It’s hard to believe that three months of 2025 have already passed. Somehow, the days flew by even as I walked through them slowly—sometimes with purpose, sometimes with hesitation. But in that time, I’ve noticed… something is shifting. Something good. Something quiet, yet exciting.

I caught myself smiling more. Feeling pockets of gratitude. I got accepted into the Master’s program at ASU online—ME! I finally started getting treatment for my ADHD, which honestly felt like I was finally tuning the dial of a radio that had been stuck between stations. And I reconnected with friends I hadn’t seen in years. There was warmth in those reunions, like a soft light coming back on.

Still, there were moments when my mind wandered back to Jenna. I found myself wondering how she was doing. Yes, she texted me here and there, and I tried to set up FaceTime calls. But she’s still sick—I think. I haven’t heard anything about rescheduling, and even though I trust she’s taking care of herself, I do worry. Especially with her MS. I don’t know if that worry will ever fully go away, but I try to hold it gently instead of letting it take over. I still hope she’ll reach out again. Just to connect. Even if it’s just a short call.

Lately, I’ve felt this slow healing happening in me. Like learning to let go, one breath at a time. Instead of pouring all my energy into things I can’t control, I’m channeling it toward what I can grow. I’m beginning to understand that healing isn’t always some big breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just showing up for yourself. Sometimes it’s a quiet decision, like saying, “Not today, anxiety,” and choosing peace instead.

I’ve also realized that I’m more cautious now. I think hard before reaching out to people—sometimes too hard. It’s not that I don’t want to reconnect, I do. But I don’t want to be the only one putting in the effort. It’s draining. And I’m tired of pouring into cups that don’t pour back. So I’m protecting my peace. Still, when I do meet up with friends, I often wrestle with whether to share my story or just smile and nod. That constant inner debate: “Is this safe? Is this worth it?” Sometimes I miss the feeling of emotional numbness—when things just were, and I didn’t analyze every tiny feeling. But I know that numbness was a shield, not peace.

So here I am, on the last day of March, looking back and looking forward all at once. Time is racing, but I’m choosing to move at my own pace. I have to stay optimistic, especially in a world that’s, let’s be real, kind of on fire politically. But I remind myself that I’m still here. I’m still growing. I’m learning to think better thoughts, to soothe my nervous system, to quiet the overthinking—even if I have to do it ten times a day.

And I’ll be real with you—I still struggle. My emotions still run hot. My brain still throws a million thoughts at me like it’s a dodgeball game. But I’m learning how to dodge the ones that don’t serve me. I believe in the universe. I talk to it every night like an old friend. I whisper hopes and dreams before bed, asking for peace, asking for grace. And I wake up each morning telling myself, You got this.

Yes, I still think of Jenna. And I still believe there’s a chance we’ll reconnect someday. But I’m also learning to hold space for both hope and forward motion.

This year is teaching me to be more me. To be honest, authentic, kind—but cautious. I’ve noticed how recharged I feel when I stay home, away from all the noise. How nature speaks louder than small talk. I’m not antisocial; I’m just healing. I’m not cold; I’m just protecting my warmth.

And you know what? I like this version of me. I like that I’ve become someone who listens deeply, who holds space for others when they need it most. I hope they feel that. I hope they know I mean it. But I also hope they never mistake kindness for weakness. That’s a lesson I had to learn the hard way.

So here I am. Learning. Growing. Breathing. Hoping. And loving—quietly, slowly, but surely.

Let the next chapter come.