Falling Back in Love with Myself

2024 felt like wading through a kind of quiet chaos.

Not the kind of chaos that is loud or dramatic. It was quieter than that. It was the kind that slowly settles into your life until you almost forget what it feels like to not be tired. The kind that tells you to just keep going, even when you have no idea where you’re actually going.

There were a lot of days when I felt like a stranger in my own life. I was doing what I needed to do. I was going to work. I was showing up for people. I was getting through the day. But I wasn't really there for any of it.

I was just moving through it.

Now that I finally have some distance from the year, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it taught me. I want to be honest about the parts that hurt, but I also want to leave room for what comes next.

Wading Through Quiet Chaos

Sometimes life doesn't fall apart all at once. Sometimes nothing particularly terrible happens. You just slowly start feeling less like yourself.

That was 2024 for me.

I found myself caught somewhere between being okay and not being okay. I wasn't necessarily unhappy, but I wasn't fulfilled either. I was treading water. Doing enough to stay afloat, but rarely feeling like I was actually moving forward.

Work was a big part of that.

I experiencd a kind of disappointment in myself that was difficult to explain. I wasn't failing. I was still doing my job. I was still showing up. But I knew I wasn't giving it everything I had.

And that was hard, especially when I was trying to encourage the people around me to bring their best.

How do you tell other people to find their spark when yours feels like it's barely there?

Outside of work, that exhaustion followed me home.

There were so many times I wanted to go out. I wanted to see my friends, grab a drink, go somewhere new, laugh, be around people. I wanted to feel like I was participating in my own life again.

But a lot of the time, I stayed home.

Not because I didn't want to go. I just couldn't seem to get myself to go.

I'd sit in my apartment and scroll through pictures and stories of people out doing things, living their lives, and I'd feel this weird combination of happiness for them and sadness for myself.

I wanted to be out there too.

I just didn't know how to get there.

And then there was the mirror.

The mirror became less about seeing myself and more about finding everything I thought was wrong with me.

I would look at my body and immediately start picking it apart. I would think about the workouts I hadn't done, the meals I hadn't prepared, the days when I didn't have the energy to take care of myself the way I thought I should.

I was incredibly hard on myself.

Harder than I would ever be with anyone else.

That's probably one of the things that stands out to me most when I look back. I had somehow become someone I was constantly trying to correct instead of someone I was trying to understand.

That's what made the chaos so difficult.

It wasn't loud. It didn't demand my attention.

It just slowly made everything feel heavier.

I was functioning, but I wasn't really living.

And somewhere underneath all of that, there was still a part of me asking for something very simple.

Rest.

Space.

Connection.

A little kindness.

When I finally slowed down enough to hear it, I realized I didn't need to become someone else. I needed to come back to myself.

Maybe that's what this season was really trying to teach me.

That what I was going through didn't define me. It was showing me something.

It showed me the cycles I had gotten comfortable living in. It showed me what needed to change. It showed me where I needed to soften. And maybe most importantly, it showed me what I needed to let go of.

Looking back now, I can see that I was still moving forward.

It just didn't always look like it.

Sometimes progress is obvious. Sometimes it's getting out of bed. Sometimes it's going to work when you really don't want to. Sometimes it's answering the phone. Sometimes it's taking a shower, making yourself eat, or simply deciding to try again tomorrow.

I didn't win every battle that year.
But I showed up for every single one of them.
I didn't move mountains.
Sometimes getting out of bed 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.
I don't think survival should ever be dismissed as something small.

Sometimes survival is the beginning of everything else.

The Journey Back

I think falling back in love with yourself is less about fixing yourself and more about remembering yourself.
Remembering who you were before you started measuring your worth by how productive you were.
Before you started comparing your body to everyone else's.
Before you convinced yourself that being tired meant you weren't doing enough.
This year, I want to find my way back to me.
Not the version of me I think other people want.
Not the version of me who always has everything figured out.
Just me.
The version of me who exists when nobody is watching.
So these are the promises I'm making to myself.

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.