I'm Not There Yet-I'm Becoming.

2025 has come to an end, some days full of tears, some glowing with light I didn’t know I carried. It was a year of lessons I didn’t ask for, growth I didn’t always recognize in the moment, and strength I had to learn on the hard days. I’m not leaving 2025 with everything resolved, but I am leaving it more aware, more grounded, and more honest with myself.

As chapter 34 ends, I feel grief and gratitude entwined. Grief for the me who was raw, wounded, sometimes fractured beyond recognition. Gratitude that I survived, that I endured, that I kept on going. This year demanded more from me than I thought I could give, and yet, it revealed an unexpected resilience. On the first day of 2026, possibility feels fragile but not out of reach — a whisper that even with scars, even with doubt, I am moving toward the self I am meant to become:

In the quiet of an EMDR session, memories rose like waves I had long tried to hold at bay, that I had continued to keep trying to ride. I felt them wash over me, not to drown me, but to show me what I had carried for too long. And in that safe space, I realized I was ready — ready to let the wounded version of me rest. The me who survived by clutching pain like a lifeline, who wore scars as armor. I cried painful tears; in that moment I was able to start delicately surrendering the wounded version of me. For the first time, I understood what becoming was. It isn’t about erasing the past, but about cradling it, letting it go gently, and stepping forward into the light of who I am still growing to be.

It's about sitting in the grief and admitting you are scared. The grief that comes with acknowledging that the version of me I lived as for so long is a hurt one. Not broken — but wounded. I have made choices from pain, from fear, from a need to protect myself and everyone else in ways I didn’t yet know how to heal. Letting myself see that version clearly means sitting with the ache of what I have endured and understanding the ways that hurt leaked into my life. It’s painful to accept that some seasons weren’t growth, they were survival. And still, I’m learning to hold myself with compassion — not to excuse the hurt, but to honor the strength it takes to keep going and admitting it is so scary to let a version of yourself go.

It's about learning to sit in the quiet gratitude of imperfection, to honor the small, unglamorous steps that inch me forward. Each stumble, each misstep, is part of the getting to the version of me I want, a reminder that growth is rarely a leap and always a process. I cherish the tiny victories: a gentle word to myself, setting healthy boundaries, being able to finally use a voice that has felt silenced for so long, taking in a moment of stillness. In these imperfect, human steps, I find grace — proof that even when progress feels invisible, even when it's messy, I am moving, evolving, and becoming.

Becoming the truest version of me is not sudden or dramatic; it is patient, tender, relentless. It is peeling back the layers of expectation, fear, and stories I thought defined me. It is listening to the soft whispers of my own heart and honoring what feels right, even when it doesn’t make sense to anyone else. This version of me is raw, tender, fierce, alive. I will be trying to step into each day with authenticity, courage, and the willingness to be seen exactly as I am — imperfect, evolving, beautifully whole.

As 2026 begins, I’m not rushing toward reinvention. I’m stepping forward gently, carrying what served me, releasing what no longer fits, and trusting that the version of me I’m becoming will meet me along the way. Becoming is my quiet revolution, my invitation to show up fully, to carry both grief and gratitude in the same breath. I am not there yet, and that is sacred. I am becoming — and in this becoming, I am finally learning that I am enough.

To anyone reading this, know that your journey is yours — messy, beautiful, and always unfolding. There will be moments of doubt, moments when it feels like you’re standing still, and that is okay. Keep showing up. Keep feeling. Keep letting go of what no longer serves you, and gently embrace the small steps, the quiet victories, and even the stumbles along the way. Keep trusting the process. Keep believing that who you are emerging into is worth every moment of the journey. Keep becoming.

Be Kind. Give Grace. Spread Love.

Alysia xoxo