2025 YEAR-END REFLECTIONS: THE YEAR I LET EVERYTHING FALL APART AND THEN BUILT SOMETHING BETTER

THE YEAR THAT DIDN’T GO TO PLAN (AND THANK GOD FOR THAT)

I always laugh when I start to think I am in control of my life. Not in a dark way, but more in a "damn, when I thought I'd been served the last major curveball, here's another" way. But luckily, I've read enough self-help books to know that there is beauty in the struggle, and there's opportunity to evolve into someone new.

If you would’ve told me in January where I would’ve ended up in December, I wouldn’t believe you. Not because I didn’t believe in myself, but because I was deep in a battle with depression.

Then the hits kept coming. And coming. It was debilitating.

The main contender? My 9-to-5 at the time. But, that is not why I’m here. I’m here to say that when everything falls apart, it’s a signal that everything will come back together, on your terms.

It hurts, it’s painful, it fuels fear, anxiety and makes you question if its all worth it. But, as a new creative entrepreneur, freelance social media manager, starter of a social media business + a dozen other titles I could classify myself with, it’s all worth it. For the better. (Still thinking about Wicked: For Good.)

This isn’t a story about my own resilience, but as someone who believes in themselves and sharing the journey to get there despite all of the chaos you probably feel surrounding you as a marketer.

STARTING THIS BUSINESS: THE ACCIDENTAL YES THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

I have had Spill brewing in my mind for awhile. I had helped out businesses with social needs for around two years, and I knew I wanted to create a brand and not just schlep my name around. I wanted to have something that was mine and treat myself as my client, and continue to learn the same types of growing pains that clients who trust me with their social media presence do.

It can be embarrassing to put yourself out there. It is something that I hate that I had to feel and that others feel because they took a risk to unapologetically put themselves out there.

But I did. I was having severe imposter syndrome with the first Canva graphic video when I posted it and shared it to my own personal feed.

The response was overwhelming. I had so many people cheering for me. I didn’t care who didn’t. I don’t need those types of people in my life even if it did feel a little disappointing.

There were times where I didn’t feel like I knew what I was doing (cue imposter syndrome) and that I didn’t know what I was doing filing for an LLC (three times because I kept messing up the application) and getting myself published in some random newspaper to find myself in good standing with the state. But, it all came together.

When I knew it was worth it? When I received my first piece of junk mail with Spill Social, LLC on it. It felt like I was holding a winning lottery ticket.

There were growing pains —

the clunky systems

the guessing

the “does this price make sense?” spiral

the quiet panic of sending proposals

the imposter syndrome

And yet there were early wins, too. Real ones.

The first client who believed in me.

The first time someone said, “you made this make sense.”

The first moment I realized I could build something sustainable, strategic, and deeply me.

This is where the entrepreneur part of me started to take shape — a part I really like.

STARTING A NEW JOB: HOLDING TWO IDENTITIES WITHOUT DROPPING YOURSELF

I got an offer for my dream job. I said yes immediately. I had been balancing a social media business and a full-time job for the last two and a half years. I knew I could do it.

This job brought structure back into my life when the chaos was getting loud. It reminded me that I’m allowed to hold more than one identity. I’m allowed to want security and autonomy. I’m allowed to build Spill at a pace that feels human, not hurried.

But, the adjustment from no-job and lots of mental health downtime and full-time was rough for me. It was knocking me fully off kilter and I had many moments of doubt on if I could do both.

And if you’ve ever tried to nurture a dream while holding down stability, you know the mental gymnastics. There’s relief — rent will be paid. There’s fear — will I have time for everything? There’s guilt — am I betraying my entrepreneurial version of myself?

But, time management is a wonderful thing. Sometimes, I have to lose posts on my content calendar because I need a night off. Its always at my own expense, but I’m happy to do it because I know how important it is.

Burnout half-assed content is visible from miles away. I owe it to myself not to force that and stay true to the brand that I’m building. It’s okay to drop one and take that time to regroup.

This season taught me capacity, boundaries, and the underrated power of not forcing everything to happen at once.

