Beginning Again After a Heavy Year: A reflection on grief, burnout, and getting through

As a new year begins, once again I’m noticing my social media once again filled with reflections of the year that has just passed — smiling faces, big moments, “look how far I’ve come” captions. Trips, promotions, celebrations, milestones. People sharing what the last year brought them.

And honestly — I do enjoy seeing those things.

But at the start of a new year, I also notice how easy it is to quietly start taking stock of your own year and comparing it to everyone else’s. To wonder if it somehow didn’t measure up. To feel like everyone else found momentum, while you were just trying to survive.

Because the truth is, not every year is a highlight reel.

Some years are heavy.

Some years take more than they give.

And for many of us — myself included — last year was one of those years.

When a Year Carries Too Much

For me, last year wasn’t defined by one single loss or one defining event. It was a lot of things adding up quietly, almost without me noticing.

The loss of my bonus dad — someone I had shared long, meaningful life conversations with. Someone I loved deeply and learned from. Being with him at the end of his life was not simple or peaceful in the way he (and we, for him) hoped it might be. I spent far more time fighting systems and advocating for what he had clearly asked for than I did simply sitting, holding space, and mourning. And that was hard, especially in my line of work.

There is a particular kind of grief that comes with that. Grief mixed with anger. Exhaustion. A sense of injustice that doesn’t resolve just because the person you love is gone.

Alongside that, I supported close friends through heavy losses and life-altering events. I walked with people through moments that changed them forever. I held space for clients carrying deep grief, trauma, and heartbreak.

Some years don’t arrive with one clear breaking point. They build quietly and slowly, through layers of responsibility, care, advocacy, and emotional labour — and eventually, the weight of it all makes itself known.

When Burnout Quietly Sets In

Like many people, I started last year with intention. Not rigid resolutions — just hopes for personal and professional growth, being more present, finding meaning, and feeling steadier and more grounded.

But life had other ideas.

Last year asked more of me emotionally than I ever expected. There were stretches where I felt worn thin, mentally and emotionally. Not because I wasn’t capable — but because I was human, and there is only so much any one person can carry.

Burnout quietly made its way in. Not from doing too much, but from caring deeply for a long time without enough room to recover. I’ll write more about that another time.

And then there’s comparison — the quiet kind. Watching others move forward. Build things. Celebrate milestones. I knew better than to measure my year against someone else’s, but that doesn’t stop the questions from creeping in.

“Why does it feel like everyone else moved forward, while I’m just exhausted?”

What I’ve been reminded of is this: some years aren’t about growth in the way we usually imagine it. Some years are about getting through — one moment, one day, one foot in front of the other.

Last year wasn’t a year for building something new.

It was about meeting each day as it came.

What Actually Counted

There were no big, flashy accomplishments to point to last year. But there were things that mattered.

I kept showing up — even when it was hard.

I didn’t fully recognize how much my capacity was shrinking until my body began pushing back.

I slowed down where I could and stayed connected, as burnout moved in.

Some evenings were quiet. Some days were about doing less. Some weeks were about simply getting to the next one.

These don’t make for impressive social media posts. But they are real. And they count.

In heavy years, surviving isn’t a failure — it’s an act of resilience.

Rethinking the New Year

As this new year begins, I find myself wanting to approach this season differently.

Instead of asking, What did I accomplish?

I’m asking, what helped me get through — what helped me stay steady, connected and grounded — and what will I do differently moving forward.

You don’t have to wrap the year up neatly. You don’t have to frame it as a lesson or a victory. Sometimes, acknowledging that a year was hard is enough.

If this year stretched you, exhausted you, or changed you, you’re not failing — you’re doing what makes sense after a hard year

Holding Space for Each Other

One thing this year reinforced for me is how much people carry quietly.

Not everyone shares their struggles. Not everyone names their exhaustion. Some people look “fine” on the outside while holding enormous weight underneath.

As we head into the new year, I encourage a bit more gentleness — with ourselves and with each other. Checking in. Leaving room for honesty. Understanding that someone’s quietness might not be busyness, but fatigue or grief.

Sometimes a simple, “I’m thinking of you” can matter more than we realize.

Moving Forward, Gently

I don’t believe a new year needs grand declarations or perfectly formed goals. For me, the focus is simpler.

Listening to my capacity.

Making room for rest and recovery.

Being honest about what’s sustainable.

Letting care — not pressure — guide what comes next.

There will be time to talk more about burnout, boundaries, and rebuilding. For now, this moment is about acknowledging what last year asked of us — and what it took to get here.

If This Year Was Heavy for You Too

If you’re reading this and thinking, Yes — this was a hard one, I want you to know you’re not alone.

It’s okay if you’re entering the new year tired. It’s okay if you’re unsure. It’s okay if you’re not ready to “move on.”

Instead of resolutions, maybe this year is about intention. About care. About doing what helps you stay steady.

And if your year was lighter, I truly celebrate that. All I ask is that we hold space for those whose year was not.

Closing Thoughts

This year asked a lot — of me, and of many people I care about. As I step into this new year, I’m carrying forward honesty, humility, and a deeper respect for limits — my own and others’.

Here’s to a new year that allows for softness, truth, and grace.

For resting when we need to.

For showing up when we can.

And for remembering that not every year is meant to shine — some are about getting through.

If this resonated, you’re not alone. And you don’t have to figure the next year out all at once.