2024: A Year of Breaking, Learning, and Trying to Heal

I won’t pretend this year has been easy. 2024 has been one of the hardest years of my life, a year where every part of me felt tested and, in many ways, broken. It’s been a year of work challenges, family distance, personal loss, and confronting the reality of who I’ve become.

It began with leaving a toxic job in hospitality at the end of 2023, a place that drained me completely. Long days, no boundaries, constant demands, I gave so much of myself to that role, supporting others in their careers, only to be betrayed. People I trusted turned on me to climb the ladder. The impact of that job took more from me than I ever imagined. When I finally walked away, I thought things might improve.

I had another opportunity lined up, a role with my former manager at a new hotel. He reassured me the job was mine, though I still had to go through the interview process. I thought I’d done well and was repeatedly told I was the frontrunner. But in the end, they chose someone else. That hit me harder than I expected.

Determined to move forward, I took a job with a well-known hotel chain. It lasted only a week. The promises made during the interview, training, support, a fixed schedule, were broken the moment I started. They wanted me to work nights again, despite assuring me I wouldn’t have to. Having spent over two years working night shifts in my previous role, I couldn’t go back to that life. Night shifts take so much out of you and force you to reshape your entire lifestyle.

I tried to make it work, but by the second day, I knew it wasn’t for me. By the end of the week, I knew I couldn’t stay. I’d left one toxic environment only to step into another. I refused to do that to myself again. The thought of starting over yet again left me feeling lost, like I couldn’t catch a break.

What followed was a string of interviews and rejections. Each time, I thought, Maybe this is it, only to be met with disappointment. Depression and anxiety became my companions, stealing my appetite, energy, and sleep. I lost someone close to me in the process, slowly, painfully. My nights were consumed by overthinking, reliving regrets, and questioning my worth. I wasn’t just struggling to find work; I was struggling to find myself. The same question echoed in my mind over and over again: Who am I?

Then, unexpectedly, a role in higher education, a world I never imagined for myself, came my way. During my time out of work, I’d told myself I wanted a job with meaning, a place where I would feel supported. I didn’t care about prestige or glamour; I just wanted to be valued and paid fairly.

At first, I didn’t believe I’d get the job. My background was in retail and hospitality, not education. But I applied anyway. When I got the interview, I decided to be myself, no holding back, no pretending. Doubts crept in, but I allowed myself to hope. And this time, I was right.

The day I got the call confirming I was successful and would start within four weeks felt like a huge relief. It gave me something I hadn’t dared to feel in a long time: hope.

Now, I work at a university where I feel supported. The pay is fair, the hours are fantastic, and the stress, if you can call it that, is minimal compared to the toxic hotel environment I came from. I work Monday to Friday, seven hours a day, with evenings and weekends free. It’s a breath of fresh air.

But even with this win, I can’t say I’ve fully enjoyed it. The weight of everything else hasn’t lifted. The work side of my life is good, not great, because my sadness often creeps in. That loneliness and emptiness settle in my chest, heavy with the absence of someone to share it all with.

My family and I have never been that close. They’re not the kind of people I feel comfortable sharing my deepest thoughts with. I was close with one of my sisters, we used to talk weekly, sharing pieces of our lives. But a silly argument at the start of 2024 changed that. I’ve tried reaching out, sending messages and making calls, but the responses, if I get one, are cold and short—a one-liner, maybe. Calls go unanswered.

Even with this year’s achievements, getting a new job, completing my Level 2 counseling course, reading more books than I ever thought possible, and starting to write about my emotions, it feels like something is missing. Achievements lose their shine when there’s no one to share them with. There’s no one I can call and say, “Hey, guess what? Look what I did!” That kind of loneliness weighs heavily.

And then there’s Aleks. Losing her is the regret that overshadows everything else.

For the first time, I truly saw a future with someone, a future where we grew together and had a family. Before Aleks, those dreams felt distant and unattainable. With her, they felt real.

Do I still love her? Yes, I do. And because I love her, I’m trying not to contact her. It’s not that I don’t want to; I think about it constantly. We work in the same area, and I’ve thought about going to see her. But deep down, I know I shouldn’t, and I won’t. I don’t want to cause her or myself more pain.

I dreamt of a future with her, but the reality was different. She may think I’m not right for her, and maybe she’s right. But when we were together, I saw us growing, both as individuals and as a couple. She helped me see life in new ways, to open up and accept things I’d avoided. She made me better, and I think I did the same for her. In my mind, I believe we pushed one another to be better and deal with things that we've put off.

Christmas in 2022 stands out in my mind. Aleks couldn’t be with her family or travel back to Poland, so I made it about her. For the first time in years, Christmas felt meaningful, not about tradition or expectations, but about the person I love. Her presence brought light to a season that had long felt empty. She showed me what a home could feel like, what home was truly.

This year, though, I’m struggling to find that spark. 2024 hasn’t been kind.

Yet, even with the sadness, there are things I’m grateful for:

• I’m grateful for being in Aleks’s life and for the love we shared.
• I’m grateful for my job in education, which has shown me what a healthy workplace can be.
• I’m grateful for completing my Level 2 counseling course, a step toward understanding myself and helping others.
• I’m grateful for discovering the joy of reading.
• I’m grateful for writing, a lifeline that helps me make sense of the chaos inside me.
• I’m grateful for who I am, someone who genuinely wants to help others.

I’m also grateful for the steps I’ve taken to work on my depression and anxiety. These struggles cloud everything, but I’m learning. Sadness still pulls me under at times, but I’m starting to see pain as a teacher, not just something to endure.

Healing isn’t linear. It’s full of setbacks and detours, but through it all, I’m still here. I’m still trying.

Life will always have highs and lows, love and loss, joy and sadness. But through it all, I’m learning to hold on to what matters: the lessons, the growth, the love, and the hope.

Even in the hardest times, there’s something to be grateful for. Even in the deepest sadness, there’s the possibility of light. And it’s that light, no matter how faint, that will guide me forward, one step, one day, one moment at a time. 

One final thing, I hope that one day, Aleks and I will cross paths again. She wasn’t just my partner; she was my best friend and someone I could always talk to. Wherever she is, I genuinely hope life is treating her well. X