The Year in Twelve Frames
How presence, change, and self-trust carried me through 2025
Before the months unfolded, I didn’t know how much this year would ask of me. I thought I was moving through ordinary days, but each one was quietly shaping me. These photos hold small truths about presence, community, grief, rest, celebration, and learning to listen to myself. Together, they tell the story of a year lived honestly.
January
I attended a networking event through a professional women’s group I’m part of, featuring a fireside chat with the CEO of UrbanStems. We ended the night with a flower workshop, building bouquets stem by stem, cutting and arranging them however we wanted. There was no right way to do it; you just did it. Flowers felt like a metaphor for community. Different needs, different timing, all coming together to create something beautiful.
February
The coldest month of winter mirrored how I felt professionally: discouraged and unmotivated. This is when community showed up. I attended a creative circle meetup and spent the evening catching up with like-minded women over tea at Paquita in the West Village. Sometimes support looks like a warm conversation and simply not being alone.
March
I attended a speaker series at the Food52 HQ and saw this reminder posted in their office. It stuck with me. We are all human, and we are all going through something. Kindness matters more than we think.
April
Spring arrived at work through a flower-picking moment in the lobby, and I chose the lily of the valley since it’s my birthday flower. By the time I returned to my desk, it had wilted. Later that night, I learned how to revive it with warm water and a fresh cut. Watching it come back to life felt quietly symbolic, and it stayed with me for a week, filling the room with a soft, green scent.
May
My mom visited NYC for two and a half weeks, and we spent that time eating our way through the city. I took her to the Warren Street Hotel for Mother’s Day Afternoon Tea, where my brother is the Pastry Chef at their restaurant. We later returned for my early birthday dinner to try his dessert menu. Sitting there together in TriBeCa, admiring his work, we felt proud and deeply grateful.
June
Summer in New York feels electric. I celebrated my late birthday with dinner at Ye’s Apothecary on the Lower East Side, surrounded by close friends who consistently show up for me. I used to downplay my birthday or celebrate quietly on my own. This year, I chose to celebrate myself fully. Loving myself now includes letting others celebrate me, too.
July
Peak summer energy meant after-work happy hours, dancing at Soul Summit in Fort Greene Park, and rooftop gatherings. My best friend came up from DC to celebrate her birthday, and our weekend consisted of oysters, Hugh Jackman, getting zapped + tats, restaurant hopping, and loads of desserts. I love exploring new places, especially with people who feel aligned. Shared adventure makes everything better.
August
The dog days of summer reminded me how important it is to slow down. In NYC, we are always rushing, optimizing, and chasing productivity. I carved out time to rest without guilt. Rest, I learned, is productive too.
September
I dipped my toe back into dating after years away from the apps. I reactivated Hinge, went on four first dates, and deleted my account five weeks later. The experience clarified something important to me — apps are not how I want to meet someone right now.
October
October was heavy and healing. My family traveled to Tulsa, Oklahoma, to say goodbye to my cousin. After the funeral service, we went to the State Fair and later visited a butterfly dome. As butterflies landed on us, it felt like a quiet reminder that our loved one was still near.
November
I chose not to renew my lease and put my belongings into storage. I temporarily moved into my brother’s apartment in Flatbush while figuring out what comes next. This season has been uncomfortable, but necessary. I am learning to listen to myself and take care of myself through the transition.
December
I finally developed a disposable camera I had carried all year at a small, family-owned shop in Crown Heights. When the photos came back, many were missing. Ugh, looks like I forgot to use flash. It felt like a fitting ending to the year: a reminder to slow down, pay attention, and not rush through moments. Listening to myself means honoring the details, too.
Looking back at these twelve moments now, I see how much I learned simply by staying present. By celebrating myself without hesitation. By resting without guilt. By letting change unfold, even when it felt uncomfortable. Some moments were light, others heavy, but all of them mattered. This is what 2025 gave me, and this is what I carry forward with gratitude.