Closing the Door on a Tough Year: Welcoming the New Year with Strength

When a New Year Feels Like a Second Chance

As the clock ticks toward midnight, I find myself reflecting—not with champagne in hand or fireworks on the screen—but with a quiet determination to leave this year behind. This has been a year I am more than ready to close the door on, a chapter filled with tough lessons and small triumphs. It feels like I have lived a lifetime between last New Year's Eve and now. Strength has been my anchor.

There is a societal expectation to always look on the bright side, to tie up each year with a neat little bow and label it as "a learning experience" or "a year of growth." But this time, I will be honest: it was a bad year. Just as we have bad meals, bad days, and bad weeks—we can also have bad years. And that is okay. Acknowledging this does not mean I am not grateful for the good; it means I am human. And being human, after the year I have had, is something I am deeply thankful for. My strength lies in recognizing the truth, not hiding from it.

Finding Light in Unexpected Places

This year brought challenges I would not wish on anyone. But despite the heaviness, there were moments of light that I will treasure forever. Trips to Mendocino with my parents and husband became sanctuaries—reminders of the world beyond hospital walls. I laughed. I built something meaningful with this blog and the cancer awareness store. I met incredible people through this platform—fighters, caregivers, and supporters who reminded me that none of us are alone. Strength is community.

Those were the sparks of light in a sometimes dark journey. They reminded me to appreciate the present, to embrace my family, to value every moment I have. My husband and my loved ones were the constants—my anchors—through the storms. Without them, I do not know where I would be. Their presence alone gave me the strength to keep going.

Lessons From the Hardest Days

Looking forward, I do not believe that a new year magically resets everything. I have learned that change starts within. Healing begins in small ways. There is no reset button when you are living with something like Glioblastoma—every day is a continuation of the fight. But the lessons I learned this year will carry me through whatever lies ahead. Strength grows slowly, and it is earned.

This year taught me to be proud of my resilience. I survived. I adapted. I found grace in the grit. I stopped trying to live up to some ideal version of strength and instead embraced what real strength looks like—waking up every day and showing up, even when I do not feel like it. I have learned that strength is not loud. Sometimes it is just breathing, resting, taking a walk, or choosing hope one more time.

It also taught me to be kinder to myself. To stop apologizing for not being okay. To let go of the idea that I must have it all together. That vulnerability is weakness. If anything, vulnerability has made me stronger, more grounded, and more connected to those around me. That was the lesson I needed most.

Walking Into the New Year With Intention

So as I turn in tonight, I am not waiting for the fireworks or the countdown. I am ready—ready to carry this strength into the New Year. Ready to let go of what hurt me. Ready to hold on to what lifted me. I do not know what 2025 will bring, but I do know I will meet it with more awareness, more love, and more fire than I ever have before. Strength is in our decisions.

To anyone else closing the door on a hard year, I see you. Your pain, your perseverance, your power—it is valid. This blog is proof that you are not alone. Together, we have made it this far, and together, we will keep going. This New Year is not a promise of perfection. It is simply an invitation: to begin again, to love deeper, and to live louder.

Here is to 2025—may it be softer, gentler, and filled with moments that remind us how far we have come. And may we never forget the strength it took just to get here. Strength is what will carry us through.

I also want to take a moment to celebrate the ways in which this year, while painful, helped me grow. From learning to advocate for myself in medical appointments to discovering new forms of self-expression like writing and photography, each small step contributed to a larger path of healing. Strength also means allowing yourself to transform. If you are in a space where everything feels stuck or uncertain, remind yourself that change often starts with one small choice.

Maybe that choice is asking for help. Maybe it is saying no to something that drains you. Maybe it is calling an old friend or going on that walk you keep putting off. Whatever it is, those actions matter. They are signs of your strength showing up in real, tangible ways.

This blog community has been another cornerstone of my journey. Your comments, encouragement, and shared stories have given me the courage to keep telling my truth. Each of you represents the collective strength we share when we choose connection over isolation. I thank you for being here, for showing up—not just for me, but for yourselves.

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Reflecting After a Cancer Diagnosis - Cancer.Net

Keeping Hope After a Hard Year - American Cancer Society

Disclaimer: This blog reflects personal experience and is not medical advice. Always consult your healthcare provider for treatment decisions.