RECONNECTING WITH MY CREATIVITY: REMEMBERING I’M NOT JUST A STRATEGY MACHINE

Somewhere along the way, something shifted — I found my creativity again.

Not the “let’s plan a 90-day content strategy” kind of creativity. The childhood kind. The curiosity kind. The “I haven’t made something just for fun in years” kind.

Burnout makes you forget you’re creative. It makes you a task robot, a productivity puppet.

Starting fresh — losing a job, building a business, holding a new role — weirdly gave me enough emotional space to notice the creative spark flickering back on.

I let myself experiment again. Write without a purpose. Scroll Pinterest for inspiration instead of comparison. Make content that made me laugh, not just convert.

A tiny how-to that helped:

• Create without posting.

• Make ugly first drafts.

• Touch grass (literally).

• Try hobbies that don’t translate into content.

• Reduce pressure by increasing play.

Creativity is not a mood — it’s a muscle. And mine finally stopped atrophying.

MAKING DECISIONS AS SOMEONE WHO PROCRASTINATES DECISIONS

Let me be extremely honest: I will procrastinate a decision until the decision gets so loud it basically grabs me by the shoulders. I don’t do it on purpose—my brain just loves to convince me that “thinking about it more” is the same thing as “making progress.” (ADHD mindset lol) Spoiler: it’s not. It’s just me circling the same three thoughts like a little Roomba with anxiety.

This year, I delayed so many choices. Business things. Personal things. Tiny things that should’ve taken five minutes but somehow lived rent-free in my head for three weeks. And every time I put something off, the weight of it doubled. Silence has a way of making small decisions feel like life-altering ones.

The funny part? Every time I finally made a decision — even the ones I dreaded — I felt this immediate, almost embarrassing relief. Like, oh… that’s all I had to do?

What I learned is that clarity usually shows up after the choice, not before it. You don’t get confidence first; you get it from taking the action you didn’t feel ready for.

So I started choosing faster. Not recklessly, not impulsively — just without the dramatic waiting period. And things got lighter. Work moved. My brain unclenched. I stopped overidentifying with every outcome.

It turns out that making decisions isn’t a personality trait… it’s a skill. And I’m finally practicing it instead of avoiding it.

INVESTING IN MYSELF: SAYING YES TO THE VERSION OF ME I WANT TO BECOME

I’ve always had a weird relationship with “investing in myself.” It sounds great on paper, but in real life it feels like standing at the checkout with something you know will help you… while your brain whispers, “Are you sure you deserve this right now?”

This year, I pushed through that feeling more than ever.

I bought tools I’d been putting off. I said yes to courses without waiting for a sign from the universe. I booked things that felt more like maintenance for my sanity than “self-improvement.” I took rest seriously instead of waiting until I hit burnout and had no choice.

And honestly? None of it was glamorous. It wasn’t a montage moment. It was me just… quietly choosing things that made my life easier, clearer, calmer, or more fun.

Some investments felt scary — partly because I didn’t know if they’d “pay off,” and partly because spending money on yourself is always a little vulnerable. But every time I did it, something shifted. Not dramatically, just enough that I felt myself growing into someone who trusted their own decisions a bit more.

What surprised me most was this: investing in myself didn’t make me feel like a “better” version of me — it made me feel more supported by me. And that’s a very different feeling.

It wasn’t about fixing anything. It was about not leaving myself last on the list anymore.

KEEPING MYSELF MOTIVATED: THE DAYS IT FELT EASY AND THE DAYS IT REALLY, REALLY DIDN’T

Motivation this year was… inconsistent. Some days I woke up with that electric spark — ideas flowing, energy high, everything clicking into place like, okay, yeah, I can actually do this. And then there were days where even opening my laptop felt like trying to lift a car with a fork. No rhythm, no spark, no internal hype squad whatsoever.

What kept me moving on both sides of that spectrum was my why — not in a cliché “remember your purpose” way, but in a real, grounded way. I love building things. I love helping people understand their own voice online. I love the feeling of making strategy feel human instead of overwhelming. And I love the version of myself I’m becoming through this work — steadier, more creative, more courageous than I gave myself credit for.

