I was so eager to say goodbye to 2025. I was holding my breath until the simple man-made marker ticked to a fabricated turn of events, holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe 2026 won’t be as awful as 2025.

Realistically, 2026 will be hard. The more time passes, the more survivors are confronted with the reality of the loss. Each new milestone permeates where the mind worked endlessly to protect itself with the beautiful art of denial. Stress/survival mode and denial guard one’s mind until he or she is safe enough to experience the most brutal emotions. Time wears away at this protection and opens one’s heart to experience caverns of pain. Thus, 2025 will be hard. More anniversaries, more milestones, more bullshit.

These man-made annual festivities beautifully prompt reflection. Trauma does a funny thing to the mind: it hijacks the brain’s memory by severely depleting the ability to store new memories and to recollect old ones. Whole weeks and months can be stolen from the traumatized mind.

This December as I reflected on my brisk 28 years, I have been irritated. I’m almost done with my twenties — a time where I’m supposed to be full of energy and life and fun and crazy — and instead I’ve spent the last decade barely surviving. I had a couple good years, 2022-2024 specifically, but other than that, my mind and body have been ravaged by trauma.

Exhaustion, high cortisol, heart arrhythmias, PCOS, barely living. Years and years of living a half-life. This year, I’m irritated about it. I’m bitter about it. I am bitter about it.

I’m so sick of living like this. I’m jealous of people that don’t have to carry this weight. I don’t want others to endure what I have, I just don’t want to carry all that I have endured. I’m agitated about stress and trauma wreaking havoc on my mind and my body, no matter how much I attempt to manage the stress.

No amount of therapy, exercise, and stress management can minimize the amount of pain other people in my life have inflicted on me. No amount of good or joyous memories can take away or replace the amount of trauma my body stores.

It’s an unending battle with so little reward. High cortisol means weight gain, no matter what I eat nor how much I exercise. Weight gain, acne, hair loss, I’m disgusting. I feel disgusting. I feel hideous and exhausted and it feels like everything I do is pointless, and nothing I do works.

So yeah, I’m bitter about it right now. I’m sad about it, I’m mad about it, and I wish I could be “over it.”

I wish I could wake up and everything would feel okay, but it’s impossible. It’s all impossible.

I have years and years of ridiculously hard work to attempt to heal and create a healthier life… and it will take years. My body won’t be healed for years, my mind won’t be healed for years, and somethings — some things will simply never heal. There are some things the mind never recovers from, and death is one of those things. The mind physically cannot comprehend death, and, thus, it never heals from those losses. The more traumatic and unexpected the loss, the less healing the brain experiences… ever.

I hate my life. I hate all of this.

AND YET, Life is a gift.

Life is a gift.

Every breath is a gift. Every moment is a gift.

Every single day is a gift. My life is a gift. My presence in your life is a gift. Others are blessed because I exist. Others are blessed simply to know me. And what is blessed? Comforted, loved, cherished, appreciated, noticed, known: Others experience all these beautiful things from me. My life is a gift, it’s a gift to you. I know my life is a gift to me, too, even when I can’t feel it. Even when all my efforts feel fruitless, even when I feel disgusting and stupid and worthless, my life is a gift.

It’s a gift to love and be loved. It’s a gift to give and receive comfort. It’s a gift to know and be known. Ir’s a gift to feel and experience life deeply. It’s a gift to live. Life is a gift.

Trauma is not a gift. Pain is not a gift. Abuse is not a gift. The bad things that have happened to you? They’re not a gift. They weren’t part of “God’s plan” and God didn’t “allow” them to build your character or make you a better person. Bad things are not good, and they will never be good. There is nothing good about murder and suicide. There is nothing good about physical and sexual abuse. There is nothing good about cruelty and depravity.

Yes, life can be beautiful after pain. Yes, pain may yield new and beautiful perspectives. These good things do not occur because of pain but rather in spite of pain.

My Dad’s life is a gift. My brothers’ lives are a gift. My husband’s life is a gift. My sister in laws’ lives are gifts. My nieces’ and nephews’ lives are a gift. My friends’ lives are gifts. These people bless — they comfort, love, cherish, appreciate, notice, know — me. Every day their lives are a gift.

Yes, I am angry and sad and bitter about what people have done to hurt me, how that has manifested in my mind and body, and the years behind and ahead of me that these traumas have stolen. Yes, I hate these major defining moments of my life, but my life is a gift. Your life is a gift to me, too. Your life is a gift to you, too. I love you 💙

Life is a gift: honor it, tend to it, cherish it. Every day. Especially on your worst days.