What if getting through your worst year was the whole point?
When it rains it pours, but along comes faith and purpose, maybe it's becoming
Hey I’m Julie, and this year has been all about change - sometimes forced, sometimes desired. If you’re in this in-between era, then I can hopefully inspire you to welcome it instead of fearing it 💬
Yesterday, I turned 34.
As I blew out my candles (yes, I still make wishes), I couldn't help but reflect on what a wild ride 33 was. If years were roller coasters, this one would've come with multiple safety warnings and a "are you sure you want to ride this?" disclaimer.
Here's what 33 threw at me:
Getting married to my favorite person ever in Vegas
Battling a 9cm cyst in my lower back stopping me from any exercise, and seating for months
The heartbreak of giving away our puppy, Dash, due to my husband's severe dog allergy
Dad's cancer diagnosis and losing him just 6 months later
Buying our dream flat in Paris
Another urgent laparoscopy surgery to remove the cyst and relieve the endometriosis
My family (mom and sisters) cutting contact with me because I dared to meet dad without telling them
Getting laid off from a job I loved a month after Dad's passing
Deciding to work for myself again - exactly 10 years after selling my second business in South Africa
Finding purpose and signing my first client 2 weeks after deciding to work for myself
Dreams realized alongside devastating heartaches... but sometimes, that is how we value and count our blessings with this much more love.
What I've learned about trying to ride the waves
As I sit here in my local WeWork on August 11th, I'm wondering what 34 has in store. But honestly? I hope it's gentler. I'm emotionally drained in ways I didn't know were possible.
There were nights, too many to count, where I lay awake at 3 AM wondering why I was even here. What had I done to deserve this particular cocktail of chaos? I'd scroll through Instagram, seeing everyone's highlight reels, feeling like the universe had personally selected me for some twisted life experiment.
The guilt was almost worse than the pain itself. Here I was, privileged in so many ways; living in Paris, married to someone incredible, with opportunities many people dream of, yet feeling completely and utterly lost. How do you explain that contradiction? How do you say "I'm grateful but also drowning" without sounding ungrateful or dramatic?
Those dark nights taught me something crucial though: Privilege doesn't protect you from pain, and having "good things" in your life doesn't invalidate your struggles.
I used to think resilience meant staying strong, keeping it together, being the person everyone could count on. But 33 showed me that real resilience is messier. It's crying in your car after a crappy job interview. It's calling your therapist at 8 AM because you can't stop spiraling. It's admitting you don't have it all figured out, even when everyone expects you to.
Here's what actually kept me afloat:
Faith: not necessarily religious, but faith that this season had meaning, even when I couldn't see it. Some days, faith was just believing I'd feel differently tomorrow.
Purpose in small moments: when everything felt pointless, I'd focus on tiny acts of purpose. Texting a friend going through something hard. Writing one paragraph. Making my husband laugh. Purpose doesn't always have to be grand.
Permission to feel it all: the grief, the anger, the confusion, AND the gratitude. You can hold multiple truths at once. You can be blessed and broken simultaneously.
Here's the thing everyone talks about journaling and "soft girl era" self-care (and trust me, I'm here for it), but what actually kept me going wasn't bubble baths or meditation apps. It was learning to be gentle with myself on the days when gentleness felt impossible.
The question that changed everything:
Instead of "Why is this happening to me?" I started asking "What is this teaching me about who I want to become?"
Maybe that was the whole point of 33: learning that when everything falls apart, you discover parts of yourself you never knew existed. Not just the strong parts, but the tender, scared, beautifully human parts too.
If you're reading this in your own season of "what the hell is happening to my life," please know: You're not broken. You're not ungrateful. You're not too much or not enough. You're human, navigating an impossibly complex world, and that alone is brave.
And Thank YOU for reading me today
xx Julie
Feel free to like it ♥️ or comment 💬 on this newsletter so more Substack readers can find it! Thanks for reading Side Note! This post is public so feel free to share it.
That is a tough year… so many different elements. Really commend you to write about it! Thank you for sharing 🩵
“…and having "good things" in your life doesn't invalidate your struggles.” — this is so true. I can relate to your main point here on many levels although I’ve been experiencing different things, but grief as well. I keep saying to myself I have so many good things I shouldn’t feel this way, but we all can struggle even with the good things. I think the goal is to respect that and simultaneously lean into the little things a lot more than we used to. They matter SO much more than we think.
Sending you strength. ✨