A Year in Transit

 If I turn 2025 into a list, it behaves nicely.

It lines up. It performs. It looks like I had my life together.

But years are sneaky like that. They cooperate only when you flatten them.

In real time, 2025 was messy. It was me constantly packing and unpacking, not just bags but versions of myself. Different rooms, same questions. Different cities, same tired reflection in the mirror that asked, “Okay, but when do we stop running?”

I spent most of this year being “on”. On stages, on panels, on trains, on deadlines, on WhatsApp calls that started with “quick thing” and never were. I spoke about systems, justice, youth, climate, mental health, futures. I spoke convincingly enough that people assumed I had it figured out.

I did not.

What I did have was momentum. And momentum is dangerous because it feels like purpose even when it is just inertia.

There were days I felt deeply aligned, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing work that mattered, surrounded by people who cared. And then there were days when I felt strangely absent from my own life, watching myself function efficiently while something softer inside me waited to be acknowledged.

This year taught me that productivity can camouflage discomfort very well.

I learned that I am good at showing up for causes, institutions, and communities, but still learning how to show up for myself without turning it into another task. That rest does not come naturally to people who equate worth with usefulness. That being needed is not the same as being held.

I travelled a lot. I learned a lot. I contributed meaningfully in ways I will not downplay. But I also ignored my body more than I should have. I postponed feelings with “after this event” and “once this is over,” not realising the year was quietly stacking those postponements into something heavier.

Somewhere along the way, I understood that growth does not always feel expansive. Sometimes it feels like friction. Like unlearning. Like sitting with the uncomfortable realisation that you can be both sincere and overextended at the same time.

If I am being honest, 2025 did not humble me.
It slowed my certainty.

And that might be more important.

I am ending this year without a neat conclusion or a dramatic takeaway. Just a quieter awareness of my limits, my patterns, my tendency to outrun stillness. A growing respect for pauses. A reluctant but necessary acceptance that I do not need to turn every year into a statement.

Some years are for impact.
Some years are for orientation.

2025 was the latter.

And I think I am finally okay with that.

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