Things That Helped Me Survive 2025
- Geraldina
- Jan 1
- 7 min read
Updated: Jan 9
If there’s one thing I learned in 2025, it’s that surviving is my superpower.
And let me tell ya—I did not thrive in 2025.
I survived it.
And honestly? That feels like a win. Ya feel me?
Every new year comes with the same resolutions.
Make more money.
Lose weight.
Become a better version of yourself.
Same old script.
Except I know I’m not the only one who started the year doing the complete opposite, right?
Lie to me and say yes. Please.
The beginning of the year was rough. Like ya wey, let me take a damn breath.
But life said no—so I had to learn how to survive. Learn how to fight back.
So while I may have been the beginning of 2025’s bitch, around March I grabbed it by the ovaries and said, surprise bitch—you can’t take me down.
I found small, steady things that kept me grounded when my nervous system was fried, my brain was loud, and my body just wanted to give up.
These aren’t productivity hacks.They’re not resolutions.
They’re just the things that helped me make it through.
Fair warning: some of these will make perfect sense… and some might not.I’m no professional—just someone who survived a shitty year.
Trauma Therapy (EMDR)
This one helped my nervous system finally exhale.
Honestly, this is all thanks to my amazing primary care doctor (I love you, Dr. R). She’s like a second mom—always scolding me, always caring—and she’s the one who pushed me toward trauma therapy.
That decision led to my cPTSD diagnosis (long story for another time) and eventually to EMDR therapy.
Imagine going to the mechanic because you have a flat tire… only to find out the real issue is that your car has been running on diesel instead of regular gas its entire life.
That’s what trauma therapy felt like.
My brain was like, wait… what?
Once you finally know the problem, you can start dealing with it—but your body is still used to the old way of surviving. Letting go isn’t instant.
If you’ve ever had trauma living in your body like a bad roommate who never pays rent, you know how exhausting it is. And sometimes regular talk therapy just isn’t enough.
EMDR wasn’t gentle in a spa-day way—but it was gentle in an honest way. The kind where things hurt a little less over time. Where memories stop hijacking your nervous system without warning.
I like to joke that it kind of hypnotized me into breaking some bad habits too (especially around food). Who knows. The body and mind are weird like that.
It didn’t fix everything.
But it helped me breathe again.
And that matters.
Hockey (and Rugby… and Soccer)
This one helped quiet my brain when nothing else could.
Some people do yoga.
I watch big men slam into each other at full speed.
First of all, let it be known: my hockey obsession started before Taylor Swift and Heated Rivalry made it cool.
Way back during the now-infamous Tkachuk brothers scrum (Canada vs. U.S., 7 Nations Final), I saw three fights break out in the first nine seconds and thought: immediately yes. I’ve been hooked ever since.
Hockey became a regulation tool for me. The chaos, the intensity, the structure inside the violence—it shut my brain up. Later, my bestie helped me realize why I love it so much (that deserves its own post… spoiler: it’s Sailor Moon related).
Rugby did the same thing—plus, if I’m being honest, the blood and what my mom lovingly calls “nalgones y piernudos” in tight uniforms.
No but seriously—watching giant men toss each other around like baby dolls is wild. And someone needs to study the fabric of those uniforms because how do they not tear? Witchcraft.
And then there’s soccer. I’m Mexican—this one runs deep. It’s what I grew up watching with my family. It grounded me in a different way.
And if my family is reading this, I’m about to stir the pot: I’m not Team America or Team Chivas.
I’m Team Toluca.
Yes, you know the current champions.
Ooo did I just talk shit?
Okay, I’m gonna stop. I can’t handle the trash talk. I take it back. Don’t come for me.
But yeah—turns out screaming at the TV and watching sports is therapeutic.
Reading (Favorite This Year: SJ Tilly’s Mountain Men Series)
This one gave me escape when reality was too loud.
If you know me personally—shut up and be cool.
Books saved me this year. Specifically smutty books (I told y’all to be cool), because that’s what actually holds my attention.
I read some dark, fucked-up shit this year. I also read feel-good books because I desperately needed something to feel good. Escapism isn’t a flaw—it’s survival. (And the dark romance smut + trauma connection is a whole other can of worms I’ll talk about another day.)
There’s something deeply healing about a fictional man who is obsessed, protective, emotionally available, and absolutely feral—in a respectful or consensually disrespectful way. (I said be cool.)
