The Year in Ashes and Light

✖️ A YEAR OF EXTREMES ✖️

This year walked hand in hand with opposites —

extreme joy and unbearable sorrow.

Like day and night, they followed each other,

both carving their place in my life.

I began the year with a divorce. My second.

It was the right decision, but even when separation is necessary,

it carries its own weight —

the stress, the upheaval, the cutting of old ties.

We shared a business, which made the process even messier.

But amid the chaos, there were bright moments.

I traveled for my work as a tattoo artist,

creating beauty across new cities.

It was thrilling, exhausting, and relentless.

I balanced everything — a household, a school-aged child,

a business — and I gave it my all.

“but the more i gave,

the less of me was left”

✖️ LOVE AND LOSS ✖️

And then, I found love.

The kind of love I thought only existed in dreams —

raw, deep, and unapologetically real.

We were two broken souls, finding light in each other’s shadows.

Together, we healed old wounds. Or so we thought.

But life doesn’t care for timing or innocence.

The night my partner moved in to start our new chapter together,

my father passed away.

Two events on the same day,

worlds apart in meaning but joined by cruel irony.

Grief settled in, heavy and suffocating.

Two days later, my ex-business partner left the studio without warning.

More loss. More weight.

My partner and I, already fragile, buckled under the pressure.

We fell into old patterns, our love buried beneath the rubble.

And one day, he disappeared.

Without a word, without a note.

He packed his things and left me with silence.

“loss speaks in whispers

but silence screams louder”

That month was a reckoning.

I broke. I raged. I cried.

And for the first time,

I let my anger spill out into the world.

“i screamed at the weight of it all —

at him, at myself, at the life i’d built.

then came the quiet.

and in the quiet, i began to rebuild.”

✖️ THE REBUILD ✖️

A month passed in silence.

It wasn’t an empty silence, though —

it was the kind that hums with grief, reflection,

and the slow settling of a storm.

Day by day, my soul quieted.

The chaos, the anger, the heartbreak —

they didn’t disappear, but they softened,

like ash falling after the fire.

When I finally felt ready to speak,

it wasn’t a conversation I could rush.

First, I had to let my anger surface,

to direct it at him, at myself, at everything.

It wasn’t until I let it all pour out, raw and unfiltered,

that I could see what lay beneath.

He let me be angry, held space for my pain,

even though it was his fault that I felt so shattered.

He had left without a word, and the silence he left behind

unleashed a storm inside me.

I accused him of things in public that weren’t true,

threw every piece of anger I had his way.

And still, he let me be angry.He let me scream.

That was what I needed most.

I was finally able to let out everything I had buried so deep inside me,

not just because of him,

but because of years spent swallowing my voice.

“i had always been the quiet one,

the one who never raised her voice —

but quiet is not the same as healed.”

We weren’t angry at each other anymore.

Instead, we found a way to meet again,

not as broken pieces trying to fit together,

but as two people ready to rebuild.

This time, we didn’t try to make promises we couldn’t keep.

We didn’t chase perfection.We found a moment —

a single, fragile space where the chaos couldn’t reach us.

We called it our LoveSanctum:a room, a memory,

a reminder of what truly matters.

“two souls, one room, and the quiet promise of tomorrow.”

That time together was magic.

Not the kind that blinds you with light,

but the kind that whispers in the quiet,

reminding you how little you need to be happy.

No grand gestures. No perfect circumstances. Just us.

It made me question everything I thought I needed:

Is happiness really in the bigger house,

the shinier car, the endless chase?

Or is it in the moments where nothing else exists,

where the weight of the world falls awayand you’re left with only love?

“the world taught me to chase,

but this year taught me to pause.”

We carry the memory of that space —

our LoveSanctum —

as a promise to ourselves: to remember what truly matters,

to let love stand in its rawest form.

For so long, I thought love was a myth,

an abstract concept that people romanticized

because they didn’t know what else to hope for.

But this year has reshaped me.

I’ve learned that love isn’t a myth.

It’s not a story we tell ourselves to escape reality.

It’s the thread that pulls us forward,the connection we crave —

not just from ourselves, but from others.

This isn’t the end of the journey.

It’s only the beginning.

