Lessons from Year 32: What This Year Taught Me About Growth, Grief, and Becoming

This Sunday I turn 33.

And lately, I’ve felt a quiet kind of pride—not just in what I’ve built, but in how I’ve grown. This past year wasn’t about shiny milestones. It was about deep shifts. Private victories. Inner healing. Choosing softness when I wanted to shut down, and walking away when I would’ve once clung.

1. Just because it started off aligned doesn’t mean it’s meant to last forever.

Things can serve their purpose and still reach a natural end. I’ve learned to honor the timing of things—and let go with love.

2. I’m allowed to change my mind.

I used to think consistency made me trustworthy. But what really builds trust? Honoring my truth as it evolves.

3. Discipline doesn’t have to feel punishing.

When I stopped trying to control my body and started caring for it, everything shifted. Now, movement and structure feel like devotion—not self-denial.

4. Love doesn’t have to be confusing. In fact, it shouldn’t be.

I’m done romanticizing uncertainty. Real love feels safe, clear, and mutual. Period.

5. Growth isn’t always loud.

Sometimes the most powerful moments are the quiet ones—like realizing something didn’t bother me this time. That I didn’t overreact. That I’ve changed.

6. Closing the studio broke my heart—and taught me how to surrender.

This year asked me to release something I poured everything into. It didn’t fail. It transformed.
And so did I, because I needed to learn how to pour everything into myself first.

7. I can be proud of the life I’ve built.

One morning this spring, I woke up and realized: I’m living the dream life I used to only imagine. That’s worth pausing for. I’m always striving for more, and I forget—I’m already in the dream.

8. My creativity shows up in the everyday.

This year, I started playing with makeup, learning how to do my nails, experimenting in the kitchen, and dreaming up new experiences. I realized creativity isn’t just about art or business—it’s about how I express myself, care for myself, and move through the world.

9. The dream wasn’t independence—it was community.

I spent so long trying to prove I could do it all alone. But this year reminded me: I don’t want to. Being held by a village—whether through moon circles, shared meals, or group texts—is the real dream.

10. Just because I’m a cycle breaker doesn’t mean everyone else is.

That’s okay. Not everyone will understand the work I’m doing or the path I’ve chosen. This year, I had hard but healing conversations—especially with my mom—about machismo in Mexican culture. Being a cycle breaker means leading with compassion and continuing the work, not in spite of my family, but for them.

11. My intuition comes first.

This year taught me to trust my instincts—even when others doubted my choices. I learned that my inner sense of knowing can guide me through even the toughest decisions.

12. Being soft doesn’t make me any less powerful.

There’s strength in tenderness. In choosing to stay open when it would be easier to shut down or run away.

13. I’m allowed to want more.

More rest. More love. More abundance. More joy. Not because I’m lacking—but because I’m expansive.

Here’s to 33

If year 32 was about surrender, then 33 is about softness, strength, and showing up fully. Not because I have to—but because I get to. I’m walking into this next year with gratitude, trust, and a heart wide open. And maybe most of all—I’m ready to fall even deeper in love. With my life, with the people around me, and with myself.

Thanks for being part of my journey.

With so much love,
Coreen