What. A. Year.

What. A. Year.

If someone had handed me a 2025 bingo card in January, I wouldn’t have checked off even half the things I actually lived through. Dating in 2025 came with plot twists, a rotating cast of characters I didn’t invite to audition, and lessons I didn’t ask for, and God delivered anyway.

But this year also carried a tragedy so severe it split my life into a clear before and after. A stranger brutally attacked my sister while walking on a trail in Savannah, Georgia. A man poured acid on her. There is no preparing for that kind of violence — no roadmap for the shock, the fear, the rage, or the helplessness that follows. And I have had to love her through all of this from New Orleans — miles away. I learned that love stretches. Faith stretches. And hope does not weaken just because your arms can’t reach.

Somewhere between the two-texts-then-disappears men, emergency phone calls, hospital updates, prayer chains, and moments where fear and faith shared the same breath — I somehow started writing two books. Two. On purpose.

So please take a deep breath, take a sip of an espresso martini, and let’s walk honestly through a year of dating, creating, grieving, trusting, and becoming. And yes, maybe there’s still one man I hold space for—a quiet constant in a loud year.

THE DATING CHRONICLES: A Full Season, Zero Commercial Breaks. This year, I met men from different states and time zones, spanning at least nine levels of emotional maturity. I learned that a man can be six feet tall and still be emotionally unavailable. That “good morning, beautiful” is not a personality. That trauma bonding is not flirting. That my standards are now stainless steel — not bendable plastic — and that a soft launch is not — and never will be — a relationship. I also realized I’m funnier than half the men I matched with, and honestly, they should be paying me for the emotional labor I saved them from. And for the record, I looked good this year, like 2025-good.

But dating became background noise when real life turned violent. After the attack, unanswered texts didn’t matter. Mixed signals lost their power. Romantic confusion shrank in the face of survival, recovery, distance, and the sacred work of showing up when life collapses. And still — God sent previews, not just bloopers. Some men were kind. Some were honest. Some weren’t my person, but they pointed me back to myself. And then there’s the one I didn’t expect — the man who has been a steady presence across distance and time. My pen pal. A connection built on messages, voice notes, long pauses, and unexpected comfort. Not dramatic. Not demanding. Just real.
Before my sister’s attack — in a season that still felt simple and hopeful — I got to meet his little family. Their warmth, humor, and uncomplicated kindness stayed with me longer than I realized at the time. It felt grounding. Human. Like a quiet gift before my world shifted. And when everything changed, he didn’t try to fill a role he didn’t own. He didn’t disappear. He just stayed — a reminder that not every man in 2025 came to take, distract, or disappoint. I still hold a special place in my heart for him — not because I know exactly who he is, but because I know how he made me feel this year: seen, steady, connected, and human — before and after life changed. And that’s the real plot twist: Dating didn’t break me this year — it revealed who I’ve grown into.

THE BOOK ERA: Writing Myself Wide Open. While carrying grief, fear, anger, and relentless hope, I was also creating not one but two wildly unique books. Writing became survival. A witness. A way to breathe when the world felt heavy.

Breaking, Believing, Becoming. This book took me back into the fire — my marriage, my heartbreak, the woman I used to be, and the woman I’m still becoming. But it also forced me to confront how fragile life is and how faith becomes real when tragedy walks into your home. This isn’t just a project. It’s a resurrection.

What Is Happening?! Dating in 2025. This one? Comedy. Catharsis. Chaos. Written in a year when laughter wasn’t denial — it was defiance. It holds everything — the fish photos, the red-flag résumés, the long-distance sagas from Minnesota to Dallas to Beach-Dreams, and the men who entered spiritually humble and left emotionally feral. And honestly? It’s going to be so good. But more importantly, it provided me with a much-needed break from all the heaviness of life this year.

WHAT THIS YEAR REALLY TAUGHT ME. My story is worth sharing. My heart is worth protecting. My standards are worth maintaining. My purpose is louder than my loneliness. But more than anything, this year taught me how quickly life can turn brutal — and how deeply we need God when it does. He has been near in hospital rooms, near in long nights, near when anger and prayer lived side by side. This year didn’t go as planned. It went deeper — stripping away what doesn’t matter and anchoring what does.

HELLO 2026 — I’m Walking In Different, not because I’m guessing… but because I’m declaring:

1. The Books Are Coming to Life. Covers. Launches. Retreats. Signings. Journals. Story submissions. 2026 is the year I prepare to release what 2025 demanded I survive.

2. A New Season of Dating. Not chaotic. Not confusing. Aligned. And absolutely no men holding fish unless it’s professionally photographed.

3. Movement by Nola. Expansion. Retreats. Community. Spaces where women breathe again — especially after trauma tries to steal the air.

4. A Softer, Wilder, Braver Me. Soft enough to feel deeply. Wild enough to hope again. Brave enough to trust God when the world proves dangerous. Bold enough to say: “I don’t chase. I attract. And whatever doesn’t come to me was never meant for me.”

My final reflection on 2025. I’m proud of the woman I was. I’m grateful for the woman I am. And I honor the woman I became — shaped by joy, scarred by loss, and sustained by faith. Our family will never be the same, but God has not let us go. And the best part of my story — of our story — hasn’t been written yet.

Happy December, friends. Here’s to a year that changed everything… and a new one I’m walking into with God close and courage intact. I pray that as you step into the new year, you’ll be proud of who you were this year, grateful for who you are today, and gentle with who you’re becoming. The most meaningful parts of your story are still ahead, and if you ever need support, remember: there’s always a seat at my table. There you’ll find an espresso martini, a few tears, probably some sarcasm, laughter, and lots of Jesus—never judgment. With faith and friendship, we’ll figure it out together.

Much Love and Blessings

Kim