A Friday That Changed Everything

A Friday That Changed Everything
7:37 AM — Friday 26th September 2025

This morning wasn’t my usual Friday. I woke up to a sky painted deep red — one of those sunsets that stops you in your tracks. And then I opened my messages. The news waiting there wasn’t about me directly, but the ripple of it landed hard.

I’ve always believed in prioritising family, health, and showing up for the people you love. But “family” is a complicated word. Sometimes it’s the people you share blood with. Sometimes it’s the ones who aren’t related at all but love you in ways blood never did. This morning reminded me how fragile those connections can feel — and how endings can arrive when you least expect them.

Lately, it feels like everything is coming at once: not one challenge, but two, three, four, five. Life has a way of testing you hardest right when you’re stepping up, right when you’ve declared you’re ready for change. And yet, even in this storm, I know one thing: nothing has ever broken me.

What has shifted is how I meet it. In the past, I would have pushed it all down, hidden the tears, hidden the struggle. Vulnerability has been used against me before — my fears weaponised, my pain exploited. So I built walls. But today, I let them crack. I cried. I admitted I was scared. I admitted I was tired. And instead of shaming myself for it, I let the release come.

On my weekly call this morning, we read from Let Them by Mel Robbins. The words couldn’t have been more timely: people can’t be forced to change. Shame doesn’t serve healing. And accountability starts with ourselves. The truth landed hard — if I want change, I have to choose it. No one else can do it for me.

This is the moment I choose me.

Not because it’s easy, but because the old cycles are too heavy to carry any longer. This chapter — as painful and raw as it is — is the one that breaks the pattern. The one that says: enough.

I know the grief and fear won’t last forever. I know I will rebuild, because I always do. On the other side of this will be growth, impact, and change I can’t yet see. But for now, I’m letting myself feel it. I’m giving myself the same love and gentleness I would give anyone else who came to me in pain.

This is my reminder — to myself, and maybe to you — that it’s okay to sit in the mess. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to admit you’re not okay. Because from here, real change begins.