How I Survived My Worst Year.

January: The Fall

It started with a breakup — the kind that felt like death. We were together for four years. I thought we were going to get married. Instead, I woke up one day to silence and a note on the kitchen table.

Three days later, I lost my job. Downsize, they said. “You’re incredibly talented — we can’t keep you.” In a week, I lost two things that defined me: my partner and my paycheck.

I didn’t cry much. I just…stop. Grief doesn’t always look like tears. Sometimes it feels like sleeping until noon and pretending you’re okay.

February: The Loneliness

The days were bleeding together. I barely left my apartment. I couldn’t afford it. The rent was rising. So was the depression.

Friends reached out, but I ignored their messages. I didn’t know how to talk about what I was feeling. I didn’t want to be a burden. And somewhere in my mind, I thought, “If I just keep quiet, I won’t have to explain why I’m disappearing.”

That was the lowest point. Not the heartbreak. Not the job loss. The silence. The silence. I was afraid that maybe this was it. Maybe life wouldn’t get better.

March: Shift

Something changed one night. I found an old notebook filled with quotes, goals, snippets of poetry that I’d written years ago. One line jumped out at me:

“You’ve survived 100% of your worst days. Keep going.”

I didn’t fully believe it. But I wanted to.

So I made myself a deal: one little thing every day. Not to “fix” my life, but to remind myself I still had one. On day one, I washed the dishes. On day two, I stepped outside. On Day 5, I texted a friend back.

Small wins. But they mattered.

April to June: Rebuilding

I started writing again. At first just journal entries. Then blog posts. Then stories.

I found Vocal. I submitted a piece. It didn’t go viral, but it was read. Someone commented, “It made me feel lonely.” That was it.

I also got a part-time remote job. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills. More importantly, it gave me purpose. A routine. A reason to get out of bed.

By June, I wasn’t “healed.” But I wasn’t broken anymore.

July to October: New Growth

The stability became clear. I started going to therapy. I stopped romanticizing my lost relationship. I started walking every morning and cooking for myself — the meals I’d been saving for “special occasions.”

I made peace with loneliness. I started making art again. I laughed more. I even started dating — nothing serious, just letting myself feel seen again.

Most importantly, I started forgiving myself. For not being together. For breaking up. For needing time.

November: A letter to myself

I wrote a letter in January.

“You didn’t see the light then, but you took the match. You survived what you thought would kill you. I’m proud of you. Keep going.”

I read it out loud on my birthday. I cried. But not out of sadness — out of pride. Out of relief. Out of rebirth.

December: Gratitude in the rubble

I didn’t end the year rich or in love or wildly successful.

But I did completely let it go.

I found strength I didn’t know I had. I found people who stayed. I found beauty in the quieter parts of life. And I found myself again—not the person I was before, but someone stronger, gentler, and far more real.

If you’re going through hell right now, I won’t lie and say it’s easy.

But I will say this: You can survive your worst year.

And on the other hand? There’s something worth holding on to.