2025 #55: A YEAR RECAP OF 2025 (LONG POST)

🌿 A Year of Hope, Heartbreak, and Healing: My 2025 Recap

I stepped into 2025 with a heart full of hope and a quiet determination to embrace change. I had big intentions for my personal life—nurturing my little family, supporting my parents’ health, and tending to my own mental well-being. I also made a gentle promise to myself: to return to blogging, not just as a hobby, but as a lifeline. Writing had always been my way of making sense of the world, and this year, I wanted to reclaim that space.

So I began, slowly and intentionally. I posted with care, reminding myself why I fell in love with blogging in the first place: the honesty, the connection, the quiet joy of storytelling. Despite the whirlwind of events that unfolded, I somehow managed to publish over 50 blog posts this year—a milestone I never imagined reaching. Each post became a small act of resilience, a way to stay grounded when everything else felt uncertain.

✨ January: New Beginnings and High Spirits

January was a month of fresh starts. I finally got my braces—something I’d been putting off for years—and I experienced the pure thrill of seeing my favorite K-pop girl group live in concert for the first time. That night was electric, and for a moment, I felt invincible. The energy of the new year filled me with optimism, and I truly believed 2025 would be my year.

But sometimes, the brightest highs cast the deepest shadows.

💔 February: The Month My World Shifted

Just weeks after that euphoric concert, my world changed forever. My father passed away in February, and with that loss came a wave of grief I wasn’t prepared for. All my plans were put on hold. I found myself in a dark mental space, trying to support my mother while grappling with my own declining health. The emotional weight was unbearable at times, and I felt like I was unraveling.

🌧️ March: Rebuilding Through the Storm

March was a month of reckoning. I tried to pick up the pieces and rebuild, even as new challenges emerged. I began planning a trip back to the Philippines to honor my father and reconnect with family, but just as I was organizing that journey, I received troubling news about my own health. The stress compounded, and tensions with my mother added another layer of emotional complexity.

It felt like life was testing every part of me—my strength, my patience, my capacity to hold grief and hope in the same breath.

🙏April — preparation, family days, and clarity

April began with careful preparation for a long-awaited trip back to the Philippines, a journey I’d been carrying in my heart and in my checklist for months. Before leaving, I made sure to carve out intentional family time with my little crew. We spent a bright morning at Happy Hollow and explored the San Jose Zoo, where toddler squeals and slow stroller walks offered a gentle, present kind of joy. We also attended the Japanese Cherry Blossom Festival in San Francisco, lingering under the pale-pink blooms and savoring the way a city’s ritual can feel like a balm.

For the first time in a long while, I reconnected with former coworkers at a food show. It felt both nostalgic and energizing to share plates and stories with people who’d once been part of my daily rhythm. Those small reunions reminded me how nourishing casual, work-adjacent friendships can be.

April also carried an unexpected and difficult moment: a visit to the Emergency Room for severe stomach pain that I’ve been enduring intermittently for years. Finally getting answers was a turning point — a mix of relief and the sober reality that surgery will likely be part of my path forward. That clarity changed my conversations with my body and my calendar; it made me reprioritize rest, follow-up care, and the small acts of self-compassion I tend to set aside. It was a hard reminder that caregiving starts with caring for yourself.

On a brighter note, RV and I completed recording our first and second podcast episodes before I left — a milestone I’d been quietly dreaming about. We set a launch date for June, and wrapping those episodes felt like planting the first seeds of a new creative garden. I closed the month feeling more certain about direction and possibility than I had at its start.

💖May — return, ritual, and family celebration

May unfolded as one of the most emotionally dense months of the year. My mother and I returned to the Philippines to reunite my father’s ashes with his birthplace in Pangasinan. Carrying that responsibility felt heavy and sacred; arranging the ritual was practical but also deeply intimate. Completing it brought a bittersweet sense of closure — a quiet, steadying end to a chapter and a gentle opening toward memory and gratitude.

