Dear 2024 | A Letter of Reflection
Inhale: I have done what I can today. Exhale: I hold all parts of myself with compassion.
Dear 2024,
As I close your chapter in my life for good, I want to reflect on the past twelve months and all that you were, for the good and the downright lousy. There were moments in the past year when I felt this last day would never come, yet it seems to have come in a flash.
You were the year when I started like a mountaineer preparing to summit Everest, with hefty, naive goals that were sure to crumble in light of what was ahead. My word for the year was “progress,” for crying out loud. I dreamed of forward momentum and achieving great things. Unfortunately, our lives would soon come to a screeching halt after getting a call from the local sheriff’s office that my mother-in-law was being transported to the hospital because her symptoms of unmanaged dementia had crossed the line of acceptable and into lawlessness.
We soon learned that she was not coming home and was instead being transported to an elder care facility that dealt with mental health and then moved into a nursing home specializing in dementia. This pushed us into six months of hunting down paperwork, filing applications, and trying to get financial assistance with this costly transition. Looking back on that hellish time, we didn’t feel we’d get out of it. There was a lot of the hurry-up-and-wait that comes with dealing with the government processes, but we are glad to be reflecting from the other side, knowing she’s in a safe place and that we aren’t going bankrupt to keep her there.
You were the year of spending six months off social media, one of the best and most clarifying times of my adult life and something I’ll be carrying over, in shorter spurts, into 2025. I loved ending the pressure to keep up with what everyone was doing. It was freeing to experience life in all the little events that dotted my planner and leave the urge to document and share them behind. I plan to sign out for the entire month of January and see where that takes me.
You were the year of finding community in places other than Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. I deleted the bird app several months ago, permanently signed out of Facebook around the same time, and haven’t looked back. Instagram has been a tough habit to kick because I connect with many friends there, but the constant draw to scroll has kept me from accomplishing goals and getting much-needed work done. In my time off during the spring and summer, I joined the Shut Up & Write community and have found a writing family that keeps me motivated and has encouraged me to chase big dreams. I find more inspiration in those 75- or 90-minute sessions than I ever have on social media and there’s a mutual respect that has been lost on the platforms made divisive by politics and hot-button topics.
On the writing front, you were also the year of splitting up with NaNoWriMo, an organization I’ve been a part of for a decade. Earlier this year, I’d planned to work on a manuscript on the platform, but those intentions changed after a controversial statement was posted regarding the use of AI. This was the last straw in a buildup I’ve felt over several years. Last year, they were accused of unethical practices involving their young writers’ program and the moderators in charge of those events. In addition, recent communications from the organization in the months leading up to November were full of ads and product marketing. It gave me an icky feeling and I decided to close out my account and move my community needs to SU&W full-time. It was a good decision.
You were the year of honoring my body, while sometimes cursing it, of stepping back and resting because I’ve needed it and not because my body has collapsed under the pressure I placed it under. I’ve had this disease for 14 years and am only now learning how to tame my stress and be proactive about what I physically need to survive each day.
On the mental health front, you were the year of embracing my neurodivergence and separating myself from that which doesn’t serve me and my tender brain. I learned I was AuDHD this spring and have gained so much insight into my life and the way I’ve processed it all. There is a huge community of neurodivergents online and it’s been fun and enlightening to figure this out with their help. One challenge I’ve experienced was learning what type of interactions I can handle and where my boundaries are. I’ve had to pull back from most large group gatherings, like family holidays, because the time I’d need to recover after would be more than I’m willing to sacrifice. Frank and I have enjoyed our quiet life of solitude instead and are finding ways to work with my brain rather than against it.
Finally, you were the year of becoming Snow White, of caring for the two dozen feral and free-roaming felines that call my neighborhood home, and the wild fox, skunk, raccoon, and opossum who occasionally meander through. They each have names and know we are a safe place for them to shelter and get a bite to eat. Looking after these animals has been a balance of joy and heartache. I’ve written several times about the compassion fatigue one can experience when doing work like this, but it won’t deter me from continuing. They’ve even inspired me to take on a special project, a Substack newsletter (coming in 2025) about their little lives because someone should know and love them.
2024, you were a strange year but one that taught me many valuable lessons. I’ve learned what I can’t afford to take for granted, like time, a partner who always has my back, and the moments that make my heart overflow with happiness. But in truth, I am happy to be closing your chapter in my life and starting new. Here’s to an intentional and joy-filled 2025.
Yours,
Lecy
