Have you ever hit a moment where you just have to stop—not because you want to, but because you simply can’t keep running? That’s exactly where I am right now.
All year long, I was on the move, my calendar packed to the brim. I loved the hustle and bustle—until one day I found myself confined to bed like never before. I was genuinely grateful just to stand for a few seconds, to look out the window and remind myself that life hadn’t stopped for everyone—just for me.
Looking back over the past years, I see that everything that happened in 2025 marked the painful end of a long cycle. But I wasn’t an experienced surfer riding the waves—I more or less “decided” to jump off the crest.
My rehabilitation is just beginning, but behind me lie three very tough months, including spinal surgery and some emotional lows I’d managed to avoid for the past decade.
At the start of the year, I saw none of this coming
Exactly a year ago, I joined an invite-only women’s circle, expecting something pleasant and pampering. I had planned for 2025 to be the year of permission and self-love. But it quickly became clear I’d landed in the middle of one of the toughest forms of self-discovery. Still, I stayed, and month by month, I felt layers peeling away—some I didn’t even know existed.
At the same time, life wrapped me in abundance. We traveled a lot, I allowed myself the joys I’d postponed for years, and I lived the life I’d long dreamed of. Everyday life had its bumps, but I felt we were finally moving forward without unnecessary brakes.
Maybe that’s why my body finally allowed itself to break down? One of the most important lessons from my therapy became real: our bodies never forget—they store everything. What you suppress, overcommit to, or push aside will surface eventually—often when you’ve already forgotten about it.
There comes a point when you just can’t look away anymore
For me, it started quietly—a small signal, a minor pain I ignored. By the time it was urgent to listen to my body, nothing seemed to go right. I wasn’t taken seriously, sent home with painkillers, misdiagnosed multiple times, and my rehab ended with an ambulance ride to the emergency room. Even after that, I spent weeks in bed before they finally operated on me.
The lowest point hit just when I was supposed to prepare my fall group for their exam. They showered me with positive feedback even when they had no idea about the pain I faced every time I sat down at my computer. When I could no longer hide my situation, their support was incredible. It was a rare and uplifting experience to feel held by others while I was falling apart.
But it wasn’t just them who stood by me
For a long time, I thought real strength meant enduring and solving everything on my own. But now, for the first time in my life, I experienced what it’s like to completely break down—physically and emotionally—and still be supported. I knew this in my head, but living it was something else. It was the first time I allowed myself this kind of vulnerability, though I’m sure if I’d had any other choice or even a bit of strength, I would have taken it.
As I slowly heal, I’m beginning to see the layers I still need to shed and the way I want to move forward. It will take time for the full picture to emerge, but this months-long forced pause (which is far from over) has shown me that the abundance I finally allowed myself taught me just as much as the pain that followed. Both revealed where I stand—and where I no longer want to go.
What will you take with you from 2025?
My own year-end feels very different this time, though I’ve never been much of a “list maker.” For now, I’m mostly observing and consciously keeping away anything that stirs tension inside me. In 2025, I allowed joy, carefreeness, abundance, and finally the deep fall with all its consequences. If there’s one thing I’m definitely carrying into 2026, it’s that both the easy and the hard shape us—and often, it’s the fragile moments that reveal where our greatest stability lies.
What insights will you bring with you into the new year?
