Serendipity

It’s midway through January of 2026, and I’ve spent the last two weeks sick. In that stillness, I found myself reflecting deeply on 2025 and all the change that unfolded throughout the year.

So much shifted in my life, and with that change came a quiet turmoil in my emotional well-being. I had to learn how to be alone for most of the year—relearning what it meant to live without the people I wanted beside me. There was no one to share the small moments of the day with. It hit me harder than I expected, not because I was lonely, but because it awakened something familiar. It reminded me of the days when I was homeless and alone.

Those feelings weren’t new. They had simply been buried for years.

When they resurfaced, I struggled to understand why they carried so much weight. My mental health declined faster than I anticipated. I had been homeless for a couple of months once before, but back then there was always an end in sight. This time felt different. I thought there would be an end to the pain—yet here I am, still carrying it, still feeling the loneliness that comes with this struggle.

During these two weeks of sickness, something became painfully clear. I’ve spent most of my life helping others. I’ve always found purpose and happiness in being of service to the people I love. But when those people no longer need me in the way they once did, what remains?

I’m left with only myself.

So I made a promise—to myself. In 2026, since I am no longer needed the way I once was, I will begin tending to my own needs. I will set aside the constant urge to serve others and learn how to care for myself first.

I’ll look back a year from now and see what comes of this realization.
Maybe I’ll be happy.
Maybe I’ll finally be proud of myself.
Maybe I’ll finally learn how to love myself.