The Good and the Hard of 2025

Originally published on Substack.

Moms don’t get much time to be still and just think. Our moments of reflection and intention-setting for a new year usually happen when we should be doing something else—like sleeping. Which is exactly when my mind started reviewing the last 363 days, in those quiet, dark moments when I should have been falling asleep.

As I replayed the year, what stood out most wasn’t one single emotion or theme, but how often joy and heaviness existed side by side. How much good could be held in the same season as things that were hard, unresolved, or quietly asking for change.

Twenty twenty five was my first full year as a stay-at-home mom. And I love it. Sure, there are moments of over-stimulation and the self-imposed guilt that comes with not contributing financially, but I get to hang out with my kid every day. I get a front-row seat to watch him understand a new concept, to hear him say a word or phrase he’s never used before, to witness him delight in a new interest or notice one he’s outgrown. I get to play and laugh and dance every day.

This was also the year I got to watch Logan start Kindergarten. And while there were lots of mixed emotions and big feelings (mostly from me), and parts of it were, and still are, hard, it has also been a huge relief. I was bracing myself for a lot of friction. As a parent of a child with a disability, it’s a common experience that pushing for an inclusive education within a general education setting can be brutal. And yes, there was a lot of preparation and many meetings with the school team, but so far, our experience has been positive. Logan loves Kindergarten. His speech has become clearer and his vocabulary more robust. He has a great time being at school with his friends. He’s more confident and less reliant on me. He’s mastering skills we’ve been working on for years.

And to wrap up the year, I finally have a kitchen I’ve been hoping for since we bought our house ten years ago. It’s not one hundred percent finished. We still need to decide on a backsplash and pendant lights, but the cream-colored quartz countertops, the huge island, the spacious cabinets and coffee bar, the under-cabinet lighting (which I initially pushed back on), and the slate-style LVP floors bring me so much joy. Our house feels finished and welcoming. I feel more comfortable hosting people here. I didn’t realize it until seeing the final result, but having an updated, stylish kitchen gave me a boost of confidence. It made me feel more like an adult, instead of a teenager just pretending to play house.

And still, alongside all of this goodness, there were harder truths running quietly underneath it all.

This year brought several breaking-point moments that forced me to sit in discomfort and re-evaluate my habits, beliefs, and daily actions. Moments where something that once felt sustainable no longer was.

The biggest one has been co-sleeping with Logan. I’ve hesitated to work toward independent sleep over the last few years for many reasons. I may go deeper into those in a future letter. But this year made it abundantly clear that I cannot continue working toward the person I want to be while functioning on broken, limited-quality sleep. Everything feels harder when you’re exhausted. Patience is thinner. Perspective is skewed. The margin for growth disappears.

Another hard part of this year has been finding balance as a stay-at-home mom who also has ambitions to be an entrepreneur. I opened my Etsy shop in February, hoping it would lead to a life with more freedom. I know now, more than ever, that I never want to return to a traditional nine-to-five corporate setting. And I’ve always wanted to design for a living. This felt like the right time.

What I underestimated was how demanding stay-at-home motherhood truly is. It is not “not having a job.” It’s a full-time, around-the-clock responsibility. Finding time and energy for my business has been far more challenging than I expected. The guilt and self-imposed pressure to have a home-cooked meal every night, a clean and tidy house, a stocked fridge and pantry, a child that isn’t just sitting in front of the television, and to be the primary caretaker because my spouse is the “breadwinner” and should get to rest. Those expectations created constant internal conflict. Should I clean, cook, run an errand, play with Logan, connect with my husband, work on my business, or dare I say—rest? No matter the choice, guilt followed, insisting I should be doing something else.

And then there’s my marriage. Marriage is hard in general, especially when you add children into the mix. But this year made me more aware of just how heavy the last six years have been. It surfaced hard realizations about how we speak to one another, how we interact, our expectations, and the energy we bring into shared space. I love my husband, and I believe we’re slowly moving through this phase. But I also know it will take intentional work to heal hurt feelings, resentments, and assumptions that have quietly built up over time.

Looking back, what stands out most is not just what was good or what was hard, but how often they existed at the same time.

Loving co-sleeping with my child while knowing it can’t continue. Feeling relief as he grows more independent while still worrying what his future will hold. Feeling proud of my entrepreneurial ambition while wrestling with impossible expectations of myself at home. Gratitude and exhaustion. Confidence and uncertainty. Joy and discomfort, layered together.

This year didn’t hand me all the answers, but it did clarify what I can no longer ignore. And maybe that’s what growth actually looks like; not a clean break from the hard, but a willingness to hold it honestly alongside the good.