How Life Taught Me about the Value of Pain and Suffering.

I often find myself reflecting on moments in life that, at the time, felt like the end of the world. The weight of those experiences seemed unbearable — as if everything I had built was crumbling, slipping through my fingers no matter how tightly I tried to hold on. But with distance and perspective, I see now that every detour, every loss, and every ending was gently guiding me to where I was always meant to go.

From the beginning to the end of that year, I complained. I questioned God. I felt betrayed, overwhelmed, and exhausted. Every area of my life felt heavy my relationships, my work, my family, my emotions. It felt like I was carrying a weight on my back that no one could see. I was scared inside, but I never showed it. I kept smiling. I kept telling people, “I’m good. God will do something.” And I believed that because deep down, I am a joyful person. I love, I laugh, I care deeply.

But the truth is, I was hurting badly.

Dear 2025, Thank u For Almost Killing Me,

2025 was a year of loving too much, staying too long until my bones forced me to leave and begging for things — for love like oxygen — as if affection was something I had to earn by bleeding enough. I gave my whole chest to people who only needed my hands. I made decisions driven by fragile hope, committed mistakes born from fear, and learned lessons through massive losses-losing sleep, losing dignity, losing parts of myself I will never fully recover from. I broke quietly, in ways that did not make noise but left deep cracks. I questioned my worth more times than i can count.

There were nights when something inside me died without ceremony. Nights where my chest felt hollow, like grief had eaten through it and left nothing but echoes. I questioned my worth until it felt unsafe to believe I had any. I kept wondering why love never chose me back, why i was always the one left holding ashes while others walked away whole, always the one who loved harder, waited longer, endured more.

And yet,

Somehow,

Impossibly — I survived.

So dear 2025, please listen. I would say thank you for the pain. Truly. Thank you for every brutal, unforgiving thing I never imagined would happen — yet did. Thank you for the tears that soaked my pillows until morning, for the rage that burned silently in my throat, for the begging that stripped my pride bare, for the yearning that hollowed me out, for every time the depression sat on my chest like a weight meant to crush me. Thank you for showing me how fragile a human heart can be — and how stubborn it is at the same time.

Last year unfolded like a storm I could not escape. I met many people in all their forms — some lovely, some evil, some gentle, some who came only to wound, ones who held me gently, and the cruel ones who smiled while hurting me. I also met so many good souls, people i shared love with in its purest form, people who held me gently and people who taught me how sharp betrayal can be. I met friends. I found sisters. I found a family I never knew I was allowed to have. I learned more than I ever asked for, and more than I ever wanted. I learned things that came with bruises, scars, and more than I ever thought I could survive.

Last year really stripped me naked in the middle of life — exposed, bruised, beaten by reality without mercy. I learned that not everyone can be trusted, and that turning yourself into a pleasure for others only guarantees that you will be the one hurt the deepest. I learned that no matter how good you are, you will never have value in the eyes of those who have already decided not to see you. I learned betrayal in its sharpest form — that the ones you trust most, the ones you love were the ones who drove the blade into your chest, twisted it, and then screamed to the world that they were the ones bleeding.

Last year love did not feel romantic.

It felt fatal.

It felt like dying with your eyes open.

And still, after all of that, I met a new version of myself. A version that carries scars but also light, who had crawled through hell and still chose softness. The happiest version I have known so far — not because she was unhurt, but because she finally understood her own strength. I achieved many things this year while bleeding. I dragged myself toward my dreams inch by inch, palms scraped raw, knees bruised, lungs burning. The road was sharp, full of gravel, cutting into my feet and every step hurt — but I kept moving because I knew the destination existed, even if I could not see it yet.

And last year, I watched the people I love — friends, acquaintances, souls close to my heart — find their own paths, chase their own worlds, build their own lives. And last year really forced my eyes open and showed me that life does not wait for our wounds to heal before it moves on. It continues, even when you are still stitching yourself back together.

And then there were them —

I also met a group of people who love to jokingly call themselves patients of the mentally ill. Yet they are the kindest souls — the purest hearts I have ever encountered. Soft-hearted, gentle, difficult to describe in words, but unmistakable in feeling. People who understand darkness because they live inside it. People who choose kindness not because life was gentle to them, but because it wasn’t. They are my friends. My sisters. My brothers. My family. They hold a special place in my life, and sometimes i think we might end up laughing together in the same room of a psychiatric hospital someday — and somehow, that feels less terrifying than the world outside. I love you guys so much. I wish you all a life that is overflowing with happiness. I wish you joy that stays. And I wish forever is ours.

And to myself, I owe the deepest apology. I am sorry for not standing up for you. For letting pain have access to you longer than it deserved. For letting every bad thing hurt you while convincing yourself that every monster had a hidden angel inside and sacrificing yourself to prove it. I am sorry for sacrificing yourself until it nearly killed you. I am sorry for never truly trying to understand you, for constantly pushing you beyond your limits, for misunderstanding survival as strength, for pushing you until you nearly died inside.

As for 2026, I am done asking for mercy. I do not ask for anything extraordinary. I only want genuine happiness — a simple kind of joy shared with the people I love, with friends, with family, with all the good souls who choose me gently. I want to live without begging, without shrinking, without apologizing for taking up space. I pray my heart will no longer feel like a burden I must carry alone, and that I will never again have to ask the world to be kind to me.

This year, I will stand for myself without apologizing for existing. I will protect myself without guilt. Without believing that protecting myself will hurt others when, in truth, it only saves me. I want a simpler life. A softer life. A life built on peace, not survival mode. A happy life with the people i love. And I will walk toward my dreams slowly, deliberately, with scars showing and head held high.

And last….

To everyone who touched my life in 2025 — those who loved me, those who broke me, those who stayed, those who left — thank you. You all carved something into me. And now, at the end of 2025, I can finally say this without hesitation:

Last year, I died many times.

And I lived anyway.

I leave this letter behind knowing one thing for certain: I endured, I learned, and I am still here.

Happy New Year,

With love,

Catherine.