What Chapter 33 Taught Me

I turn 34 this week, which feels so weird to say. My age gage has just been flipped on it's head, I don't even know what I consider an adult anymore hahahaa. But usually when I think back on a year of my life, I think about the fun stuff first. The trips. The work wins. The exciting opportunities. The things I created. The moments that made me feel like I was moving forward. But 33 doesn’t really feel like that kind of year. It wasn’t a collection of incredible things happening to me. It was more like a collection of obstacles, changes, uncomfortable realizations, responsibilities, boundaries, and moments where I had to decide how I wanted to handle what was in front of me. I don’t think I performed at my best this year. I don’t think I produced at my best. There were stretches where I felt slower, more tired, less creative, less consistent, and less like the version of myself I’m used to being. And yet, strangely, I think I grew more this year than I have during some of the years that looked far more successful from the outside. So before I turn 34, these are 12 things 33 taught me.

1. Not every important year looks successful

I think I used to measure a good year by what I could point to. What did I accomplish? What did I earn? What did I create? What exciting thing happened? It's why I always chased awards and recognitions, because I couldn't decide if I did a good enough job, but typically an award would mean I probably did a good enough job.

Thirty-three taught me that some of the most important years of your life might not look impressive at all. Sometimes growth looks like getting through something you never wanted to go through, like adjusting your expectations. and learning how to function differently when life has changed underneath you. There are years for collecting trophies, and there are years for building stronger bones. I think 33 was a bone-building year.

2. Grief keeps changing shape

The loss of my dad did not exist inside one clean moment. There was the journey leading up to losing him, that was harder than I expected. Then, there was his actual passing. And after that, there was everything that came afterward. So to expect yourself (or anyone) to feel it like one day, is downright outrageous. I haven't faced grief since 2009, and back then it hit like a mac truck. Almost so many losses it was hard to comprehend or process any of it.

With my Dad's passing, there were family dynamics to navigate, history to process, practical things to deal with and emotional things I didn’t necessarily have words for. And of course my natural need to be a rock for everyone around me. My grief morphed in so many ways over the last 3 years, (The 2 of his cancer fight, and the last year of our loss), and going through it as an adult is so different than being a teenager. Now, I'm a parent, a partner, a business owner, all things that already require so much of you already. Grief has a strange way of creating new responsibilities while simultaneously taking away your ability to function at full capacity.

3. Being capable does not mean I have to carry everything

I am very good at figuring things out. Sometimes that is a gift but sometimes it becomes a trap. When you’re the person who can handle things, people often assume you will. And sometimes you assume that too. But being capable does not mean every responsibility belongs to me. I’m learning the difference between stepping up because something matters to me and stepping up because I automatically believe I should be the one to fix it.

4. Asking for what I deserve can create opportunities that didn’t exist before

One of my biggest professional breakthroughs this year started because I was dissatisfied.

I felt like there weren't enough platforms for the everyday adult creator, and I wasn’t seeing what I felt I deserved, or my community deserved from a platform I had put many years of time and effort into... and instead of just quietly accepting that or complaining about it forever, I decided to put myself out there. I reached out. I talked to someone I believed could create something better, more competitive, and more aligned with what creators needed in 2026.

I pitched, not as an investor or partner, but someone who was just desperate to see a change for my community. That eventually became YourVids. What I love about that experience is that the opportunity didn’t simply fall into my lap. It came from recognizing that I believed that we deserved something better and being willing to risk hearing no. Sometimes the door you’re waiting for does not exist yet. Sometimes you have to knock on the wall and ask someone to build one.

5. A good opportunity can still be the wrong opportunity

This one was difficult for me. There were opportunities this year that I genuinely wanted.

Things that sounded exciting. Things I would have been proud to say yes to. Things that, at another point in my life, I probably would have accepted immediately simply because I was afraid they might never come around again. But this time, I said no.

Not because they were bad opportunities, but because the timing didn't feel right. That distinction has become really important to me. Something can be impressive and still not be right for your life, and for me - I really need to trust my intuition. And unfortunately the day I had to make my choice, the President of the US threated to annihilate an entire country, while ICE agents were increasing in airports. As a sex worker traveling across the border is stressful and nerve wracking enough. As a middle eastern woman, in the height of everything, I was just not feeling safe.

