2025 End of Year Reflection.

I love you, and I hope you love me too.

You know what it is if you’re here about to read and peek inside my mental and physical health.

I leave this window open.

Here we are at the end of 2025. Some of us are wondering what 2026 will unlock, what challenges might be waiting just around the corner. Maybe I’m not the only one who feels that quiet tension, the uncertainty. Maybe I am. That’s how anxiety works: it sneaks in and tries to get one last word before the year closes out. One last jab to remind me that in this ride called life, we’re both still here, my mind in the driver’s seat, my fears riding shotgun.

There are days I wake up and tell myself, “I can live without you, MS.” And for a moment, I believe it. I start to feel like I’ve got a handle on it. That I’m winning. But then, like a car out of nowhere, it sideswipes me. MS doesn’t knock. It crashes in.

I didn’t invite this disease.

I didn’t neglect my health.

I didn’t do anything to deserve this.

But here it is.

And here I am.

I had big plans. I was standing on the edge of the next chapter of my life, pen in hand, ready to write the story I’d been waiting for. But someone switched the book on me. The plot changed. And no one asked me if I was ready for this version.

I didn’t get to teach my son the way basketball once taught me, how to love a game so deeply it becomes part of your breath. I didn’t get to suit up for paintball with him, both of us a chaotic, deadly duo, the kind that would’ve given our opponents hell. That memory never got to happen.

I probably won’t get to have that father daughter dance when she gets married, the one you always imagine from the moment you first hold her.

Jet skis used to be part of my escape. Now, just the thought of the heat wears me down before I even leave the house. Vacations used to be adventure. Now they feel like recovery missions.

And yet…

I still crave newness.

I still want to level up, even if the level looks different now.

I still chase perspective, even if the view is from a different angle.

Yes, I can still do some of the things I love. But not in the same way. Life now is slower, quieter, and lower to the ground. The altitude has changed, but I haven’t stopped climbing.

That’s what this year has taught me.

MS interferes. It disrupts. It steals.

But it hasn’t stopped me.

I’m still trying.

I’m still pushing.

I’m still smiling, even when I’m running on empty.

If you’re reading this, maybe because you’re fighting your own battle, or maybe because you care enough to witness mine, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for standing beside me, for seeing me, for not looking away.

And to MS…

You may have rewritten parts of my story, but you’ll never own my voice.

You’ll never take my spirit.

I didn’t ask for you, but I’m still here.

And I’m still me.

Bring it on 2026!!!