Journey Coaching

I’m often asked, “How are you doing?”

The answer depends on how often someone sees me.

Those who see me once or twice a year, usually through the lens of social media, ask about the book. They want to know how it’s doing. And to be fair, it’s doing really well. Better than I ever imagined. Ranking in the top 0.01% of all books sold on Amazon feels surreal, and I feel more grateful than I know how to articulate. In those moments, excitement about the future comes easily.

Those who see me once every quarter, at a networking event I casually dip into, tilt their heads when they ask the same question. That tilt is familiar. It’s the signal that they notice something is different but don’t quite want to name it. They accept my polite, practiced response of “all is well.” “Sure… all is good.” It’s enough to dismiss their intuition and protect the deeper truth I’m not ready to share.

Those who see me nearly every month look me in the eye and ask, “Are you okay?”
They already know the answer. I’ve never had much of a poker face. When I try, it fails me anyway. “You look sad,” they say, right as my face betrays me and the tears start forming despite my best efforts.

And those who see me daily don’t ask how I’m doing.
They ask how the nightmares have been.

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I’ve seen a lot of heartache in my life. Depression has knocked on my door more times than I can count. Grief has been a shadow that threatens, at times, to bury me.

Yet, even with all of that, I had never truly felt hopeless.

Until this year.

2025 broke me in ways I never imagined possible.

Most days, I’ve been moving on autopilot. Just barely. Going through motions without momentum. The broken pieces of my heart lean toward love and hope, even as they remain in direct conflict with the pain I feel in every single heartbeat.

As this year finally comes to an end, I find that my small, fragile hopes for peace and love in the new year are starting to grow again.

And that terrifies me even more.

I feel as though I’ve spent so much of my lifetime trying to heal some kind of brokenness. I would love, just once, to have a season where love finds me. Where it wraps its arms around me without conditions or lessons or loss.

I don’t need money.
I don’t need things.

I just want love.
Love and kindness.
Gentle souls.
Restoration.

That’s it.

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I’m not someone who puts much stock in predictions, fortune cookies, zodiac signs, or numerology. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy them in a lighthearted way. But I have to admit, when I came across the symbolism tied to 2025, it struck me as strangely poetic.

2025 is the Year of the Wood Snake (January 29, 2025 – February 16, 2026). In Chinese astrology, the Wood Snake represents transformation, intuition, wisdom, and shedding what no longer fits. The wood element adds themes of growth, flexibility, and quiet nurturing. It’s not about aggressive expansion, it’s about refinement and deep inner work.

At the same time, 2025 is a Universal Year 9 in numerology, the end of a nine-year cycle. A year of completion, reflection, and release. A year that asks us to let go, close chapters, and prepare for what comes next.

Together, these two systems point to the same truth:
2025 is about shedding skin. Ending what no longer serves. Clearing space. Preparing for renewal in 2026, the Year of the Horse, a Year 1. New beginnings.

What’s interesting is that the last time I experienced a Universal Year 9 was in 2016, the year I rebuilt my life from the ground up. I filed for divorce in January of that year. Eleven months later, when the divorce was finalized and 2016 closed, I was no longer the same person who entered it.

This year, releasing my book feels like another closing of a door. Proof that something meaningful can come from endings. That something good can emerge when we finally let go of relationships, or systems, that aren’t just toxic, but soul-killing.

While 2025 crushed my heart, nearly broke my spirit, and tested my faith in what I still hold true…that genuine, unconditional love can heal….I’m looking toward 2026 with cautious hope.

Hope that passion will be reignited.
Hope that love will find me when I need it most.
Hope that restoration doesn’t always have to hurt this much first.

Here’s to a fresh start in 2026.

with all my love, xoxo J