A New Year Reflection on Resilience and Return

With Christmas winding down, I finally feel the hustle of the holidays settling to a point where I can take a breath of air without inhaling the cumulative stress of the season. My son is still out of school, which means mostly finding ways to interrupt the deluge of “Mommy, I’m bored,” before it becomes a full-blown crisis. In the quiet moments, of which there are few, I reflect on the past 12 months.

This year was wonderful and relentlessly difficult. For most of it, I clung to the phrase “It’ll slow down soon,” a mantra that didn’t fully materialize until Christmas actually ended. Even now, while standing on the edge of the New Year, there is still the persistent thread of unfinished things, reminders that life doesn’t stop just because one year turns into the next.

Looking back, it’s easy to see why: 

• I got married and planned a wedding. I joked that I was never getting married again, partly because I found the love of my life but also because this process drained my wallet and my patience for spreadsheets, seating charts, and being the center of attention.
• I hosted a slew of relatives. While some of that was family coming in from an entirely different country, the other was a sibling who was going through a divorce. 
• I went through several home renovations. One of which kept me working in my bedroom for five months. This was compounded by my younger brother moving in “temporarily,” which meant forfeiting my office so he’d have a place to sleep. 
• I worked two jobs. One I tolerated to pay for a wedding, the other I briefly enjoyed before it collapsed under an owner who didn’t pay his staffing companies. And while disappointed, there was a part of me that felt relief as the stress began to wear on the last synapse I could muster to give a fuck. 
• I rescued two cats. Originally it was going to be only one but you’ll soon find that nothing beats the cuteness of synchronized grooming. 

Somewhere along the way, I lost myself. Not all at once, but gradually, buried under a year that asked for constant endurance. Sitting here now, I wonder whether the energy to reclaim her still exists. Being honest, she gained a few pounds, lost her health momentum, and let work quietly displace passion. 

I tend to dislike New Year’s resolutions, but pretending the calendar doesn’t matter feels disingenuous. I’m not interested in packaging this into SMART goals or professional development language. This isn’t a performance review. It’s simply an honest look at what I want to move toward next. 

I’m not above a weight-loss goal, especially as back pain and low energy have slowly eroded any sense of physical momentum. But weight loss itself has never felt like the real objective. It’s a byproduct, a quiet indicator that something else has shifted underneath. And since I’m a bitch on a budget, I don’t have access to Ozempic. It looks like it’s the traditional route for me. 

Which also means the real work starts earlier, and far less visibly. Fixing the back pain and restoring energy begins with sleep, or more accurately, the lack of it. That’s a harder problem to solve when part of the equation is an ADHD child who wakes up at 2 a.m. Every. Damn. Night. Some things, like getting myself to bed on time, are addressable. Others are not, and learning the difference feels like its own kind of work. 

I also want to build this site and improve my photography. 8th Noon has become a kind of pressure valve, a place to put the thoughts and images that don’t fit neatly anywhere else. If complaining into the void of the internet can be cathartic, then this is me doing it deliberately, with a camera in hand. 

With that in mind, I’m keeping my goals for the year intentionally small and specific. Not because I lack ambition, but because I’ve learned what happens when everything feels urgent. These are less resolutions than points of focus. Things I’m willing to tend, consistently, and without spectacle.

Health

• Get adequate rest. 
• Fix my back problems.  
• Lower my cholesterol. (My blood is basically butter.)

Creative

• Participate in at least one photo challenge a month.
• Publish at least once a month.

I plan to document what works, what doesn’t, and what shifts along the way, not in pursuit of reinvention, but in service of noticing. If 2025 was about weathering, then 2026 is about return. About finding my footing again. About reclaiming Noon.