2025: The year I broke

If I had to describe 2025 in one word, it would be wild.

On one hand, it held the purest happiness I have ever known because my daughter was finally in my life. Being her mom became my soul’s purpose, and I loved every single second of it. However, in the same breath, it was the hardest year of my life.

Grief hit me like a tidal wave. I watched my daughter change everyone’s lives, but the one person who should have been there, my brother, wasn’t! I became so angry with the world. I felt like he was robbed from my life, and that my daughter was robbed of the life she should have had with her uncle.

It was a year of extreme highs and terrifying lows. Here is the truth about my journey through the darkness, and how I found the light.

By December 2024, I had hit an all-time low. I found myself resenting the people closest to me, even my husband. It wasn’t a lack of love; it was a deep feeling of unfairness. Everything in our lives had changed to revolve around the baby, but it felt like my life was the only one that had stopped. I resented that he could still go play Padel and live a version of his old life, while I had to let go of the Padel and action netball that I loved so much.

Looking back now, I realize I was only seeing my own pain. The truth is, life did change for him, too. While I felt stuck, he had the burden of having to leave. He had to walk out the door every morning, leaving his heart behind, and he missed so many of the milestones I got to witness. His sacrifice was just as real, but through the lens of my depression, all I could see was his freedom.

I still remember the moment it became real. I was Christmas lunch shopping with my dad in December 2024 when my gynae called. She didn’t have a booking slot open, so she consulted with me over the phone. I stepped away so my dad wouldn’t hear, I didn’t want to add my burden to the grief my parents were already carrying. Their grief will always be my priority.

We spoke for some time and she diagnosed me with Postpartum Depression. She sent a script for medication and a referral to talk to someone.

I was terrified. I had never taken medication for mental health, not even when my brother died. I had always just bottled it up and kept moving forward. I knew I couldn't do that anymore. I had a baby relying on me, and I had to put her first.

December 2024 was a blur. I was in two minds about what to do. My husband was my rock, as usual, but that festive season broke me. It was my daughter’s first Christmas, but also the one I wanted my brother so badly to have with her. 

I was experiencing heavy grief, the darkness of postpartum, and the overwhelming joy of my little girl all at once.

By January 2025, everything on the surface was fake. I was keeping myself together because I didn’t want my parents to know the truth. After speaking to a very close friend, she helped me realize what I needed to do.

I sat with my husband that night. We discussed the medication, read up on all the side effects, and decided together that this is what I needed to do for our family. He promised me that if it changed me in a bad way or affected who I was, we would stop it all and find another way.

After about two weeks, I realized the anger wasn't so loud anymore. Things didn’t trigger me as much. I didn’t feel "different" I still felt everything I had been feeling but it wasn't as heavy. I finally had the ability to feel and focus on my pain in a better way.

Through this time, I learned two crucial things that changed my perspective:

1. Joy and pain can coexist. I learned that you can feel pain and joy in the same breath. It is something I taught myself not to feel pressured by or guilty about. You don't have to choose one or the other.

2. I had to put myself first. This was the hardest part. I realized I needed to focus on me and my family, which meant I had to remove people from my life who were making the pain heavier. I need to be clear: I didn’t do this because I hated them. I didn’t do it because I wanted nothing to do with them. In fact, I wanted them in my life so, so badly! I had to do what was best for my mental health because my state of mind directly affected a little person who relied so heavily on me.

I was on medication for seven months, but I was terrible at taking it religiously. Leading up to my daughters 1st birthday in July, I was so focused on making her day perfect that I forgot my meds entirely. Going cold turkey is dangerous, and without realizing it, I hit my absolute lowest point on the day of her party.

I held it together, acting "okay" when I’m broken is a skill I perfected after my brother passed, but I knew I couldn't go back on the meds. I decided to try and do this alone, now that I had acknowledged my feelings.

I realized I couldn't isolate myself anymore. I opened up to a few people closest to me and I started seeking community.

I joined Sip and Stride, a community of girls who meet every Saturday to walk and unwind. As a business owner, I am my own colleague, and I had been starving for human interaction. These women became my sunshine. They accepted me and loved my daughter more than I could have ever imagined. They don’t know it but they saved me in many ways  

I also joined a gym that became like family. Post-pregnancy, I had surpassed 100kgs. I woke up every morning to work on myself. My gym family pushed me to my limits. At first, the scale didn't move, but my spirit did. Eventually, the weight started dropping, too.

2025 knocked me down hard, but the beautiful people I met along the way were my saving grace. 

I walk into 2026 choosing peace, choosing happiness, and choosing people who choose me.

But more than that, I want to say this to you:

Please, never feel guilty or ashamed of your feelings. Whether it is rage, resentment, or a sadness so deep it scares you, you are valid. There are so many of us out here feeling the exact same way, fighting the same silent battles behind closed doors.

You are not "bad" for struggling.

You are not "ungrateful" for hurting.

And most importantly, you will never, ever be alone. 🤍