And as I step forward, I ask myself:

“who am i, if not my past?

who can i become,i f i let myself dream?”

✖️ LESSONS FROM THE RUINS ✖️

This year stripped me bare.

Financial struggles, grief, heartbreak —

they pushed me to my absolute limits.

I have asked myself, more than once,“why me?”

The question sits heavy, a weight that threatens to drown.

But the truth is, the “why” doesn’t matter.

Chasing that answer would only cloud the beauty of the moments that still remain.

Because even in the wreckage, there is clarity.

Every misstep, every bad decision,

every weight I’ve carried alone has taught me something.

Some lessons came gently; others broke me before they could remake me.

“and yet,

i am still here.

messy, raw, imperfect —

but alive.”

This year, the chaos didn’t let up. It handed me one blow after another —

a broken car, a broken oven, a seized account.

The financial weight crushed me,

a harsh reminder of my tendency to give too much,

to set no boundaries, to empty myself for everyone else until there was nothing left for me.

Even as a single mother, I have carried this alone.

No child support, no safety net —

just me, building a life for my son from the ground up.

This Christmas, though, he gave me a gift that eclipsed all the chaos.

A simple card, written from his heart:

“Mama, it has always been you and me,

a team against the world.”

Those words reminded me of everything I’ve done right.

I may have made mistakes,

but I have given him love, stability, and the strength to stand beside me through it all.

For so long, I fought alone. I supported not just myself, but others —

partners, people who leaned on me while I broke under the weight of carrying us all.

It’s no wonder my body and soul found their limits, over and over again.

This year, I learned the cost of giving everything away.

It’s not a noble sacrifice. It’s a slow unraveling.

And I know now that I deserve better.

“sometimes, the most radical thing you can do

is ask for help.”

For the first time, I’m choosing to stop fighting alone.

I’m choosing to see asking for help not as weakness,

but as strength.

This isn’t just about my partner and me against the world.

This is about building a collective —

friends, family, a community that lifts each other up instead of standing alone.

This year has made me question so much:

what I value,

who I want to be,

and how I can step forward

with less weight on my shoulders.

It’s forced me to see that survival isn’t about perfection, but about resilience.

It’s about creating for the joy of it,

about stepping back when the chase for success becomes a trap,

about finding beauty in the small, quiet things that remain.

“this year began in chaos,

and it ended in chaos.

but within the storm, i found myself.”

As I look forward, I know that the journey isn’t over.

There are new chapters to write,

new mistakes to make,

and new lessons to learn.

But for the first time in a long time,I’m ready to embrace it all —

not alone, but with the strength of the connections I’ve built.

Here’s to starting again.

To asking for help,

to building something together,

to letting the future surprise me.

✖️ A NEW CHAPTER ✖️

As the year ends, I’m stepping back.

Not to give up, but to breathe.

Not to chase perfection,

but to create for the joy of it,

to let the journey surprise me.

I’ve spent so much time trying to hold it all together —

for my son, for myself, for my work, for everyone who leans on me.

But now, I see the strength in letting go of the need to be perfect.

This is my first small act of asking for help.

It doesn’t come easily to me —

I’ve always been the one to carry everything alone.

But here I am, inviting you to be part of this journey.

If my words, my story, or my art have touched you,

you can support me by exploring my shop.Every download —

whether it becomes your phone’s background,

your desktop’s quiet reflection, or a framed print on your wall —

is not just a contribution, but a piece of my journey shared with you.

A small gesture, perhaps,

but one that carries a big weight for me.

“asking for help is not a weakness;

it’s a bridge we build together.”

To everyone who has read this far: thank you.

Thank you for taking the time to witness my story,

to walk beside me in these words.

Maybe there’s something here that resonates with you —

a spark, a new perspective,

a reminder that none of us are alone in the weight we carry.

This year has been a raw, messy chapter, but it’s not the end of my story.

It’s a beginning, one full of unanswered questions,

and for the first time,I’m okay with that.

“who am i, if not my past?

who can i become, if i let myself dream?”

Here’s to a new chapter.

To survival, to scars, to the small acts of love and creation that keep us going.

Here’s to all of us,standing together as we face what’s to come.

Thank you for being here.

May your 2025 be filled with light,

connection, and the quiet reminder

that you are enough.