A year ago, my life felt like it had been put on pause—but my thoughts certainly hadn’t. Anxiety was loud. My sense of direction was blurry. Grad school had begun, work had ended, and my mental health was unraveling faster than I knew how to catch it. What followed wasn’t a dramatic transformation or a sudden breakthrough, but something much quieter: the slow, deliberate decision to keep moving forward anyway.

It has been a little over a year since I started graduate school and became unemployed, and during that time my anxiety and overall mental health were at their worst. With no roadmap and very little energy, I began what I can only describe as a painfully slow trajectory toward improving my life—and the relationships that matter most to me.

By the end of 2025, small but meaningful shifts began to take shape. My daughter and I started going to the gym together at least once a week. She shows up for me, and I show up for her. In many ways, we are learning how to help each other. I meditate several times a week now. I take my anxiety medication consistently. I am working—intentionally and imperfectly—on communicating better with my child.

This past year brought fewer arguments with my husband and a deeper focus on building a healthier relationship with my daughter. It forced me to slow down and really ask myself what matters, who I am becoming, and what kind of impact I want to have in this world.

But 2025 also brought loneliness. Without a job, the absence of friendships became impossible to ignore. I often tell myself I don’t have friends because I don’t like people—which is partly a story I’ve used to protect myself. The truth is that I do want connection—I just haven’t known where to find it or how to begin again. But if this past year has taught me anything, it’s that progress doesn’t have to be loud to matter. Quiet steps still count. And maybe, in the year ahead, I can take a few more of them toward the kind of life—and the kind of relationships—I’m still learning to believe I deserve.