2025 — the year everything cracked… and the year I was carried.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel the first month of the year —

Puri’s wind on my face,

the sand sticking to my feet,

the quiet assurance in Jagannath’s gaze.

2025 - A year that broke me.

It shook me.

It ripped open places I thought were already healed.

A marriage ended.

Friendships I carried for decades fell away.

Some goodbyes were gentle while some ripped me open.

And some were laced with betrayal

And yet…

I was held.

Truly held.

By the Divine.

In Puri. In Khatu. In Mehandipur

In Vaishno Devi. In Vrindavan.

In Barsana. In Ayodhya

Every darshan was the same message, wearing different faces:

“You are not alone. You will not fall. Keep going.”

He let me grieve.

He let me stumble.

He let me scream.

He let me bleed.

But he did not let go.

This year was messy.

Confusing.

Painful.

Lonely.

There were days I didn’t know if I could hold my children’s questions,

or their broken hearts,

or my own.

There were nights I cried into my pillow so they wouldn’t hear.

Days I sat in courtrooms shaking.

Hours spent staring at paperwork I didn’t understand.

Moments I felt small, lost, and furious all at once.

And yet…

I also laughed.

I took my kids on our first vacation,

paid entirely by my own hands,

and we played in snowfall and screamed in waves.

I built a home from scratch.

I launched myself as a Trainer and a Teacher

I stepped into a life that felt impossible.

This year hurt.

Deeply.

The confusion. The fear.

And yet…

I also felt love.

Unfailing love.

The kind that doesn’t walk away.

The kind that holds you through your worst.

The kind that reminds you who you are,

even when you have forgotten.

I learned some people will never like you, no matter what you do.

Some will never leave you, no matter how hard it gets.

The first taught me lessons I didn’t want to learn.

The second reminded me what blessings feel like.

This year made me walk through fire —

courtrooms, paperwork, questions with no answers,

my children’s confusion,

my own heart refusing to stop bleeding.

But it also made me walk through courage I didn’t know I had.

I learned to trust again.

I learned to surrender.

I learned that grace isn’t always loud —

sometimes it is quiet, holding you through chaos,

while you can’t see the path ahead.

I didn’t become stronger.

I became realer.

I stopped shrinking.

I stopped apologizing for needing softness.

I stopped running from myself.

And now, as this year exhales its last breath,

I feel deep gratitude for the endings which lead to new beginnings and for the people who stayed.

Standing at the edge of this year, I feel a strange mix of emotions- exhaustion, grief, pride and disbelief all at once.

And I know, someday, when I flip this page again, I will remember:

The ache of everything I lost.

The quiet strength of everything I found.

The presence of the One who held me when nothing else could.

The woman who came out of 2025?

She didn’t turn to ash.

She burned.

And from that fire, she rose.

Into truth.

Into presence.

Into beginnings she hadn’t dared to imagine before.