I am grateful
for the year that arrived without politeness.
For the grief that pressed its full weight
against my chest.
For the darkness that stayed
longer than comfort allows.
For the depression that hollowed me out,
for the loneliness that stripped away
every performance,
every borrowed certainty.
I am grateful
for reaching the bottom
and finding no floor,
only myself,
breathing,
still here.
For the end of an era
that refused to close gently,
but demanded surrender.
For the opening of a new chapter
written without promise,
only willingness.
For a body that carried trauma
in silence
until it could hold no more.
For the slow, unglamorous work of healing.
For learning that peace is a practice,
chosen daily.
For finding the Creator
beyond answers,
in endurance.
For forgiveness that burned on the way through.
For forgiving others
without excusing the harm.
For asking forgiveness
without protecting my ego.
For learning that love requires
truth,
and truth costs something.
For walking away from the classroom,
because I outgrew the shape
it required me to hold.
For choosing a life of writing and research,
where listening is labour,
and honesty is the measure.
For closing the door
on a decade of becoming brave enough
to say goodbye to what once kept me alive.
For understanding that survival
and belonging
are entirely different things.
For my children,
who taught me what love looks like
when it is tested.
For my parents,
as time rearranged everything we knew.
For my sisters,
whose depth and courage
reminded me I had company.
For finding love with Tom,
steady, chosen, real,
and for finding myself,
without apology,
without permission,
at last.
And now,
I give thanks for choosing life
with my whole body.
For committing to kindness
after bitterness would have been easier.
For continuing the work of healing
when no one is watching.
I walk forward
toward the highest spiritual vibration
I can hold,
aware that I will falter,
aware that I will grieve again,
and willing still.
This is my gratitude,
fierce and honest,
But because I survived it
awake.
Title: Where the Sky Learns to Rest
Artist Statement
There are evenings when colour arrives with such fullness it quiets the mind before thought can form.
This was one of those evenings.
The palms bent slightly in the wind, their movement slow and unhurried, as though they too were participating in the closing of the day. The shoreline held a soft stillness. Even the water seemed to pause beneath the sky’s reflection.
I received this moment without spectacle. It felt more like permission.
Within my research on intentional solitude, I have come to understand that rest arrives through many forms beyond sleep or retreat. Sometimes rest occurs through witnessing. Through allowing the nervous system to soften in the presence of beauty that asks nothing in return.
The horizon asked nothing of me. It simply held colour, light, and the gentle evidence of transition.
I remained until the pink thinned into violet and the palms returned to silhouette.
A day completing itself.
A body learning how to do the same.
Photo Credit: Amy Tucker, 2026