2025: The year of trauma

As I start writing this, I am hesitant to publish it because of the way my priorities and attitude towards my online spaces has changed over time, but I also know that writing has long been a huge part of my life since I was very young. I used to be ashamed to admit that writing was therapeutic; that writing is a form of creation that means a lot to me; that sharing my words made me develop my own voice and skill for writing; even that publishing in my own space evokes different feelings from writing in a journal. I often feared the reactions from people about writing being nerdy, “too intelligent” for regular conversations, or frankly that none of them would share the same passion I have. But this year has been difficult in ways that feel a lot similar to how difficult life felt twenty years ago—even though I was more naïve, hadn’t lived very much life, and had a different perspective. This time I feel like I must honour my inner child, who never saw herself as a strong person, and never saw the light at the end of the tunnel. So much of the hardship I’ve gone through this year would have been terrifying for her to fathom. A year filled with life-shattering, upsetting disarray. But if she did not hold on, then I would not be here.

Dear Georgie, you are stronger than you think.

My nine-year-long relationship ended last year in 2024. Nine years is a long time to spend with someone, living day after day with routine and expectations, and disorienting to then have it disappear and leave you trying to find the person you want to, have to, need to, start being. Loneliness and rejection became a familiar feeling week after week. Sometimes it did not matter how many people were holding my hand or keeping me afloat; it didn’t matter how many people or how loudly they were calling my name. I knew who I was, but I felt like a shell of a person as I discarded pieces that were too painful to keep, as I waded neck-deep in a tide of my own tears.

It is not enough to describe the hardship purely by the incidents that occurred this year, but the analogy I used in my Hello darkness, my old friend post about trying to get up only to be knocked back down again, made it feel like every incident was a sign that the universe was against me. I was reluctant to share my feelings and experiences until I had time to process what was happening. I took a holiday to the U.S., U.K., and Belgium in March, focused heavily on seeing friends old and new, now that I had no obligation to a relationship. The premise of travelling solo scared me as it had done in the past, but I felt I needed this. I am not one to physically run away from my problems by way of travel, but planning to see friends across the seas after a traumatic life event reminded me of why I felt a hole of loneliness for a long time: many of my friends were abroad.

The pain was exacerbated by being interrogated at Los Angeles airport upon my arrival (after a 12 hour flight, mind you), taken to a room and questioned about why I was visiting, whom I was travelling with, when I was leaving, what my day job was, how much money I earn, my marital status, when exactly my relationship ended, my ex’s cultural background, and other questions that made me wish I wasn’t alive in that moment. I don’t often feel that I miss Mum, but in that very moment I felt like a child wanting to cry and cling onto their mother’s arm, knowing my mum would protect and defend me; that she would remind me that I was loved and that everything would be OK.

In my last post about my highlights from New York, I shared about having confused feelings when leaving Phoenix, and now I feel like the meaning is clearer. While there are multiple sides to every story and the water is muddy, my feelings remain valid, and I felt like I’d been used and taken advantage of when I was vulnerable. Some moments from the past couple of years haunted me throughout the year, reminding me of upsetting experiences from my youth. Signs that I probably should not have let my guard down, should not have let people in, and should have kept my mouth shut. I have long been a person who easily puts trust into others, and I felt like once again, it blew up in my face. Younger Georgie knows this, except she didn’t have the emotional maturity to handle it. I cannot let her down. I want to say that I’ve learned my lesson this time, but those who have been in the same position know that sometimes it is so hard to get there.

Even after seeking some professional advice, I have realised a few things. It is difficult to mentally undo years of people-pleasing and giving so much to others when they don’t give back. It sucks like hell to experience the effects of being the kind of person who wears their heart on their sleeve. It takes time to speak up and work on the skill of assertiveness. It takes a lot of work to undo having fear of other people’s responses when you don’t tell them what they want to hear.

I spent a lot of time and energy on an emotional talk I gave at Devcamp—my work offsite event—titled Ctrl + Z: Things in my career that I’ve tried to undo, as well as organising the event itself. Giving the talk was cathartic, honest, and I threw in and encouraged everyone in the audience to repeat after me: it’s cool to cry. I touched a few people, I am pretty sure. I wouldn’t undo anything in my career, per se, but moments like burning myself out while working and studying full-time, crying in front of my manager, and being fixated on everyone but myself became moments I reflected on later, and realised how much I’d learned and how far I’d come.

While it is cool to cry, on that long drive back home after the event, feeling a little overstimulated as I spoke to Chris in the passenger seat, an ungracious police officer signalled for me to pull over and said I’d committed a traffic offence, and I spent a significant portion of the drive home in uncontrollable tears. The offence wasn’t explained properly and I was further reprimanded for pulling over on the side of the road at that specific spot, when I had merely been doing what I was told and what I knew to be in accordance with the law. Although Chris offered to take the wheel if I needed a moment, I reflected on the recent stress in my life and told him that I tried so hard, so much of the time, and questioned why it had to blow up in my face. I was stubborn and I knew I was strong, so I let myself cry as I continued driving, tears streaming down my cheeks.

