A Year of Heartbreak
This year has been the most challenging of my life. Two heartbreaks have left my soul bruised, my heart aching in a way that feels endless. It’s one thing to have your heart broken once—it’s shattering enough. But twice in one year? It’s like trying to run with broken legs. Each step forward feels impossible, yet the world doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath.
And then there’s Ava. My beautiful, vibrant, talented daughter—my heart walking outside of my body—facing a traumatic brain injury. Watching her suffer, fighting to find herself again, is a pain I can’t put into words. This isn’t the life she dreamed of, and it’s not the life I imagined for her. But here we are, piecing together hope in a storm that often feels relentless.
I’ve had to cancel travel plans, even though travel has always been my way of resetting, of finding clarity. The photos I’ve taken on beaches, in bustling cities, or even in quiet corners of the world were my therapy. Without that outlet, the weight feels heavier. I’ve also had to put my photography business on hold—my only source of income—while I focus on Ava’s recovery. That’s been a difficult pill to swallow. My camera has always been more than a tool; it’s been my lifeline, my way of connecting with the world. And right now, it’s gathering dust.
Dating has been another uphill battle. I thought I was ready to try again, to open my heart, but it seems like no one sees my worth. I’ve found myself questioning, “Am I enough?” Why is it so hard to be seen for who I truly am?
My circle of friends has shrunk too. It’s strange how many people appeared when Ava got hurt, offering help and love, saying, “Call me if you need anything.” At first, it felt comforting to know we weren’t alone. But when I started reaching out, needing someone—anyone—it seemed everyone was too busy. It’s a lonely realization, and it stings.
Most days, I feel discouragement pressing down on me. The weight of it all—broken hearts, Ava’s injury, financial stress, and the emptiness of a thinned-out friendship circle—feels unbearable. I wonder, "How much more can one person endure?"
But I keep pushing forward. Every day, I make it a point to look at what I do have. It’s a deliberate choice, and sometimes it feels forced. But it’s working. Slowly, I’ve begun to notice the blessings around me.
Ava is still here. That, alone, is a miracle. Her strength inspires me daily. Every small step she takes toward recovery reminds me of how resilient the human spirit is.
I have my camera waiting for me. When the time is right, I’ll pick it up again, and I’ll see the world through its lens with a renewed appreciation for life’s beauty. I’ll capture moments that feel even more precious because I’ve been in the trenches of loss and heartache.
Though my circle has shrunk, I’ve learned who my real friends are. They may be few, but their love is unwavering. They’ve held me up on days when I felt like I couldn’t stand. That kind of friendship is rare, and I cherish it.
Most of all, I’m learning to see *myself* again. To remind myself that my worth isn’t defined by whether someone else sees it. I am enough—just as I am, flaws and all. And I’m proud of the way I’ve shown up for Ava, for my family, and for myself this year.
Life has taken so much from me, but it hasn’t taken everything. I still have love in my heart. I still have hope. I still have the ability to find joy in the smallest moments—a sunset, a kind word, or even the sound of Ava’s laughter as she rebuilds her life.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I’ll keep pushing forward. I’ll find beauty in the broken places, and I’ll grow from this season of heartache and healing. Because life, for all its pain, still holds so much to be grateful for. And even on the hardest days, that’s enough to keep me going.
