I’m not gonna lie, 2015 was tough. Like, really tough. But it was also probably the best year of my life so far.
For the first six months of 2015, my husband was unemployed. Not because nobody wanted to hire him—but because he was really sad. And that sucked. When someone you love is struggling, the whole world seems a little bit blue. Everything you used to love turns into a potential danger: something that might upset your loved one, which is something that you can’t bear. And sometimes you’re so busy trying to make the world OK for them that you forget to keep yourself afloat as well.
As for me, I started 2015 in my dream job. I’d wanted to be a producer ever since I was 16, and in December of last year, I won a contract producing a whole series. So I just took it for granted that I was probably really happy, and left it at that. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t.
Oh yeah, and we had a brand new puppy. A tiny, defenceless, little bundle of fluff that needed to be fed and cared for and taken out for walks: tasks that I suddenly found myself physically incapable of doing. That’s when I started to realise I wasn’t coping: when I noticed that my brain was refusing to take on any more responsibility. I was working for two, I was worrying about my husband, I was trying to be cheerful for my roommate-cousin who had just suffered a terrible bereavement—but I couldn’t feed my dog.*
I made it almost half way through the year before I burst into tears at London Waterloo, and admitted that 2015 was tough for me.
So I threw a party. I quit my not-so-dream-job-after-all, blew a chunk of money on overpriced bottle service, and toasted the fact that 2015 wasn’t really going very well.
Things weren’t perfect after that, but slowly but surely, the good moments started to roll in. I realised I wanted to be a writer. I got a job at Bustle. I won a writing prize from The Telegraph. I was made a HelloGiggles contributor. I actually ended up working seven jobs simultaneously, which was super-fun but crazy-exhausting. So I quit some of them again. Hey, I’m still figuring out a normal work-life balance, guys. At least I manage to feed my dog now.
In 2015, I let a really important friendship get complicated and fade away, and then I let it burst back into my life. I gained about 30 pounds but also 300x more self-esteem—so stick that in your fat-shaming pipe and smoke it. I didn’t read as many books as usual, but I finally got into non-fiction. I went to one wedding, and one memorial. I drank probably a bit too much. I became a pescetarian. I spent more time with my sister. I started a blog, and made one too many jokes about my #personalbrand.
I’ve probably cried less this year than usual, because it’s harder to cry when all your energy is going into holding yourself together. I may have laughed less too, but I’ve definitely laughed harder.
Oh, and my husband? He got a job he loves at a brewery. He comes home every night smelling of beer with a big smile on his face. It’s totally dreamy.
So yeah, 2015 was tough. But 2015 was also the year I finally got onto the right path. It was the year I learned who I am right now, rather than who I thought I might be.
And if I’m being honest, 2015 was a bloody good year.
*Um, please don’t call the RSPCA on me. My husband fed the dog. I’m not that bad.