Oof. The start of January hasn’t been amazing for me. I’m currently nestled in bed, refusing to budge until I’ve achieved something worthwhile. I need that hit of dopamine to coax me out of bed and into my too-tight jeans, which, mind you, used to be more oversized than they currently are. Bless these antidepressants for keeping me afloat during what I can only label as the absolute pits of a year though I had hoped I’d dodge the weight gain side effect.

Last night, while whipping up a Mexican soup, I found myself shedding tears in the kitchen and accidentally shared a sappy story with everyone on Instagram instead of just my close friends. Classic. At least the soup was delicious.

Why was I crying? Let me put it this way. If last year were a film, it’d be the one masochists rewatch when Aunt Flo’s in town or after a nasty breakup when you need a solid sob. It had it all: betrayals, drunken declarations of love, and me, blubbering away solo in an airport.

But no more! Or at least not as often. Last year was like uprooting dying plants and then ferociously tilling the soil in preparation for new seeds. And guess what? Through loads of hope and elbow grease, I’ve planted those seeds and nourished them with my tears. Cheesy? Yep. Am I high? No—this was just the simplest way to explain it.

So, why write this blog? When I was knee-deep in tearing things up and sowing anew, a friendly voice would’ve been a ray of hope. Someone who could genuinely chat about it and throw in some tips for those times when even making a cuppa feels like an Olympic feat. My morning coffee and thoughts are dedicated to YOU, the brave and beaten-up, courageous and crestfallen, the lost and the lovely.

Even if you only come here to help you not see yourself as the most pathetic person in the world. We’re glad you’re here.