6. I don’t have to react to everything

One thing I’ve gotten better at this year is realizing that not every situation requires an immediate response from me. Not every misunderstanding needs to be corrected, and not every uncomfortable situation needs to become a battle. That doesn’t mean I’ve become passive. If anything, I think I’ve become more intentional about when I speak.. but I'm still learning. There is a difference between standing up for yourself and feeling obligated to respond every time someone pulls at you. Sometimes the healthiest thing I can do is say what needs to be said once and then let people do whatever they are going to do with it.

I’m still learning this one, but I think 33 taught me that protecting my peace sometimes looks less like winning the argument and more like deciding I don’t need to participate in it. I've been intentionally practicing being and staying calm. Being neurodivergent means I can be overwhelmed quickly and react, so I'm more aware of that now.

7. Privacy and secrecy are not the same thing

I share a lot of myself publicly, but I’ve also learned that some things become more meaningful when they belong to just me. There are pieces of my family, my relationships, my grief, my fears, and my life that I could share but choose not to. Not because I am hiding them, but because they are just mine. I don’t think every beautiful thing needs to become content. Some parts of your life deserve to exist without an audience.

8. Your body will eventually ask you to pay attention

I have always been pretty good at monitoring myself. Sometimes too good. I can notice something, analyze it, research it, track it, adapt around it, and continue functioning for quite a while before actually stopping and saying, “Maybe I need help with this.” This year I started addressing health things that I had put off, minimized, or simply tried to manage on my own.

9. Productivity is not the only evidence that I am moving forward

This has probably been one of the hardest lessons for me. I like being productive.

I like creating things. I like working. I like having something to show for my time.

But when I look back, I can also see that I was doing other work. I was learning boundaries, dealing with grief, advocating for myself and rebuilding routines, taking care of my health, navigating family changes. Some progress is annoyingly invisible and I would very much prefer all growth to come with a gold star sticker chart.

10. The connections got stronger

One of the nicest things about this year has been realizing how much some of my relationships have grown. I feel closer to my partner, my mom, my siblings, and my friends. I’ve also built stronger professional relationships with people I genuinely respect and enjoy working with, and I don’t think that happened by accident. Relationships need attention. They need honesty, patience, effort, forgiveness, check-ins, showing up, and sometimes just making the time when life is busy and everyone is tired. I think I’ve become more aware of the people who make my life feel fuller, safer, funnier, more supported, and more understood.

Some relationships grew because we went through difficult things together. Some grew because we simply made more effort... and I think one of the best parts of getting older is becoming more intentional about the people you keep close.

11. I’ve gotten better at telling myself the truth

I’ve always trusted myself to figure things out. What I think I got better at this year was being honest with myself about what actually needed figuring out in the first place. They’re things like admitting that something isn’t working anymore. That you’re more exhausted than you want to acknowledge. That an opportunity you wanted doesn’t actually fit your life. That you’re disappointed. That you’ve been avoiding something. That you need help. I think I’ve spent less time this year trying to negotiate with reality. If something hurts, it hurts. If something isn’t working, pretending a little harder probably isn’t going to make it work.

If I want something different, I have to be willing to admit that too.

12. I don’t need to become someone else

This might be the biggest thing 33 taught me. I’m not entering 34 with some enormous desire to reinvent myself. I actually like who I am. There are things I want to improve. There are habits I want to strengthen. I think I spent a lot of this year learning how to become a more grounded version of the person I already am.

Someone who can advocate for herself without becoming hardened.

Someone who can experience grief without letting it erase everything else.

Someone who can be ambitious while also recognizing her limits.

Someone who can be open without giving everyone access to everything.

Someone who can have a difficult year and still recognize that it mattered.

I want to create more. Take better care of myself. Protect what matters. And maybe judge the next year of my life a little less by how impressive it looks from the outside.

Because if 33 taught me anything, it’s that sometimes the years that change you the most are the ones nobody else can fully see.