It’s hard to wrap a year like this into a neat summary. It tested my direction, exposed what wasn’t steady, and taught me lessons that came with both clarity and heartbreak.
Last year started with a move — the kind of move that doesn’t just change an address, it changes routines, relationships, and the entire rhythm of a household. It wasn’t something I took lightly, and it wasn’t something I felt 100% at peace about right away. If you’ve read my earlier posts, you already know I’ve been honest about how much I’ve wrestled with big decisions and the weight they carry. This one shaped my kids’ lives in real-time, and it shaped mine too. I spent a lot of days trying to be strong on the outside while quietly working through a storm of feelings on the inside: guilt, relief, doubt, hope — sometimes all in the same hour.
Somewhere in the middle of everything, I also watched friendships shift. Not always in dramatic ways. Sometimes it was just distance. Sometimes it was silence. Sometimes it was realizing I was the only one trying to keep a connection alive. That part hurt more than I expected, because I’ve always believed that if something matters, you fight for it. Last year taught me that fighting alone isn’t fighting for a friendship — it’s begging for one.
Then life got loud in the ways that matter most. My father needed heart surgery, and nothing humbles you faster than hearing words like that attached to someone you love. It rearranged my priorities overnight. Suddenly the things I was stressing over didn’t feel as important, and the things I had been pushing off felt urgent. It reminded me how fragile “normal” really is, and how quickly the world can shift.
And just when I thought I was finding my footing again, the year ended with the loss of my grandfather. Grief has a way of changing the temperature of your whole life. It doesn’t just hurt — it rewrites how you think, how you remember, and what you notice. It made me sit with the reality that time keeps moving whether we’re ready or not. It made me think about the kind of person he was, the kind of life he lived, and what it means to honor someone not just with words, but with the way you choose to live afterward.
So here are the hardest truths I learned last year — the ones that didn’t come easy, but came honest.
1) Doing what’s right doesn’t always feel good.
That move wasn’t a neat, confident leap. It was a complicated decision that came with sacrifice and second-guessing. I learned that sometimes the right move still comes with grief attached.
2) My kids don’t need a perfect parent — they need a present one.
I can’t control every outcome or protect them from every hard thing. But I can show up. I can be consistent. I can be steady. And that matters more than any perfectly executed plan.
3) Not every friendship is built to survive change.
This one was hard to swallow. Some people love you, but only when you’re convenient. Some people support you, but only when your life looks like theirs. Last year showed me who could grow with me — and who could only handle the version of me that didn’t disrupt anything.
4) Silence is an answer.
When the effort isn’t returned… when the calls stop… when the messages go unanswered… that’s not confusion. That’s clarity. I learned to stop translating people’s silence into hope.
5) You can outgrow people you still care about.
There’s a special kind of pain in realizing you can love someone and still need distance. Not out of hate. Not out of bitterness. But out of self-respect and survival.
6) Health scares rewrite your priorities overnight.
My father’s heart surgery snapped me back into what matters. It reminded me that “someday” is not a promise, and being too busy is never going to be a good excuse to miss what’s important.
7) Grief doesn’t just hurt — it clarifies.
Losing my grandfather changed how I look at time, family, and legacy. It made me think about what I want to carry forward, what I want to leave behind, and how I want the people I love to feel when they think of me.
I won’t pretend last year didn’t break parts of me. It did. But it also built something in me that I’m grateful for — a quieter kind of strength. The kind that doesn’t need to announce itself. The kind that learns to let go without making it a war. The kind that chooses peace even when it feels unfamiliar.
Change is hard. It’s uncomfortable. It’s messy. It asks things from us we didn’t plan on giving. But sometimes change is also the answer to prayers we were too tired to say out loud. Sometimes it’s the doorway we didn’t want — leading to the life we actually need. And if you’re in a season where everything feels like it’s shifting, I hope you don’t mistake discomfort for failure. Sometimes it’s just growth doing what growth does — stretching you into the person you’ve been becoming all along.
True North Thoughts 
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