I’m back in my favorite supporting role: Passenger Princess.

This time not for survival, errands, or medical missions … but for leisure. A rare species.

I’m helping my partner tick something off his to-do list, and yes, I complained (lightly, for sport) that he could have taken a friend. But secretly? I’m happy I’m the one he thought of first. Front seat. Good music. Window thoughts unlocked.

The road does that to me.

It loosens something. The juices start flowing. Thoughts wander. Life gets reviewed somewhere between traffic lights and coffee stops.

It’s a new year. And, surprisingly, a new me.

For the first time in the last two or three years, I can say this without flinching: I am content. I’m happy again. Life rolls. Days unfold without resistance. And when things come at me, I can actually tackle them instead of just surviving them.

Yesterday I had an interesting conversation about exactly that: What changed?

Before, my internal hierarchy looked like this: family, work, me… and then the rest of the universe. Last few years, if I’m honest, it was more like work, work, work, and occasional guilt breaks labeled “family.”

Then Lyme entered the chat.

And with it, a forced re-ordering.

Now it’s me, family, work.

Not because I stopped caring, but because I stopped trying to save everyone. I started focusing on making myself thrive. And here’s the wild part: doing that consistently actually put me on the right path.

Since mid-October last year, I’ve been… good. Steady. Grounded.

This year I doubled down and built a me-routine, nothing dramatic, just intentional. Mornings with light movement, dry brushing to wake up the lymphatic system, protein and fiber like they’re non-negotiable friends, supplements lined up like a small pharmacy of self-respect. Immune-support plants quietly standing guard, making sure Lyme knows it’s no longer welcome here.

Next week, I’ll drive to Belgium to a hormonal clinic, because premenopause doesn’t get to run this show unchallenged. Thriving is a strategy now, not a mood.

And the result?

I’m thriving. I’m loving life again. I advocate for myself and my needs without apologizing. I enjoy my work, with boundaries, gently quieting my inner workaholic midget when it starts yelling for attention.

It feels good to feel like myself again.

Familiar. Calm. Capable.

Passenger Princess, yes, but very much in charge of the destination.

May all this continue.

I’m writing this from the couch.

Again.

I’m cuddled up with my sausage dog, who believes his life’s purpose is to act as a hot water bottle with opinions. This exact spot is where I’ve spent most of my days this year, except this time, I’m actually happy.

Because 2025 is over.

And honestly? Good riddance.

It was the kind of year that came with too many doctor visits, too many pills, and far too many mornings where the alarm rang and I thought, Absolutely not. I did not sign up for this episode.

There were days when just starting a new day felt like an extreme sport. The kind with no medals and questionable safety regulations.

There were moments when I wished it would all just… stop.

Not dramatically.

Just quietly. Like a laptop shutting down after too many open tabs.

But here we are. Still together. Still laughing. Still healing. Still choosing each other, even when we’re exhausted versions of ourselves.

We ended the year surrounded by extended family, which meant a lot of cooking, a lot of shopping, and even more laughing. Chaos, but the good kind. And somehow the house felt fuller, warmer, and louder, in the comforting way that reminds you you’re not doing life alone.

Looking back, 2025 wasn’t only bad.

(It just tried very hard to be.)

I learned to say “no” without writing a three-page apology afterward.

I learned to enjoy me-time in the sauna, where my thoughts sweat as much as the rest of me.

I enjoyed having a dog back into the house and remembered what unconditional love looks like , it has short legs, judgmental eyes, and follows me to the bathroom.

I was sick for most of the year, but I kept getting up.

I fought.

I took more pills in ten months than I had in my entire life combined, a true achievement I do not wish to repeat.

And I’m not perfect now.

But I’m about 90% back, and if this were a phone battery, I’d be thrilled.

I stopped smoking.

I became more resilient.

I learned that strength doesn’t always look heroic, sometimes it looks like getting out of bed, making tea, and deciding not to quit today.

As for 2026, my wish list is simple (and boring, which is how I like my goals now):

Be healthy.

Keep working on it, without rushing the journey.

I want more time with my family.

Spend less time on devices.

Continue learning german.

Continue my sacred sauna me-time, where my thoughts sweat it out before I do.

More cuddles with my lovely pets.

More quiet moments where nothing hurts and nobody needs anything urgently.

As the final hours of 2025 slip away, I let the weight fall off my shoulders.

This year took enough.

I don’t step into 2026 loudly.

I step into it whole.

With scars. With hope. With a body still learning how to trust itself again.

I cheer not for what I lost,but for what stayed.

Love. Family. Warmth. Me.

Here’s to softer days, stronger nights,

and a year that lets me breathe.

Welcome, 2026.

I’m ready … gently.