SJ Tilly’s Mountain Men series? Chef’s kiss. No notes. I swear this woman puts some kind of crack or voodoo in her books because I’m 10% in and already hooked every single time.
Escapism. Comfort. Humor. A reminder that softness and desire can coexist. When I needed something safe, I went back to her books—because I knew I’d get romance without heartbreak and a happy ending.
Okay, yes, she’s made me cry (Dear Rosie and Dom, I’m looking at you), but I reread them this year because I needed that feeling again. Kind of like how I watched I Love Lucy on repeat this year… probably should’ve added that to this list. Pretend I did.
Sometimes healing looks like reading about a man who would burn the world down for you while you’re in your comfort hoodie—especially when it feels like the world is burning you down.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be saved. Wanting it, wishing it, even knowing that in the real world it doesn’t usually happen—and that eventually, you have to save yourself. But for a little while, it’s okay to rest in a world where you don’t have to fight so hard. Where you’re protected. Where you’re allowed to soften.
And if you need to get saved by a fictional man? Let it be a Tilly man.
Hiking (aka Walking Myself Back Into My Body)
This one helped me feel real again.
I am delusionally becoming a forest fairy. (See Mountain Men reference)
The trail became my reset button this year.
No expectations. No productivity. Just me, the trees, and my breath syncing back up. Nature doesn’t rush you. It doesn’t ask you to explain yourself. It just lets you exist.
Some days I walked to clear my head.
Some days I walked because staying inside felt worse.
Both counted.
When I went consistently, I felt better. When I didn’t… I was more depressed. Simple as that.
And now I have a favorite deer. I see her so often I can recognize her. I named her Belén. And obviously her nickname is Campanita. 🔔
Between the walking and the trauma therapy, I got healthier this year. Lost weight. Felt stronger. And no, it wasn’t meds—my insurance wouldn’t cover them anyway, and my doctor reminded me they wouldn’t have fixed the root of it.
But I’m getting off the trail—literally and metaphorically.
What I mean is this: pick a trail. Care for it. Love it. Let it heal you back.
Sometimes the deer stop and just look at us. We look back.
Like, I see you—even when you feel unseen.
Free Writing (No Audience, No Filter)
This one kept my thoughts from swallowing me whole.
Before Meztli, my therapist told me to write.
Not everything I wrote was meant to be shared.
Some of it was angry. Some didn’t make sense. Some of it was just me getting thoughts out of my body so they’d stop circling.
Free writing reminded me my voice still existed—even when I didn’t know what to do with it yet.
Some of it became poems. Some of it became entire books that may never see the light of day. But I needed to keep my hands and thoughts moving. If they stayed locked up, I think they would’ve exploded into something worse.
And maybe that’s how Meztli was born.
As a kid, I wanted to be a fashion designer and a writer.
Maybe this is both.
So get yourself a notebook at the dollar store or something fancy from Meztli. Rupi Kaur’s book actually helped a lot. Or just open up a note on your phone and type away your thoughts.
My Best Friend
This one reminded me I wasn’t alone.
You know that person who knows when to distract you and when to sit with you in the mess?
That person.
She listened to my rants, checked in on me, and reminded me that someone still saw how hard things were—even while fighting her own battles.
No fixing. No rushing. Just presence.
Community doesn’t have to be big.
It just has to be real.
My Dog
This one got me out of bed.
My emotional support shadow.
On trail days, it’s like he’s pulling me forwardn saying, come on, you can do this. In the mornings, he stares at me like, are we getting up or what?
And when I finally do? He celebrates like I just came home—jumping, grabbing his toy, smacking it around.
He kept me company when I felt alone. Kept me warm during hockey games and reading marathons.
He didn’t care if I was productive. He didn’t care if I cried. He just needed walks, food, and cuddles—and somehow that routine kept me anchored.
Some days I got out of bed because he needed me.
And that was enough.
I don’t know what 2026 will bring.
But I know this: survival doesn’t always look impressive.Sometimes it looks like therapy appointments, smut books, long walks, and letting yourself be held by the things that feel safe.
If you’re still here after a hard year—
I’m proud of you.
And if next year sucks again?
At least now you have a little cheat sheet to slap that 2026 bitch in the face.
And I got your back.
We got this. 🌙
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