Yes, that is an actual text I sent to my neighbourfriend earlier this evening.  And may I be the first – and hopefully, only – to wish the same to all of you!  I hope you're ringing in the new year in the way you most want, and that 2025 is much kinder to us all than its predecessor.

Whatever fancy New Year's plans that text exchange had you contemplating, I'm afraid the reality is much more boring.  You see, since the Friday before Christmas, my left knee has been stubbornly reminding me that I am in the upper tier of “middle age”, and that I may no longer take for granted anything about my bodily functioning.  (I wish I could claim it was a ski accident or sex injury – that would make a far better story – but I just sorta woke up that morning not able to do stairs.)  Yesterday morning, however, I was finally able to walk up and down stairs without a cane or knee brace, and was super-excited about the whole thing… until, by evening, I was crying to take a step, even on flat floor, even with a cane and brace.  Waking up this morning ("musicians' morning", that is), I was hoping to return to the hale limberness of the previous morning, but it was not to be.  I was being punished for pushing the stair climbing a little too far.

But, even though my physical state (and mood, if I'm to be honest) had me declining invitations to a couple of shindigs tonight, damned if I was gonna greet the New Year with greasy hair and stinking to high hell – I wanted a freaking shower, even though I had no idea how I was gonna manage to shuffle my way to the bathroom, let alone get in or out of the shower without a knee brace or cane (the cane and brace were borrowed from a friend, otherwise I might have just said “screw it” and gone in with them both).  So I gave in and finally allowed myself to take a couple of my Blue Angels (ibuprofen), and texted my neighbourfriend what I was about to try – so if she didn't hear from me again within about half an hour, to please come and rescue me from my stubbornness.  Which, of course, led to her saying she'd come and rescue the animals, but had no desire to see me naked (sheesh, sounds like my second husband, FFS…)

Fortunately, the Blue Angels worked their anti-inflammatory magic, and I was able to get myself into the shower, wash my hair, get myself out of the shower, and towel off, without having to sit down or cry even once.  And then I sent my neighbourfriend the above text, to reassure her that her New Year's plans did not have to be interrupted by pulling me naked from the bottom of the shower.  Win-win.

And then, of course, I wondered why the hell I hadn't taken an ibuprofen earlier?

But then, of course, I know why.  Those old voices, those old ghosts.  The old myth that “Alyssa gets a hangnail and wants to pop a pill” that somehow got attached to me, and has always made me question taking any medication, even when prescribed by my doctor, because of that “slippery slope”…  Which is hilarious, considering the daily medications taken by the person who most strongly perpetuated this story, not to mention the number of bottles of nasal spray she went through in the course of a week, not to mention the adult-dosage sleeping pills she'd occasionally give me when she noticed I was still awake (instead of wondering why a young child might have insomnia), nor the fact that the story of our dog getting into her valium stash made its way into both a haiku and a short story included in a school publication in grade six.  Okay, yes, granted, I was definitely over-prescribed antibiotics as a kid – I'm probably solely responsible for the flesh-eating disease, considering how many times the doctors threw antibiotics at me when they couldn't figure out why I was sick all the time (uh, hello, it's not a virus, IT'S THE ADRENAL FATIGUE OF A PARENTIFIED CHILD WHO'S TRYING TO AVOID ABUSE 24/7).  [**EDITED, because I can see Little Miss Responsibility creeping in: I'm not responsible for the flesh-eating disease – believe me, sucking back that banana-flavoured garbage was not my personal choice – the doctors who threw antibiotics at me rather than become more curious about the state of my health are.]

I know “Alyssa can't handle medication” is a myth that has no more validity than her “Alyssa would never go camping because she couldn't bring a hair dryer” claims (I went camping a lot, loving the woods much more than being in crowds of humans; plus, growing up it was always a fight with her because I never dried my hair before walking to school, which was apparently going to kill me, but I seem to have survived anyhow – and I still let my hair dry naturally, so it doesn't go frizzy), or my grandmother freaking out that I was anorexic (when I was queen of “eating my feelings”) – in hindsight, I now see these were all projections that had more to do with my mother's tendencies than my own.  But there the myth still sits, trying to prevent me from giving myself a little bit of pain relief with the recommended dose of over-the-counter ibuprofen, and taunting me to come up with a 40-page essay of why I won't instantly become an addict like my parents, just for taking two Advil because I can't otherwise walk without crying.

Yup, the protectors and I will be working through some more Internal Family Systems stuff over that one…  But first, back to the New Year.

No dance party for me tonight, just enjoying a lot of cheese, watching the fireworks from the comfort of my warm and cozy home, and finishing off my annual “Unravelling Your Year” exercise, courtesy of Susanna Conway.

Which brings me to… TA-DAAA!!!!  My word for 2025.  As has happened several years, it turns out to NOT be the word I thought it was going to be (and hinted at in my Birthday Breakdown) – this is why I go through the exercise even when I think I have my word.  The word I THOUGHT it was going to be still gets a place as a supporting word, but the word I absolutely FELL IN LOVE WITH as my word for 2025 is "ENOUGH".

I love the layers of meaning – I'm good enough, I've done enough, the talk-to-the-hand “enough”, etc.  It also seems to be a good continuation of my 2024 word, “WORTHY”, which I'm not completely done with, either.

Holy hell, what a word for 2024 – the year was certainly going overboard to show me what a worthy word it was for the year (see the Birthday Breakdown for a small taste of it).  If there was ever a doubt, it's now abundantly clear to me why I've never had much of a sense of self-worth, and always felt the need to bust my ass proving I had any worth whatsoever.  The protectors and I have been having many conversations about this, including my fourth night of crazy-late-holiday-cookie-baking (and then not having enough places to store said cookies, because I'd made far more than enough), my panics over not buying enough presents for enough people (why?!?), and all the other “I'll be a failure if I don't do all these impossible tasks that nobody even asked me to accomplish” BS notions my brain came up with to terrorize me (ENOUGH!!!!!).

“Worthy” is still a work in progress.  “Enough” is gonna carry the torch.  But with a little help from two supporting words, as I've done for the last several years.

The first supporting word – the one I thought was going to be “the” word – is “EMANCIPATE”.  The theme song I had in mind when I hinted at it in the Birthday Breakdown held what I though would be a supporting word, “redemption”, but I fell out of love with that one, despite my love for Bob Marley.  “🎶 Emancipate yourself from mental slavery 🎶 None but ourselves can free our minds 🎶 … 🎶 Won't you help me sing  🎶  These songs of freedom?  🎶  ‘Cause all I ever have  🎶  Redemption songs  🎶”  

(No idea what my “ENOUGH” theme song will be, I haven’t yet discovered one that covers all the angles that made me fall in love with the word for this year.  Suggestions welcomed!)

The second supporting word – one that I know will be a challenge, because… PROTECTORS – is “ENJOY”.  I'm gonna do my best to let myself enjoy things, without zooming in with the big cosmic guilt trip.  The protectors and I will probably need to negotiate this on a regular basis.

But, speaking of enjoyment, my New Year's Cheese (that I don't have to share, mwaahaahaaa) is now ready, so I'm gonna shuffle over to the oven and start digging in.

I wish you all a 2025 that is kinder than 2024.  I wish you enough cheese.  I wish you enough.  I'm going to emancipate myself from the nasty ghost voices, and go enjoy enough New Year's Cheese to keep my bones full of calcium for another year.  🤣🥳🧀🎉

Happy New Year!
Alyssa