Gratitude has been close to me this year. It shows up quietly, often before I know what to do with it. I find myself returning to the same ayah again and again: If you are grateful, I will give you more. I don’t hold it tightly. I let it sit beside me. Over time, I’ve noticed a rhythm forming. Gratitude and blessing moving around each other, sometimes indistinguishable.
This year was generous.
It was also heavy.
Three losses stayed with me. One personal. One tied to work. And the passing of my cat, Chempaka. Each surfaced something I thought I had already understood about myself. Perhaps I had, once. Perhaps life simply wanted me to meet it again, from where I am now.
I wanted to write this down because both things were true. The goodness and the ache. Neither cancelled the other out.
I’ve become more careful about comparison. I don’t look outward as much as I used to. I look back instead to earlier versions of myself. That comparison feels quieter. It leaves room for change without demanding proof.
There are versions of me I used to move past quickly. I linger a little longer now. I see the woman who struggled, who didn’t always know how to respond to her own life. I don’t rush her anymore. She carried more than I realised.
Trying has been a steady presence this year.
Trying to write with more honesty.
Trying to move my body.
Trying to eat with care.
Trying to pray with attention.
Trying to show up with more patience as a mother, a wife, a communicator.
I fail often. Still, the act of trying feels like a form of staying close to myself.
Materially, I feel settled. The things I once prayed for no longer sit in the future. They are already part of my days. That awareness has led me to plan a no-buy year in 2025. It feels less like restraint and more like recognition.
My relationship with my body has softened. This didn’t happen when I was younger. It arrived later, alongside age and weight and the loss of sharp edges. I no longer try to return to an earlier version of myself. I’m grateful for a body that works, that carries me through prayer and daily tasks, that allows me to care for others and be present.
This kind of gratitude feels steady. It doesn’t ask to be admired.
Relationships have shifted in practical ways. Having help at home has returned time to me. Time, I didn’t realise I was constantly negotiating. My marriage feels lighter. There is more laughter. Less tension. My husband laughs hard at my jokes, and sometimes I wonder whether I’m funny or simply loved.
My children are becoming themselves in ways I didn’t anticipate. They are not exceptional on paper. They are comfortable in rooms. Curious. Independent. My daughter has begun writing. I watch that unfold without touching it too much.
I see my extended family more now. I no longer apologise for not cooking. I order food. We sit. We talk. The visits feel easier this way.
Work has been full. Demanding. Made human by the people around me. There is drama, as there always is, but also generosity and humour. I don’t take that for granted.
I noticed how easily gossip found its way into some of my conversations this year. I’m paying attention to that. I want my words, even the ones spoken in absence, to leave fewer marks behind.
Travel shaped this year more than I expected. Solo work trips. Domestic projects. One long flight around my birthday. I carry some anxiety about flying now, but I still go. Distance resets something in me. I return clearer.
There was a time when my work felt like a place I didn’t belong. That feeling has faded. I’m living inside something I once asked for, even when it arrives with fatigue alongside purpose.
The year moved in phases. A season of spiritual focus. A period of disciplined movement. Long evenings filled with fiction. The intensity of each phase rose and fell. The habits stayed. I no longer push myself to sustain the same pace. I let things breathe. That has made room for curiosity, and for rest.
I could keep listing what went well. That doesn’t feel necessary.
What stays with me is this.
Life did not become simpler.
I became more able to stay.
As 2024 closes, I don’t feel resolved.
I feel present.
That feels enough.
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