Being back in the motherland also gave me the precious gift of reconnecting with extended family. I spent time with relatives I hadn’t seen in years and met others for the first time. Those reunions were a mosaic of laughter, shared stories, and long silences that conveyed as much as words. In small, ordinary moments — a meal passed around a table, a cousin’s laugh, an older aunt’s steady gaze — I felt my father’s legacy woven into the present.

No sooner had I returned home than I joined my husband’s family for another round of togetherness: celebrations for both my husband’s birthday and my sister-in-law’s birthday, which happen just days apart. The overlapping gatherings were a reminder of how families blend traditions and create new rituals. We marked the days with food, stories, and a relaxed rhythm that allowed us to celebrate without rushing. After a month of heavy emotion, these celebrations felt restorative and grounding.

👨‍👩‍👦June — reunions, decisions, and a turning point

June opened with a warm invitation back into the fold of my former workplace. On the first weekend, my old boss reached out to a group of us past employees to help celebrate the store’s 20th anniversary. Stepping back into that familiar space felt like slipping into a well-loved sweater—comforting, a little nostalgic, and full of the kind of camaraderie that only shared years of work can create.

This month also centered on my health. I had several important doctor’s appointments that would determine whether surgery was necessary, and the waiting felt heavy. Between scans and consultations, I carved out deliberate pockets of family time to steady myself. A standout day was our trip to Gilroy Gardens with my closest friends and their little ones—sunlit rides, easy conversations, and the simple delight of watching toddlers discover wonder made for a much-needed reset.

In the last week of June, everything changed: I underwent major surgery linked to the emergency room visit back in April. It was the conclusion of a long, anxious arc. The operation itself was serious, but seeing it through felt like reclaiming agency over my body and future.

😷🏥July — recovery, rituals, and small celebrations

July settled in with the slow, tender rhythm of recovery. The days were marked by naps, careful pacing, and a new appreciation for quiet routines. The surgery went as planned—no complications, no surprises—and that relief rippled through both my body and my spirit. This month also held an emotional first: I celebrated my dad’s birthday without him here. The absence was raw and intimate. To honor my father, I made a simple DIY bouquet of white blooms from Trader Joe’s, choosing each stem with intention. It was a small ritual, but it felt like a clear way to keep memory present—gentle, deliberate, and full of love. Mid-July brought a lift in the form of a familiar tradition. My husband’s company revived its “Bring Your Kid to Work” Day. Last year our little one had been mostly sleepy cuddles; this year, seeing him toddle through the office felt like both a sweet milestone and a marker of how quickly time moves. The final weeks of July blended the return to full-time motherhood with mindful attention to healing—watching my toddler’s energy while protecting my own stamina became a daily lesson in balance.

✈️🌏August — travel, contrast, and honesty

August swept in like a rush of wind, pulling us from quiet routines into a whirlwind of back‑to‑back adventures that began with a spontaneous adults‑only weekend in Las Vegas, where freedom felt both luxurious and tender, reminding us of each other beyond parenting’s constant hum; the following weekend carried us across oceans to Shanghai for my husband’s friend’s wedding, a dazzling city that pulsed with ambition and reshaped my perspective on travel, and barely home, we returned to Las Vegas once more to redeem a past disappointment, proving how intention can transform experience; yet beneath the curated joy of these trips, my mental health was quietly unraveling, the highs masking a steady decline into anxiety and depression until I finally chose to ask for help, speaking aloud what I had carried in silence, a terrifying but liberating act that marked the beginning of a braver chapter of care.

💔September: A Whirlwind of Care and Loss

September swept in like a whirlwind of appointments and tightly packed days, each one a puzzle of pediatric checkups, post‑op follow‑ups, Zoom classes, and therapy sessions that felt like fitting Tetris pieces into motion, with therapy offering a small but vital pause to turn anxiety into steps forward; the first half of the month tested my strength as a solo parent while my husband traveled, demanding late‑night resilience, creative routines, and leaning on neighbors, family check‑ins, and small self‑care rituals to stay grounded, but by month’s end everything shifted when I rushed back to the Philippines after the heartbreaking news of my mother’s passing—just a day after our tenth anniversary—grief layering itself onto an already heavy year and reshaping the month from frantic to mournful, yet what I carry forward is trust in my instincts, the courage to ask for help, and the quiet power of rituals that remind me resilience and tenderness can coexist even in seasons of overwhelming hardship.

