New Year, Still Me. Cheers to 2023.

Three years ago, everyone walked into the new year with such high hopes. Those were dashed pretty quickly. 2020 was written off as a loss, due to a global pandemic and too many environmental and social injustices. 2021 brought my infamous ER visit, emergency spinal surgery (x2), and hospital stay (x2).

2022 was a year of healing. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. I felt more like myself than I have in the last decade, even though I am completely different. 

Last year, I started physical therapy. I healed more than I thought I would when I first got released from the hospital, and yet haven’t healed as much as I had hoped. Who knows if I ever will?

I turned 40. Four decades around the sun, and finally coming to terms with who I am, as opposed to who I feel I should be.

I freaking got married.

That’s right. The girl who doesn’t believe in marriage (at least for myself) actually did it. As my friend said the other day, nothing like a near death experience to change your priorities.

I finally understand how fragile life is, and after losing some of the people closest to me, as well as some of my own motor functions and nerve sensations, I wanted a reason to bring people together. I needed a reason to celebrate.

A decade ago, I was the only one I knew who was excited about turning 30. I figured my life would magically fall into place and I’d be a “Full-Fledged Adult™.” It took the better part of a decade to actually feel that way. To stop giving a fuck.

My 30s weren’t me becoming myself; they were me losing myself. It took until the end of this last year to finally start accepting whoever it is that I had become.

I wonder what 2023 has in store…