So here we are. The last blog of 2025.

If this year were a person, it would be that acquaintance who shows up uninvited, eats all the snacks, drops a few emotional grenades, then says, “Well, that’s been fun,” before sailing out the door without even helping you clean up.

Rude. But somehow… not exactly surprising.

For many of you, 2025 wasn’t just “a year.” It was a lot. Another year of holding it together on the outside while quietly managing fear, grief, anger, exhaustion, and the mental gymnastics of pretending you’re fine when you’re very much not. A year of scan dates burned into your calendar — or perhaps anxiety about the fact that you aren’t under any routine surveillance, and what might be silently brewing, undetected.

And yet...you’re still here.

Not in a shiny, inspirational-poster kind of way. More in a real, sometimes weary, sometimes surprised-by-your-own-strength kind of way. You got through things you never would’ve volunteered for. You made decisions while scared. You kept going even when you were tired of being brave.

That counts. Even if no one gave you a medal. Even if you don’t feel proud yet.

If there’s one quiet lesson 2025 had to offer, it’s this: you don’t actually need to have everything figured out to move forward. You just need to keep showing up. Messy counts. Cynical, sarcastic humor counts. Rest counts. Saying “I can’t deal with that right now” absolutely counts.

And maybe you noticed something else this year. That some of the rules you used to live by — the ones about pushing through, being grateful no matter what, earning rest, not rocking the boat? They don’t fit you anymore. They chafe. They exhaust you. They ask too much.

Guess what? That discomfort isn’t failure. It’s information. And you get to decide what to do with that information.

As we look toward 2026, I’m not going to suggest resolutions, vision boards, or anything that feels fake or forced. You’ve already been “remade” in ways you didn’t choose. And whatever you’ve been through — and for me, it was a lot this past year — you now get a say in what comes next. You may not have asked for the plot twist, but you’re allowed to write the next chapter.

Not based on who you were before cancer, or who you think you’re “supposed” to be. But aligned with who you are now. Your values. Your energy. Your priorities. Because you deserve a life that you love — especially after everything you’ve been through.

Hope doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes it’s just a small voice saying, “Maybe it doesn’t have to be this hard forever.”

So let’s say goodbye to 2025 the same way we might say goodbye to that snack-grubbing, grenade-dropping guest: with a raised eyebrow, a deep breath, and maybe a little, “see you later… bye.”

2026 is allowed in — but it’s knocking first. And also, we’re changing the locks.

And if you’re heading into 2026 feeling tired, uncertain, or quietly longing for things to feel different, you don’t have to figure that out alone. Support doesn’t mean you’re failing — it means you’ve carried enough for long enough. If you want a place to talk things through, get unstuck, or gently explore what your “new normal” could actually look like, I’m here. Reach out whenever it feels right.

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