2025 wasn’t a year. It was an experience. A hostile one if I’m being brutally honest.
I went into it thinking, “This could be my year.”
It wasn’t. It so f**king wasn’t!
I spent most of the year doing important shit that no one claps for.Working. Creating. Thinking. Overthinking. Holding myself together with caffeine, sarcasm, and the occasional hostile team’s meeting stares. (I’m getting rather a serious resting bitch face these days.)
The reality is, my brain never shut the f*** up.
My body? Constant complaints. Zero solutions. A bit of melanoma here, frozen dislocating shoulder there aches pains. The list actually is long.
Chronic nonsense popping up whenever it felt like ruining my plans, to be fair what plans?
I ignored it because I’m resilient (and delusional). So to close this year, my body pulled the nuclear option and gave me the flu. A full shutdown.
For days since Boxing Day night I’ve laid here, sweating and coughing and barking like a dog. Today I’ve felt able to stand up and not feel I was going to fall over which is progress.
I questioned absolutely everything in 2025. My health. My face. My energy. My purpose. My memory. Why I walked into a room. Why I opened the fridge again like it was going to surprise me. I think that’s called losing one’s marbles?
Resilience turned out not to be soft and inspiring. It was me saying “you’ve got to be f*ing kidding me” and carrying on anyway.
And now here I am. Ending 2025 sick, horizontal. Not broken. Just temporarily laid the f*** out.
Final verdict:
2025 was rude, loud, and unnecessary.
I survived out of spite. That’s me. Dare me once then dare me twice.
2026 best tread carefully. As when I get better you won’t know what hit you!!!
PS pic is old one reused as Lord no energy to go to pc when laying down blogging on the phone.
Isabelle Cheren 