What 2025 Actually Taught Me (Not the Pretty Version)

I keep starting this post and deleting it.

Because every time I write “here’s what I learned,” it sounds like one of those inspirational Instagram carousels I post. Perfectly curated lessons. Growth that happened on schedule.

That’s not what happened.

2025 beat my ass. Multiple times. In ways I’m still processing.

But if I’m being honest about what actually changed, well, here it is. The real version. The one that doesn’t fit in a motivational quote.

In November 2025, I’m in urgent care until 11 PM on a Tuesday.

The doctor asks what’s wrong, and I start crying. Not because I’m in pain. Because I don’t even know anymore.

She runs tests. Everything comes back normal.

“Have you been under a lot of stress?”

I laugh. That bitter laugh we all do when the answer is so obvious it hurts.

I’d been running on three to four hours of sleep for months. Skipping meals. Living on coffee, and we won’t even talk about what else. “Yea, y’all not bout to come for me in these comments.” Saying yes to everything because I didn’t know how to say no.

My body said enough before I did.

I didn’t learn to value my time through some beautiful moment of clarity. I learned it because my body physically gave out.

So, I stopped. Not gracefully. I just started saying “I can’t” when I couldn’t, even when it disappointed people.

Some understood. Some didn’t. A few stopped calling.

It took me until mid-December to realize: the people who got mad that I couldn’t constantly show up for them? They weren’t actually showing up for me either.

My mama used to make herself a plate last. Matter of fact, she still does it to this day.

A single mother raising us by herself. But she made sure everyone else ate first. My siblings and I. Whoever was at the house that day. She’d eat whatever was left. Sometimes there wasn’t much left.

She was always willing to give. That was beautiful. That was love.

But I also saw what it cost her. Saw her fall asleep sitting up. Saw her skip doctor’s appointments. Saw her give money she didn’t have because someone else needed it more.

I learned that’s what strong women do. Put everyone else first. Find joy in giving even when you’re empty.

Now I’m older, doing the exact same thing, wondering why I’m exhausted all the time.

But really? I’m scared. Scared that if I stop giving, people will leave. Scared that my value is in what I do for others.

2025 didn’t fix that. I’m still working on it. Still backsliding.

But at least now I see it. At least now I know it’s not noble. It’s a pattern.

Growth isn’t linear. It’s messy. And I’m still in the mess.

“How are you?” “I’m good.”

I said that probably 500 times this year. And I was lying almost every time.

Small lies to be polite. To keep relationships comfortable.

But those small lies added up and started choking me.

I told my partner I was fine with things I wasn’t fine with. Then I’d be angry. Resentful. Because people weren’t meeting needs, I never told them I had.

My closest friend asked me in July: “What would happen if you just told the truth?”

I softly replied, “People would leave.”

Until I finally told my partner something I’d been holding in for months, I practiced it for days. Almost chickened out three times.

We had a real conversation. Not a fight. A conversation.

Things didn’t magically get better. But they got real. And real was better than the performance we’d been putting on.

Not every relationship survives honesty, and that’s okay. Better to lose a relationship than lose yourself trying to maintain it.

Someone told me to start a gratitude journal. It lasted three days. I felt nothing, just words.

I wasn’t ungrateful. I was numb.

So busy surviving that I stopped feeling anything, just going through motions.

I had a home. Appreciated it. Yet, constantly fussing about the mortgage. I had a job. Appreciated it. Just complained about things I felt should change.

I wasn’t living. I was managing. And you can’t feel grateful when you’re just managing.

So, I started trying to actually be present, even for five minutes.

Sat with my coffee instead of scrolling. Looked at my home. Actually looked at it. Called my mom. Didn’t multitask.

That’s not gratitude practice. That’s just trying to be alive instead of just being busy.

I thought I was good with money. Paid my bills. Had a little savings.

Then my car had an issue. $2,000. The health thing. $1,500. The water heater died $ 8,800.

I looked at my account and saw what I had left for the rest of the month.

I sat down and really started looking at where my money actually went. $750 a month on food delivery, subscription services, and “treating myself” to cope with stress.

Nearly $9,000 a year. On numbness. On avoiding my life.

I started a budget. Opened a separate savings account. Put $50 in it every paycheck. Some months, I have to take it back out.

I’m not debt-free. I’m not wealthy.

But I’m not pretending anymore. And that’s something.

Self-care became another checkbox. Did I meditate? Journal? Drink enough water?

Every day I didn’t do those things, I felt like I was failing.

One day in December, I thought, “I should take a bath. That’s self-care.” Got in. Sat there for three minutes feeling nothing. I felt worse.

Because a bath doesn’t fix burnout.

Real self-care turned out to be having the hard conversation. Saying no. Going to bed at 9 PM instead of doomscrolling.

That’s not Instagrammable. But it’s real.

Self-care isn’t another thing to add to my to-do list. It’s permission to stop doing things that are killing me slowly.

I’m not “healed.” I haven’t figured it all out.

I still say yes when I mean no. I still pour from an empty cup. I still avoid hard conversations.

But at least now I see it happening and find ways to address it in the moment. Verses sitting at home, stressing.

2025 didn’t make me better. It made me aware.

Aware that my time does matter. Aware that I can’t help anyone if I’m empty. Aware that honesty might end relationships. But lies definitely will. Aware that gratitude requires being present. Aware that rainy days always come. Aware that real self-care is hard.

I don’t have this figured out. I’m still the woman who runs on fumes. Who gives too much. Who pretends she’s fine.

But now I’m also the woman who’s trying. Failing, yes. Backsliding, absolutely. But trying.

And maybe that’s enough for now.

2026 isn’t going to fix me magically. But maybe it’ll be the year I stop expecting to be fixed and keep trying anyway.

That’s the real lesson. Not transformation. Just trying. Again and again and again.

Even when it’s messy. Even when I fail.

At least I’m moving.

What about you? What’s the messy truth about what 2025 taught you?

Not the Instagram version. The real one.

Chronicles of a Plus Size Diva drops in 2026, for everyone still figuring it out.