But that didn’t magically make the hard days disappear. There were messy days where I stared at drafts that made zero sense. Days where I questioned if I was doing enough. Days where life outside of work felt heavy and everything inside of work felt impossible. Motivation wasn’t showing up no matter how many iced coffees I threw at the problem.

So I built tiny rituals that made starting easier:

• doing one 10-minute task to break the mental static

• setting a timer so I wouldn’t overthink myself out of doing anything

• making my space feel a little nicer (a candle, a playlist, sunlight — just something)

• brain-dumping ideas without judging if they were good

• gentle mornings where I reviewed everything slowly, not urgently

• closing my laptop when pushing harder wasn’t the answer

None of these were revolutionary, but together they kept me from spiraling into “I’m failing” mode on the low-energy days. They helped me see that moving even 5% forward still counts as movement.

The truth is, motivation didn’t show up because I was inspired — it usually showed up because I’d already begun. The action created clarity. The clarity created momentum. And the momentum created a spark that felt a lot like motivation.

This year taught me that I don’t need to be on fire every day. I just need to be willing to take one small step — even on the days when everything inside me wants to hide under a blanket instead.

BALANCING FRIENDS, FITNESS, WORK, AND MENTAL HEALTH: THE MOST DELICATE JENGA TOWER I’VE EVER BUILT

Balancing everything this year felt less like a perfectly color-coded calendar and more like a Jenga tower that somehow stayed upright out of sheer stubbornness and maybe two strategically placed blocks. Being a human while running a business and keeping up with a career is wild — not in a glamorous “I’m booked and busy” way, but in a messy, real, “I can’t believe I forgot to eat lunch again” way.

There were weeks when I felt like I had the rhythm down — work was flowing, Spill was moving, I was catching up with friends, hitting the gym, and even remembering to water my plants. And then there were the other weeks, where everything piled up at the exact same time and I was operating on vibes, caffeine, and the hope that nobody would notice I hadn’t responded to their text in eight days.

One thing I actually did well this year was listening to myself more. Noticing when my brain felt fried and letting myself have a quiet night instead of muscling through another task. Realizing when my body needed movement instead of doom scrolling. Choosing to say “I can’t tonight” without drowning in guilt. I wasn’t perfect, but I was more honest with myself — and that made everything feel less heavy.

But one thing I want to do differently next year is stop treating my personal life like extra credit. I want to build actual space for friendships, for rest, for movement, for checking in with myself before I’m already on the verge of burnout. Not as a reward for being productive — but as part of the routine, the same way I’d schedule a meeting or a client call. Because the truth is, balance doesn’t appear out of nowhere. You make it on purpose or it doesn’t happen.

And honestly, as someone who lives in the world of content, analytics, algorithms, and strategy, I have to remind myself constantly that I’m not a machine. Social media pros love to push ourselves past our limits — because there’s always more to do, always another idea to chase, always another platform to keep up with. But when you’re stretched too thin, everything you create starts to sound the same. You lose the spark. You lose your “you-ness.”

The best work I did this year didn’t come from the days I was grinding — it came from the days I was actually living. Laughing with friends. Getting fresh air. Moving my body. Letting myself be a person outside of the screen.

Outside life fuels inside creativity. It always does. And I’m ending this year knowing that the more I invest in the human parts of my life, the better the strategist, creator, friend, and partner I become.

LOSING CLIENTS: THE HEARTBREAK AND THE REALITY CHECK

Losing clients this year hit me in a couple of different ways. Some departures made total sense — timelines shifted, budgets changed, life happened. Others came out of nowhere, landing in my inbox with the kind of email subject line that makes your stomach drop before you even click it. And then there were the frustrating ones… the polite fades, the “we’ll circle back,” the people who mysteriously vanish the moment an invoice is due.

No matter how experienced you are, client loss still stings a little. It’s not always the money — sometimes it’s the connection, the momentum, or just the sheer effort you poured into something that suddenly stops mid-sentence. And even when you know it’s part of the business cycle, your brain still tries to make it personal.

