The year of upheaval: 2021.

The ending of 2021 doesn’t just mark the ending of one year for me. It’s as if many years ended and began within this one; many seasons and years of change tangled together. Life changed in April (when J & I initially separated), ended in June (when J & Freya left Canmore for good), began in July, only to end and begin again in September (I moved into my new apartment, and brought Autumn home). It’s been difficult for me to sit down and write about this year; I have already worked so hard to leave it behind.

The truth is, I am exhausted. Happy, but exhausted. Losing J, Freya and my home of 3 years was an extraordinary crucible pushing me forward into a new stage of growth, inevitably preparing me for the next season of life. Most of my mental faculties this year were spent grappling with the reality, regret and grief (every stage of it) of losing someone I loved and dealing with the subsequent aftershocks. Ripple upon ripple, wave upon wave of things to process as I untangled feeling from feeling, thought from thought, all while untangling my life from his. I held many tiny funerals for us over and over. I had to find a new home, move twice in an 8 week period, and reorient myself in a new life and a new future without the two of them in it. I would pass by places we last walked; places where we had our last conversations or last plays with Freya, and wounds would reopen with new ferocity, forcing tears from my eyes and raw emotion from my heart. I would see them in these places as spectres; their forms vivid ghosts reminding me of our time together. I wanted to remember as much as I wanted to forget; I dreamt about them nearly every night for 2 months after they left.

Starting over at the age of 30 added an extra sting to it all; where many of my peers are getting married and having babies, I would rediscover life alone. The heartache wracked my body; crushed me and brought me down, down, down—but the thing with being at the very bottom is that you really only do have up to go from there.

In amongst those aftershocks of grief was the rediscovery of who I am; separate from any other. Who I am when nobody is looking; who I am when I am alone. I got to know her again. I remembered how exuberant my joy is; how deeply nurturing and caring I can be; how much tenacity, determination and zest for life I have; how I can still radiate goodness even when times are dark. I have all this regardless of who I am with, or where I am. Knowing her again brought me great power, confidence, and freedom from anxious attachment.

I am proud of having made it through the other side, rebuilding my life, raising Autumn, and still finding joy, laughter and love. I made new friends; found energy to dedicate myself to my passion for climbing with newfound zeal; and threw myself wholeheartedly in everything and everyone I love.

I am happier now than I have been in a very long time—and that adds the bitter to the sweet. It means that my relationship really was meant to end; that it really was not “meant to be”. Our relationship had a lot of love, but it was also mired with conflict that we seemed unable to resolve; our differences and individual triggers creating vast uncrossable chasms between us. This relationship had a purpose for being in my life, but that purpose was not to stay. I learnt valuable lessons through the successes and failures of this relationship that I perhaps would not have otherwise learnt. For that, I can be grateful, because it led me to a deeper, all-compassing happiness; a deeper understanding of myself, what I want from life and what I am looking for in a partner.

Now, rather than being daunted by a future unknown, I am excited by its limitless possibilities and potential. I am thrilled by the very many avenues I can take to get to where I want to go. But more importantly, I am content with where I am and what I have today. It is a gift unlike any other.

I recently wrote a short piece for DirtBabe Collective, which I feel is a fitting end to this year-in-review:

“In nature, there exists a constant cycle of birth, growth, death, decay and birth again. The impermanence of all things is the only constant we can rely on. Even after death, nature carries on—as must we. I learn, over and over, that endings are never the end, but the precipice of an even better beginning. Nature persists through every fire, every storm, every flood. We have it within us to do the very same. Like pushing through the crux of a climb that tests our limits, or continuing upward on the steepest incline of a hike, carrying on is a catalyst for growth. When we persevere, the triumph of moving forward provides us the courage to face the next season of challenges with even more resilience; even brighter optimism; even better grit than the last.⁠

After a year of dramatic change and upheaval in my personal life, I find myself coming out of it with even more joy, even more hope, and even more love. This is how I know I've grown; this is how I remember who I am, and that we were built to withstand more than we realise. As in nature, so in life.”

This post includes photos of Autumn & I by my friends Allison Seto & Brittany Esther.