The year before

Everything changed.

The Year Before

Before there was 1987. Before I met my husband Jack. Before everything looked like it was “coming together” from the outside.

There was the year before.

If I borrow from sports, I’d call it a building year. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t shiny. It was messy, raw, and hard. But the foundation I built during that year is what made the breakout year after possible.

For me, that was 2020. By the end of it, I started to trend on TikTok—sharing openly for the first time about being single in my 30s, about vulnerability, about real life. And it resonated. But the truth is, all of that came on the heels of the hardest year of my life.

Breaking Patterns

That year before, I was living small. Settling. Not showing up for myself in even the smallest of ways. Skipping workouts. Skipping journaling. Skipping the practices that made me feel whole. Letting my hair split, my laundry pile up, my energy drain.

I’ve since started calling it “mothering myself.” I’d ask: Would a billionaire have chipped toenails? Would a billionaire walk around with split ends? Would my higher self settle for this? It was less about vanity and more about self-worth. And the answer kept coming back: No.

But believing you’re worthy isn’t easy when your patterns have been built on putting everyone else first. I spent years choosing people over myself. Relationships that didn’t support me. Expectations that weren’t really mine. And in doing so, I showed up distorted—for them, for me, for life.

The Breakdown Year

I cried that year. A lot. Which, for me, was rare. One moment I’ll never forget was breaking down in an AT&T store with my dad because my phone data wasn’t working. It wasn’t about the phone—it was about me being tapped out, exhausted from years of not prioritizing myself.

That year was brutal, but it was also when I came back to myself. I re-found spirituality. I remembered God. I started to meditate, to journal, to pray, to stare at the hardest parts of myself and finally ask why.

Why was I people-pleasing?

Why was I afraid to believe I was worthy?

Why was I so convinced I didn’t deserve love, success, or wealth?

The core wound was clear: I didn’t think I was enough.

Choosing Different

But slowly, painfully, I began to choose different.

I started asking for what I wanted—clearly and deliberately. I started creating small, higher-standard habits.

I started showing up as if I was worthy—and something amazing happened.

The world responded back as if I was.

And in hindsight, that’s the lesson. You don’t get the “glory years” without the development years. Without the ugly, crying-on-the-floor years. Without the deep work that no one sees, that no one applauds, but that pays you back tenfold later.

Looking Back with Gratitude

When I look at 1987 now, or at my marriage, or at the community we’ve built, I thank that version of me—the girl in 2020 who was hurting but refused to stay stuck.

I thank her for crying, journaling, praying, meditating.

I thank her for not giving up.

I thank her for remaking herself so that I could live this life now.

Because the truth is, the universe (or God, or whatever you believe in) will either let you choose differently—or it will force a painful change on you. And I learned the hard way: it’s much better to choose different for yourself.

Why This Matters

If you’re reading this and you feel behind, or stuck, or like your “breakout year” isn’t coming—please hear me:

You are worthy.

You deserve the great partner.

You deserve the great job, or the business, or the creative dream.

You deserve to feel alive, supported, and in alignment.

But it starts with believing you’re worthy enough to show up for yourself in the smallest ways. To mother yourself. To stop settling. To choose different.

Because one day, you’ll look back on this hard season with gratitude—knowing it was the year before everything took off.