaming the opposite.

Grace means forgiving myself—not just for the big stuff, but for the little things too. For the text I forgot to send, the workout I skipped, the days when getting out of bed felt like an accomplishment. It means letting myself rest without feeling guilty, letting myself feel without judging those feelings, and understanding that I’m not a project to fix—I’m a person to love. Even when I’m messy. Especially when I’m messy.

3. Reclaiming the Mirror

The mirror used to be where I’d go to find all the things “wrong” with me. Every flaw felt like it was on display, every imperfection a neon sign screaming, “Not good enough.” Sometimes, I still find myself doing so. But I’m done treating my reflection like an enemy. This year, I’m reclaiming it.

I’ve committed to a modified 75 day challenge—not as punishment, not to “fix” anything, but as an act of respect for my body and mind. It’s not about chasing some ideal version of myself. It’s about showing up, even when I don’t feel like it, because I deserve that kind of care.

When I look in the mirror now, I’m trying to see more than just my reflection. I’m learning to see the resilience behind my eyes, the softness in my smile, the strength in a body that’s carried me through every hard day I thought I wouldn’t survive. Yes, my thighs jiggle. Yes, my stomach isn’t flat. Yes, I have days where I don’t like what I see. But I’m showing up anyway.

Because the mirror doesn’t get to decide my worth. I do.

The New Year

If last year was about survival, 2025 is about momentum. It’s about getting out of my own way, stepping off the sidelines, and actually living my life—not just watching it pass by. I’m done with waiting. Waiting for the “right” time, the “right” mood, the “right” version of myself to show up. This is it. I’m it. And that’s enough.

This year, I’m choosing what aligns with my heart and letting go of what doesn’t. I’m saying yes to growth, to joy, to the messy middle of figuring things out. And I’m saying no to anything that drains me—whether that’s people, habits, or the outdated stories I keep telling myself about who I should be.

2025 is personal. It’s the year I stop hoping for change and start creating it. The year I stop waiting for life to feel different and start making it different.

Thank you, 2024. You weren’t easy, but you were necessary. You showed me what I needed to see—even when I didn’t want to look. Here’s to surviving. Here’s to thriving. And here’s to falling in love with myself—not just once, but over and over again.