Growing Through The Messy Middle✨

This year asked a lot of me. It asked me to show up as a business owner, a clinician, a student, a mom of two tiny humans, a wife, and somewhere in there, as just me.

It wasn't always graceful. Some days I was running on cold coffee and sheer stubbornness. Some days I forgot things, lost my keys, missed the mark. Some days I sat in my car for an extra five minutes just to have a cry. And honestly? Some days all of that happened before 9am. 💜

But even in the mess, there were lessons. Here's what 2025 taught me:

📍 That receiving an ADHD diagnosis in your thirties isn't a flaw revealed, it's finally having a map for a brain you've been navigating without one. It explained so much, and I wish I could go back and tell younger me, "You're not broken, your brain just works differently."

📍 That building something meaningful doesn't require having it all together, it requires showing up anyway.

📍 That motherhood is hard. Really hard. We live in a society that asks way too much of moms, and I've felt that weight. The mental load, the invisible labour, the constant feeling that I'm not doing enough while simultaneously doing everything. But what I need to focus on isn't being the perfect mom. My kids don't need that. They need a present one who sometimes says, "Mommy needs a minute," and means it. They're watching how I treat myself, and that matters more than a Pinterest-perfect lunchbox ever will.

📍 That rest is not a reward for productivity. It's the thing that makes everything else possible. I'm still learning this one.

📍 That asking for help is not a sign of weakness. It's one of the bravest things we can do, and it's something I preach far more easily than I practice.

📍 That I cannot do all the things, and I was never meant to. Boundaries aren't about saying no to everything, they're about saying yes to what aligns most closely with who I am, my values, and where I want to go. The rest? It can wait, or it can go.

📍 That grief doesn't always look like losing a person. This year, I said goodbye to my family's cottage, the place my Nana and Papa built before I was born. For 36 years it was my safe place, my return home to self. I'll never walk through that door again or share it with my children the way it was shared with me. Loving something deeply means it leaves a mark when it's gone, and that's not weakness, that's love.

📍 That the life I'm building, Aura, the farm, our family, my education, doesn't have to look like anyone else's. It just has to feel like mine.

Growth and grief walked side by side this year. And I'm learning that's okay. 💚

So here's what I'm carrying into 2026: 🌱

💜 I will honour the way my brain works, not fight against it.

💜 I will keep building, even when it's messy.

💜 I will choose presence over perfection.

💜 I will protect my rest like it matters, because it does.

💜 I will ask for help before I'm drowning, not after.

💜 I will protect my boundaries and choose what aligns with my values.

💜 I will make space for both the hard and the beautiful.

💜 I will leave others' criticism and judgment where it belongs, with them.

💜 I will keep building a life that feels like mine.

Being a therapist doesn't mean I have it all together. It means I believe in the work. It means I sit in the mess alongside you. It means I know firsthand that healing isn't linear, and that self-compassion isn't a luxury, it's a necessity. I need it just as much as anyone. 🫶

To anyone else holding a lot right now: you're not behind. You're not too much. You're not failing. You're in the middle of your story, and that takes courage. I see you. 💜

Here's to carrying forward what this year taught us, leaving behind what no longer fits, and stepping into 2026 with intention and compassion, for ourselves and each other. ✨💚

With warmth,

Jamie-Lynn 💜