But losing clients forced me to take a hard look at how I was running things — not from a place of shame, but from a place of “okay, something here needs tightening.” I ended up improving parts of my business I probably would’ve ignored if everything had stayed smooth. My onboarding got clearer. My boundaries got sturdier. My communication got more direct. And my systems finally grew up a little — less guessing, more structure, fewer loose ends for things to fall through.

It also pushed me to get honest about alignment. Not every client is meant to stay forever. Some were amazing for a season but weren’t meant to be long-term. Some helped me realize what kind of work lights me up. Others taught me exactly what I don’t want to tolerate again.

And I think that’s the part we don’t talk about enough — losing clients isn’t a failure. It’s a recalibration. It’s the natural ebb and flow of service-based work. It’s space being made, even if you can’t see what’s coming to fill it yet.

This year reminded me that churn is normal. Ghosting is unfortunately normal. Surprise cancellations are normal. It doesn’t make you a bad business owner — it makes you a business owner, period.

And the clients who stayed — or the ones who came later — were better because of what I learned in the losses.

GAINING CLIENTS: THE MOMENTS EVERYTHING CLICKED

If losing clients tested me, gaining clients this year reminded me why I chose this path in the first place. Every new client felt like a tiny universe opening up — aligned personalities, shared values, projects that made me genuinely excited to open my laptop. The kind of people who don’t just hire you, but believe in what you bring to the table.

It felt like the universe tapping me on the shoulder going, “See? You’re not delusional. Keep going.”

Social media work isn’t just about content — it’s about giving people relief, clarity, and confidence in a corner of their business that usually feels overwhelming. It’s about being the person who takes something tangled and hands it back untangled. It’s about making someone feel supported, not judged. And every time a client feels that shift, I feel something inside me click too.

These were the wins that mattered — not the algorithmic spikes or the polished dashboards, but the relationships. The trust. The feeling of someone choosing me not just for execution, but for partnership, creativity, honesty, and insight.

Spill Social has always been built on connection — not clout, not performance, not pretending. And the clients who found me this year reflected that energy back tenfold. They brought momentum with them. They brought ideas. They brought curiosity. They reminded me that community isn’t just a marketing buzzword — it’s the backbone of small business.

And truly, each of them showed me that I’m building something real. Something people can feel. Something people want to be part of.

Those were the moments where everything clicked.

MY YEAR WRAPPED IN NUMBERS

I love getting a yearly 'wrapped' anything. I love data about myself in the least narcissistic way possible because I am a Type-A analyzer to my CORE.

I read 70 books!

I went to 125 fitness classes!

I hit my move goal 295 times this year!

I listened to 55k minutes of music!

My habits that keep me sane surely SHOW!

CLOSING REFLECTION: THE YEAR I STOPPED TRYING TO HAVE A PERFECT PLAN AND STARTED TRUSTING MYSELF

Nothing about 2025 was linear. Nothing went the way I assumed it would. I didn’t stay on the path I thought I was supposed to follow, and honestly, that ended up being the best part. Instead of forcing a plan that wasn’t working anymore, life nudged me (okay, shoved me) into becoming someone more honest, more grounded, and way more myself.

This year asked a lot of me — flexibility, patience, courage, awkward honesty, and the willingness to start again in ways I didn’t always feel ready for. I didn’t handle every moment gracefully, but I handled it. And sometimes that’s the bigger win.

What I’m taking with me into next year isn’t a list of resolutions or a rigid blueprint. It’s something simpler: trust. Trust that I can adjust. Trust that I can rebuild. Trust that I don’t need to know the whole map before taking the next step. Trust that the things falling apart weren’t punishments — they were pivots.

I’m leaving this year proud of the version of me who kept going on the days it felt exciting and the days it felt impossible. Proud of the way I let myself soften instead of harden. Proud of the work I created, the connections I made, the boundaries I learned, and the bravery it took to keep choosing myself, even when the path wasn’t clear.

And if this year taught me anything, it’s that life doesn’t need to look tidy to be meaningful.

It just needs to feel true.

So here’s to the year that reshaped me — not into someone new, but someone real.

And here’s to whatever comes next — knowing I can meet it as I am.