Reflecting on 2025: Holding On, Letting Go, and Stepping Into 2026 With Intention
I’m writing this with a cup of tea beside me, the house finally quiet, and the words still settling in my chest after listening to my favourite From the Heart podcast by Rachael Brathen (1). Something about the way she speaks—soft but certain, honest without being heavy—nudged me into a space I’ve been avoiding for a while. A space of reflection. A space of truth-telling. A space of looking back at 2025 not as a blur of survival, but as a year that shaped me in ways I’m only beginning to understand.
A Year of Holding On
If I had to choose one word for 2025, it would be recovery. Not in the neat, linear sense we sometimes imagine, but in the real, human, messy way it unfolds. This was the year I recovered from postpartum psychosis—a sentence that still feels surreal to write. A sentence that carries both weight and relief.
There were moments this year when I didn’t recognise myself. Moments when the world felt too sharp, too loud, too fast. Moments when I wondered if I’d ever feel steady again. And yet, here I am. Writing. Reflecting. Living. Parenting. Laughing. Planning. Hoping.
I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Truly proud. Proud of the work, the courage, the vulnerability, the asking for help, the accepting help, the rebuilding of trust in myself. Proud of the quiet victories no one sees. Proud of the loud ones too.
And I want to hold on to that pride. I want to carry forward the softness I learned, the boundaries I built, the strength I didn’t know I had, and the compassion I now extend to myself without apology.
A Year of Letting Go
But reflection also means acknowledging what I’m ready to release.
I don’t want postpartum psychosis to be the headline of my story as I step into 2026. It shaped me, yes. It changed me, absolutely. But it does not define me. It is not the whole of me. It is not the lens through which I want to view the year ahead.
So I’m letting go of the fear that it will always overshadow my identity. I’m letting go of the pressure to “bounce back” into who I was before. I’m letting go of the shame that tries to cling to experiences that were never my fault. I’m letting go of the belief that vulnerability makes me less capable.
Letting go is not forgetting. It’s choosing not to carry what no longer serves the person I’m becoming.
What I’m Taking Into 2026
Listening to Rachael Brathen speak about reflection reminded me that endings and beginnings are not separate—they overlap, they blur, they inform one another. So as I close out 2025, here’s what I’m choosing to bring with me:
Gratitude for the people who held me steady.
A deeper understanding of my own resilience.
A commitment to rest, not as a luxury but as a necessity.
A gentler relationship with my body and mind.
A renewed sense of purpose—professionally, personally, creatively.
And most importantly: the belief that I get to write the next chapter.
Looking Ahead
2026 feels like a threshold. Not a fresh start—because I don’t need to erase anything—but a continuation with more clarity, more intention, and more self-trust. I’m stepping into the new year with open hands: one holding the lessons that matter, the other releasing what weighs me down.
If 2025 was the year of recovery, then maybe 2026 will be the year of expansion. Of stepping into my power. Of embracing joy without suspicion. Of allowing myself to be defined by the fullness of who I am—not just the hardest parts of my story.
And if you’re reading this and reflecting on your own year, I hope you give yourself permission to do the same. Hold on to what nourishes you. Let go of what drains you. And walk into the next season knowing you deserve peace, growth, and a life that feels like your own.
References:
https://open.spotify.com/show/6VBsAU8dpXZSwX8GmU3qM5
