2025, huh. What was that about? Somehow everyone I've spoken to or follow online seems to have had a really exhausting and hard year. Usually I like to write about the past year, close the chapter and start a new blank page as the year ticks over. But a friend and I were chatting in December, about how life isn't about waiting for things to 'return to normal' or jump a hurdle for a clear path ahead. Life, it seems, is just really fucking hard all the time. This feels like an horrific realisation you have as you get older.
I used to think the phrase 'this too shall pass' meant that the hard stuff will get easier, if you can hang in there. That you get through the difficult bits and life resumes. But in more recent years I've come to understand it's true meaning, which is that 'this too shall pass' means all things - good and bad - will change. The even keel isn't prolonged calmness. Life is constantly complex and changeable.
I don't mean to sound bleak, as I take the positive from this. Everything changes, so you might as well appreciate all the good bits, look for joy in small moments, pay attention to life's tiny details and smile when you can. But 2025 has weighed heavy on many of us.
The year started with the immense pressure of Peter's Dads ill health. In hindsight, we can see that his confusion and anger was the last stages of his illness. But it had me worried that Peter would have a breakdown from the stress of it all. His Dads death in late February was a sad relief, but it meant the beginning of more admin. Organising a funeral, clearing up his Dad's (and his Mum's) estate. We took a small break, but were back at work soon after the funeral. The word exhausted doesn't even begin to explain how we felt.
It was a year of focus on my own health. I found that one of the medications I'd been placed on, after around six months, had me breathless. I couldn't walk up stairs without wheezing, or even walking at any pace meant I had to stop to breath. I felt like I was 80! It took me ages to figure out what was causing this. It was like the worst asthma I've ever had, yet felt different to how asthma impacts me. Stopping the meds made me feel better but not 100% great. I've had eye tests, a gastroscopy, and echocardiogram and clocked over officially into menopause. In all honesty I've spent much of the year feeling like garbage, putting on weight but trying to look after myself while having zero energy.
In talking to my psych, we discussed the exhaustion. Rest wasn't making me feel any better. I would get home most fridays and fall in a heap over the weekend. She suggested something small and manageable. We started by walking blocks around our neighbourhood. We slowly increased our route, and little by little I found the walking easier. It felt like some balance was coming back into our lives.
Work for me was busy, but I'd been trying to put healthy boundaries in place and focus on going home on time etc. However, in our team we had someone on extended long service leave, and the cascading backfill of that role, plus somone else moving into a new position meant we were essentially one person down for half the year. I referred to our team as a three-legged dog! Functioning, but hobbling through each day. It also meant the work was split between fewer people. I was relieved when we were back to being a four legged dog in October!
I love Peter for his great spontanious ideas. 2025 would be our 15th wedding anniversary. It felt like something to celebrate so he suggested a trip to Sydney to see a performer we love - Meow Meow. This would be our first proper holiday which didn't revolve around staying home or visiting ageing parents in about ten years. We made plans for things to see, do and eat in Sydney for six days. We had an amazing time, but were flying home to Melbourne with heartbreaking news that one of our cats had been rushed to an emergency vet. Callie was suffering heart failure, and within 24 hours of arriving home we had to put her down. Our hearts broke. We spent the second week of our planned leave on the couch crying. Her loss left a chasm in our home. It took over a month for our two other cats to resume their normal relationship and re-establish their own dynamic.
I re-read an earlier blog post from the beginning of the year. In it I write about my concern for my Mum. Having my eldest brother move into her retirement home due to his own ill health was impacting her. But Peter's Dad took most of our focus and attention as his decline felt all consuming in our lives. After reading the post I've realised I'm sat here 12 months later even more worried.
I visited my Mum in late October and was horrified. My eldest brother, who at the beginning of 2025 was simply a messy person within the bedroom he was staying in, had infested the rest of Mum's home. I used the visitor's bathroom which my brother has claimed as his personal ensuite. It was filthy. I cleaned the toilet I was so horrified. The kitchen was a mess, with crumbs covering all bench tops and the kitchen floor was stained. I couldn't believe this was the home of my house-proud Mum. She has a cleaner come in regularly, and her chronic pain has gotten worse, limiting what she can do, and the cleaner isn't keeping up with the mess my brother is creating. I felt so distressed that things were unrecognisable.
We thought Christmas this year would be simpler now we didn't need to plan a three day trip to visit Peter's Dad in regional Victoria. But my other brother and sister-in-law (who we love) wouldn't be coming as their own lives had become complicated due to ill health of a family member. Even though I'd told Peter about Mum's house, he was shocked. We walked in and Mum was sat on her wheelie-walker in the kitchen and as I bent down to hug her she was teary, saying her emotions had been all over the place. It makes me sad that she can't see the impact my brother is having on her life.
I was trying to get our food together but was so frustrated I asked for the broom to sweep the kitchen floor. The visitor bathroom was still disgusting. And my eldest brother's emotions swung between being on the verge of tears, to snapping at people for not sitting at the kitchen table quick enough. He was out of breath and just kept saying how crap the year had been. He has spent the last 12 months trying to get a job, to change his circumstances, so he can move out. But looking at him on Christmas Day all I could see was the huge impact the stroke has had on him, and I couldn't imagine him well enough to work at all.
We streamed Christmas music which Mum loved, and she shared a story I'd never heard before. She and her first husband traveled from Sunshine to Toorak to watch Dave Brubeck perform. She was pregnant with my eldest brother at the time. It made me realise that I haven't heard a lot of stories from after she emigrated to Australia. When she and David were young.
Peter and I drove home and spent the next four days fretting. My Mum received a notice from the retirement village to say residents can only have house guests for three months. My brother has been there over a year. He needs to leave by February, but I don't see them facing this reality. I've tried sending info about emergency housing support and rental assistance and community housing in their area, but Mum hasn't looked at the info I've sent. I feel I'm witnessing a slow moving car crash and the impact is just down the road.
So 2025. Really fucking hard and at times it's felt unrelenting. But after we got home from Mum's, Peter and I exchanged Christmas presents. Each of us wrote in cards to each other that although the year had essentially been stressful and hard, that our work on ourselves has enabled us to support each other. That through the difficult bits, we still are holding onto each other's hand. That our relationship is based on love and support for each other and as we've faced things together we know we have each others back. I guess that is the detail we focus on. Looking for the moments of joy in the maelstrom. Finding the silver lining in a dumpster fire of a year.
It's the first day of 2026 and I'm again forever hopeful that although the hardships will continue, perhaps the year will be kinder to us all. And come what may, I have someone holding my hand through it all.
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