2025: The Year of The Snake and Me

Happy New Year!

According to the Chinese zodiac calendar, 2025 is the year of the snake. The snake represents transformation, growth, and introspection, so I am here for it—despite the fact I’m petrified of snakes and could do without the imagery.

SIDE NOTE TO MY SISTER: This post is snake-free. You can keep reading/scrolling without fear of any visuals, I promise.

2024 was a bit of a shit show (and not just because of the politics).

It started out strong, with lots of highs. H’s team made it to the quarterfinals of the NCAA Championship and he won just about every academic and athletic award around, including All-American honors; O returned to lacrosse, was selected for the state all-star football game, graduated from high school, and was accepted into 2 of his top 3 colleges; S was promoted at work; and I finally started feeling like myself again, coming out of my toxic mold fog.

There were good times in the middle, too. A family vacation to Punta Cana; our first empty nester vacation with friends; and a new work contract for me.

But the last two and a half months of 2024 were challenging on all levels—physically, emotionally, spiritually, and financially.

I was so ready to end the year and start fresh that I declared December 26 my January 1. My New Year, so to speak.

One week in and I’m already starting to find my new groove. I’m trying out a few new fitness classes to shake up my routine and I’m going back to therapy. I’m also addressing my recent autoimmune flare-up and some other underlying health concerns that have been creeping in.

Here’s the thing with me: I’m easily overwhelmed and I don’t usually react well to this state of being. When I don’t feel like I’m in control, I either overreact, wallow, freeze, or disassociate. It’s a trauma response, and I’m still learning how to move through my fear. I’m also learning how to give myself grace when I get stuck.

2024 taught me three things:

1. I can only control what I can control.
2. Nothing changes if nothing changes.
3. Imperfect action is better than perfect inaction.

I now know what I need to do. 2025 is the year I recommit to being my favorite version of myself. You may not like her, but I know I’ll love her.

—LJDT

SPECIAL NOTE: For those of you who noticed this post was published a day late, it was intentional—and not just so I could finally say I posted a New Year’s blog on New Year’s Day. From now on, Wednesday mornings will be my pub day. So mark your calendars, check your socials, and be sure to subscribe if you don’t already. Here’s to more midlife mayhem with a side of sassy sarcasm in 2025 and beyond.