What This Year Taught Me

A birthday reflection on expansion, nervous system regulation, and not abandoning myself.

This year stretched me in ways I didn’t expect.
Not because everything went wrong, but because everything expanded.

As I approach my birthday, I’ve found myself reflecting on the last twelve months.

Where have I grown?
Where have I expanded?
Where have I learned new skills?
And where did old patterns quietly creep back in, reminding me there is still more to learn?

A lot changed this year. Big things.

We moved four times.
We finally bought a house.
Things broke — and then broke again.
I continued building my business and our home.
Families expanded and relationships shifted.
Conversations about money, travel, and the future became more real.
My body asked me to slow down through a slight tear in my meniscus.
I paid closer attention to my hormonal needs and began embracing my cycle in a deeper way.

And beneath all of that, what really stretched was my sense of safety.

We moved a lot this year. We tried on different areas, imagining where we might put down roots. Or at least roots for now. While it was exciting to dream, it also felt unstable. It was a limbo season. And in limbo seasons, old patterns tend to surface.

I could feel my need for control creep in. When Airbnbs didn’t feel welcoming, when spaces weren’t how I would have liked them to be, I noticed myself compartmentalizing. Bottling things up. Telling myself to just handle it.

Then we bought a house.

On paper, buying a home is supposed to feel stabilizing. And in many ways, it was. But it also stirred up old stories around money, responsibility, and getting it “right.” When something broke — and things did break. Each time it happened, I could feel my nervous system tighten. The part of me that still believes control equals safety wanted to grip harder.

Building a business while navigating financial conversations stretched me in a different way. Old habits of imposter syndrome, external validation, and comparison would surface from time to time. Trusting my own pace, my own voice, required more nervous system regulation than strategy.

And then there was my body.

I chose to come off birth control so I could allow my hormones to rebalance. I tracked my cycle. I watched my lab values. I noticed patterns, not just in my body, but in my mood, my energy, my behavior throughout the month.

At the same time, I had what may have been a slight meniscus tear. I had to remove lifting for a time. I had to slow down. I had to go back to the basics.

Because the old version of me would have pushed through all of these changes. She would have created longer to-do lists. She would have taken everything on herself without asking for help. She would have downplayed what she was feeling, ignored the signals, and tried to escape the discomfort. She would have treated rest like weakness.

This version of me listens.

She isn’t perfect by any means, but she is conscious.

She is intentional with her words, her body, her mind, and her actions.

She doesn’t need to solve everything all at once or rush to be “done.” She understands that growth isn’t a finish line; it’s a continuum.

I’ve been an eight-year work in progress.
Rewiring beliefs.
Learning tools.
Tuning in instead of overriding.
Paying attention to my body instead of fighting it.

And I didn’t do it alone. I sought support. I worked with someone trained in NLP. I allowed myself to be guided. And that experience showed me something powerful: This work is possible.

Real change, not the performative kind, not the surface-level kind, but the kind that shifts how you respond when life expands.

This year didn’t remove old patterns. It revealed them.
And instead of letting them take over automatically, I chose differently.

That’s what I feel proud of.

Not that everything went smoothly.
Not that I mastered every lesson.
Not that I was perfect.

But I didn’t abandon myself in the process.

Expansion, I’m learning, isn’t about building more.

It’s about becoming the kind of woman who can hold more — without gripping, without shrinking, without losing herself.

And as I step into another year, that feels like enough.

If this story resonated with you, I see you.

This is why I do the work I do with women.

Not surface-level optimization.
Not forcing discipline.

But helping them regulate their nervous systems, rewire old patterns, and build lives that feel safe, so success, happiness, and joy don’t require self-abandonment.

If you’re in a season of expansion and it feels uncomfortable, that doesn’t mean you’re failing.

It means something inside you is evolving.

And if you want support navigating that evolution, I’m here to hold that space with you.

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