🙏📿October: Grief, Grace & Gentle Celebration

October swept in with a heaviness I never expected, turning ordinary days into an emergency flight back to Pampanga after my mother’s passing, a grief compounded by losing both parents in the same year; those weeks were filled with sorrow, rituals of remembrance, and the silence that loss carves into you, and returning to the U.S. felt lonelier than ever until my son’s third birthday reminded me that love still blooms in the shadow of pain, with a simple homemade cake, virtual laughter, and a weekend getaway that became a joyful pause in a heavy season; even as waves of grief continue to crash, I hold fast to my promise as a mother to break cycles of neglect, to nurture with intention, and to show up with love, learning that life doesn’t pause for sorrow but keeps nudging us toward moments of resilience and joy.

🙏😢November Notes: Healing in Progress

November unfolded like a tapestry woven with threads of grief and gratitude, carrying me through days that felt both heavy and unexpectedly bright; it was the first Day of the Dead I faced with both of my parents gone, a reminder that loss reshapes the rhythm of life, yet even in its shadow, love continues to bloom. Beginning therapy this month felt like opening a fragile but hopeful door, each session teaching me that grief doesn’t need to be silenced but can be named, explored, and softened, offering small pockets of relief. Motherhood, with its endless routines and my son’s laughter pulling me into the present, became the gentlest antidote to sorrow. In contrast, a rare day spent with friends—brunch conversations, Ikea laughter, pampering nails, Taiwanese noodles, and souvenirs from the Philippines—returned a piece of youthful energy I thought I had lost. For my mother’s first birthday in heaven, I placed flowers where I could see them often, a ritual that anchored me in remembrance and whispered love across the silence. Thanksgiving arrived quietly, just my little family tucked into simple routines and home projects, reminding me that peace can be found in the assurance that family is enough.

 🎄😵‍💫December 2025 Recap: Winter Wonder, Disco Nights, and the Beauty of Slowing Down

December 2025 unfolded as a blend of magic, momentum, and real-life motherhood, beginning with a festive return to Great Wolf Lodge where our son experienced the resort’s Winter Wonderland transformation, shared with my mother-in-law and marked by joy, family bonding, and even a brief but sobering moment of panic that reminded us how precious vigilance is. The month continued with a 70’s disco–themed holiday party filled with oysters, crab cakes, retro outfits, and laughter, followed by an unwelcome bout of cold and flu that pushed me into survival mode as I balanced recovery with caring for my toddler, relying on small comforts and resilience to get through. As Christmas arrived, we embraced a simpler, more intentional holiday—decorating modestly, last-minute gift shopping for our son, and choosing practicality over extravagance—before ending the year with a much-anticipated Las Vegas concert getaway and a quiet, cozy New Year’s Eve at home, welcoming the new year with gratitude, rest, and an appreciation for the beauty found in both celebration and stillness.

💭FINAL THOUGHTS FOR THE YEAR OF 2025 🔐

As the year unfolded, my priorities naturally became clearer and more intentional. I focused on physical healing, protecting my emotional energy, and creating space for both creativity and family life. The rest of 2025 didn’t feel like something to conquer or complete—it felt more like a series of quiet invitations: to slow down, to rest when needed, to celebrate the small wins, and to continue showing up for myself and the people I love. Choosing to seek support for my mental health has already shifted the way I move through my days, and that shift alone feels like meaningful progress.

This year didn’t turn out the way I imagined. It was heavier, more challenging, and far more transformative than I expected. Still, I kept writing. I kept showing up in the ways I could. Somewhere along the way, I began rediscovering parts of myself I thought I had lost, tucked away beneath survival and responsibility.

If this year brought its own storms into your life, know that you’re not alone. I see you, and I honor the ways you kept going—even when the path felt unclear or completely disappeared. Here’s to healing in all its forms, to remembering who we are, and to holding space for both joy and sorrow as we step gently into the next chapter.