As I tread tentatively into a new year, I find myself reflecting on the past twelve months, and as I do, one word continues to echo in my mind: transition. The past year had plenty…some brought heartache, some brought joy, but with that came growth and enlightenment, for which I’m grateful. When I take it apart and look at 2025 piece by piece, I realize that a lot of things shifted in a relatively short period of time, across many facets of my life.
In the spring, I rebranded the business I started over 20 years ago with a tiny loan, a bunch of nerves, and a hope that it might turn into something great one day. A lot has changed over the years, and it seemed like the right time to give The Envelope a new name and a new image– one that reflects where I am now in the world, as well as in my creative journey– so, in April, Pisgah Creative was born. Shortly thereafter, I started doing graphic design for the Ritz-Carlton, and working with their team has reignited a creative spark that’s been smoldering (and threatening to burn out) for several years. It’s been incredibly fulfilling work so far, and it provides an outlet for creativity and attention to detail that I’ve been longing for.
This year also marked my second year coaching the Brevard High School women’s tennis team, and to say we changed a few things in 2025 is an understatement. We started practicing early in the summer, eventually training five days a week to get ready to start competing in August. I lived and breathed tennis from June through October, and those who know me well can attest to the fact that I barely came up for air during those five months. But it was worth it to see the changes in this team from last year. In addition to competing in both the individual regional and state tournaments, we made it to the fourth round of dual team playoffs, eventually losing to the team that would go on to become a state finalist. Also in early October, with less than two weeks of planning and smack in the middle of regional qualifiers, we brought the community together for a lively Round Robin-style doubles tournament that raised over $5k and brought nearly 75 people out to support the team. This season, we also started a friendly intra-team competition where each player followed the progress of an ATP pro through the US Open, with prizes going to the players whose pros made it the farthest in the tournament. Between the hours spent on the court and the new programs we initiated, the summer and fall truly became a season of change (and bonding). The result was a fresh and inspired team culture and a shift in my mindset and dedication as a coach, as I think we all caught a glimpse of what it’s possible to create together.
One of the most impactful transitions I faced this past year was with regard to my health. For over 15 years, I’ve been dealing with chronic abdominal pain following complications from the birth of my son. After a total of 13 doctors and specialists, four abdominal surgeries, and two long-term medications (that on good days worked like a charm and on bad days barely took the edge off), I was diagnosed with acute and chronic inflammation from adenomyosis, which is when the lining of the uterus grows within the muscle walls where it can’t be seen. It causes a whole host of nasty symptoms, including chronic pain and infertility. In addition, I had an endometrioma the size of a large strawberry on my abdominal wall that felt like it was literally on fire. In June, I made the tough decision to have yet another invasive surgery– this time a total hysterectomy– without knowing whether it would fix anything or create more scar tissue and make everything worse. There aren’t words to describe the relief I now feel after making that choice. I can finally sneeze without flinching in agony, wear pants that hug my waist, do a sit-up, and sleep through the night without feeling stabbing pains every time I roll over. My activities and moods are no longer dictated by that day’s particular pain scale. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around how I managed to feel as bad as I did for as long as I did, and I’m indescribably thankful to have found a surgeon who finally listened to me, put her professional training to the test, and was able to take away the physical pain that has been my reality for over a decade.
Finally, this year brought transitions in a few relationships, which included a fair share of heartache. While several relationships grew and flourished, others entered turbulent seasons that weighed heavily on my heart and mind, and in some ways, still linger there. I found myself struggling to connect with or feel seen by people with whom I had previously been close. But no matter how I expressed my feelings or put myself out there in the hope of finding some resolution, it felt like I was calling out into a storm, and my words were getting lost in the wind. It’s a hard thing to speak the truth that is in your heart– to make yourself vulnerable like that– and have those words fall on deaf ears. The lack of response (or in some cases, anger) I received in return caused me to second-guess myself, wondering why I wasn’t enough— why just being me and being honest wasn’t enough. What came next was a combination of apathy and grief. Eventually, I realized the only thing I could do to ease the heartache was to stop letting those thoughts control me. Instead of listening to the echo chamber in my mind whispering, “you need to fix it,” or “you don’t matter enough,” I set an intention to hold space for those relationships while gently trying to quiet those destructive thoughts, and not allow feelings of doubt and pain to rule my heart. I’m still learning that it’s not always up to me to fix things, and that I need to trust that whatever is meant to be will come to pass in due time. It’s not easy, but I’m working on creating a safe, quiet space where there is room for possibility, reflection, growth, and healing.
Someone once said the only constant thing in life is change. Transitions can bring forth a lot of things…pain, growth, opportunities, self-reflection, new beginnings, as well as goodbyes. As 2025 fades into the rearview, and I pause to reflect on the many ways my life continues to shift, I will lean into patience, grace, and the capacity to keep an open heart, holding space for the lessons I have yet to learn.
