Scratch that. It's only 19.

When I made a graphic of the books I read in 2025, my number was off. I thought I'd read 20.

It was actually only 19.

And for a moment, a slight sense of failure crept in, and brought some of its friends:

𝐺𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓

𝑆𝑒𝑙𝑓-𝑑𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑡

𝐴𝑛𝑥𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑦

𝑅𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑡

𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛

It's absurd.

One book.

But my 2025 was never going to fit neatly into any number.

My mom died earlier in the spring, after three years of living with dementia. I still replay those years. I still wonder what I missed. How I could've served her better, asked different questions about her care, paid closer attention to her emotional needs.

My grief has a weird habit of dragging ordinary moments into a courtroom (which feels fitting, given how many John Grisham novels I read) and handing down a verdict, even when the only job is to miss her.

That quick reaction to "19" was about the way I keep looking for evidence that I did enough, and that I didn't fail the people I love.

Sometimes it stays in my head. Sometimes it picks a random object, like a missing book, and turns it into a referendum.

And then it spills into my relationships. Even the ones I've tried hard to take care of this year. I want to keep showing up before anything is wrong. I want to say the important things out loud while there's still time to say them.

And I’m still not sure about something that matters: Do I actually want to keep managing my own business?

Because I'm looking hard at what it costs, especially for my financial future. But then I come back to what I want my days to look like, and how much more I'm able to invest in myself and my people by having this flexibility.

Without the caregiving routine, I'm noticing my time differently, and I keep asking what I'm willing to give up to keep building a small business.

Do I want to be the one carrying everything, or do I want a role where I can do my part and go home?

I went through a pretty tough mental health period around this same time last year. It opened my eyes to the situations countless others face and how much help people need just to get through one day at a time. While this period was, in its own way, traumatizing, it also allowed me to dig really deep into how I was supporting my SELF and my own healing journey.

And so, regardless of my experience, I'm grateful for it.

Especially if it ends up being a conduit between my experience and being a help to others. And if that's the case, then the Year of the Horse should turn out to be a pretty good one.

“When you learn where you end and the world begins, life becomes kinder.”

According to an annual horoscope website, as a Pisces, I'll do better in 2026 when I know where I end and everyone else begins. My sensitivity needs a plan, not just good intentions. If I set clear limits, stop saying yes out of guilt, I'll be making choices I can stand behind. When I need to pause and check myself, I should ask am I overreaching, overgiving, or trying to manage what is not mine?

My success depends on being practical. I need to spend money with awareness, make decisions based on long-term stability, and treat self-worth like something I build through consistency, not something I earn by taking on more than I should.

Home and feeling like I belong will be brighter this year, and I need to lean into that — on purpose. I define what "home" means for me now, have real conversations about the future, and consider changes that allow me a stronger sense of identity. I will protect my health by taking sleep seriously and caring for my nervous system, because when my energy is balanced, everything else becomes easier to manage.

Oh, and I think I found a solution to the OCD tendency I have to always want to deal in even numbers. The book, The Words That Made Us? Yeah, it was 832 pages. I'm counting it as TWO books read.

So, bump that final number for 2025 back up.