For the past fifteen years, I have gone through a journey of being overconfident while driving, almost causing accidents because of my reckless driving, then ceasing to drive for many years as I opted for public transport or relied on my ex to drive. I became anxious to drive even a short distance and it took some time for me to gain that confidence back. When this happened, I felt like a failure. I wasn’t about to boast that I’d been reckless and never been injured or caused injury to anyone. I was crying for the careful work I’d put into being OK again, for the anxiety I’d slowly overcome by offering myself more time, preparation, comfort and support while sitting behind the wheel of a vehicle. I was crying about that being the thing that people couldn’t see, and all they saw was a woman of colour with big sunglasses, probably thinking she was a damn hot-shot, and who the hell does she think she is, driving a brightly coloured car with a custom licence plate.

I have spent countless drives coughing and sputtering tears, or quietly crying while listening to Olivia Dean’s Let Alone The One You Love. Her songs give me hope, but that particular one feels like a story I had been living. An old friend of mine, who often used to text me while sitting in their car—not ready to leave the car after a drive—had said, “cars are places of solitude”. It was a joke, but I have never disagreed with it. It was even on these brief drives to go grocery shopping, to the gym, or to a medical centre, that I had out-of-body moments of seeing myself on my own, in my car, driving to some place not very far, by myself, feeing alone. It was during these moments that I could not stop the lump in my throat from turning into choked sobs, as I hoped fellow drivers could not tell that I was crying behind my sunglasses.

I was on my walk home one rainy afternoon when I missed a phone call because I was holding my umbrella. I called back as soon as I could. The bad news was that I had to move house. It had not been long since I’d settled into a place that I was beginning to love. These things happen, but I was angry. I looked for someone to blame, but I knew there was no-one to blame. I reflected on how much time and energy it had taken to move my things, re-purchase furniture and appliances that I did not want to take with me from where I used to live, how I’d decorated my home so far, and even the building and the neighbourhood I lived in. I repeated my journey, but it was as upsetting and time consuming as it had been the first time. Every morning I would use my phone to scroll through dozens of new places, trying to find something that would make moving as easy as possible without sacrificing even the little I had built.

Desperation kicked in when I made phone calls, offered more money, and sprinted back to my place post-inspection to secure a place in the same building. Relieving as it may have been to receive approval to move into the place down the hall, every moment of the application process reminded me of how I had hidden this from my immediate family the first time I did it. They have been so supportive since, but I had flashbacks of the terror I initially had in preparation for breaking the news to them.

During this age of the internet and many people connecting with others primarily on social media, I found myself receiving messages from people who were not in my inner circle of friends, making comments or asking questions based on the knowledge that they had of my life as I’d portrayed it online. The way my online presence appeared was not accurate to my life circumstances, and it was not my prerogative but my absolute right for it to be that way. Unfortunately, some things are beyond my control, and it didn’t help that a video circulated that directed some attention towards me, along with the assumption that I was still in a relationship.

There has been an abundance of reminders throughout the year, but I think I have gotten to the point where providing explanation about my relationship status is less upsetting than it was before. I rarely offered the explanation to anyone, deciding I would do so in my own time or if the topic was raised. It has not been easy. For similar reasons to those I mentioned earlier about being somewhat of an open book, I struggled to find a balance between ensuring privacy was respected, avoiding an emotional breakdown, and knowing when I could tap someone on the shoulder to ask for support.

That brings me here, to a place where I know I’m doing better than I was. Things will still hurt. I am still repairing myself. I am still figuring things out. I am putting one foot in front of the other, and every day, I am a little closer to peace. I’ve shed tears while writing this, but what are we, if not human?

While I want so badly to mic-drop dramatically and end with “2025, you can go in the fucking bin”, I won’t—if only for younger Georgie.

Dear Georgie,

Things don’t stop being hard. You’ll always get obstacles, big and small. What changes is that you get better at coping with them. You are a strong person, and you will become stronger. Believe in yourself and do not give up.

You will achieve so much, and you should be so proud of yourself when you do. All these years later, you will still be writing. There will be times when you don’t, and it doesn’t feel like something you want to do, but you will return like a phoenix rising from the ashes. You will get better at your craft.

You will make so many friends, but there will be some special close ones. They will understand you to the moon and back. Even if it doesn’t seem like it now, you are loved. You have and will continue to inspire people, even if you don’t know, but especially those closest to you. You are not alone. Remember, you always have yourself.

Your friend,
Georgie