You know when life is going really well, and as a pessimist (maybe it’s just me), you think, surely something bad has to happen because life can’t always be this good? That’s how I felt. I won’t say life was perfect—because it never is—but it was far beyond simply satisfactory. Exceeding expectations would be one way to describe it.
2020: We were in a global pandemic, but somehow, that became the push my nearly decade-long relationship needed. I got engaged to the love of my life.
2021: I married said love of my life in a wedding that happened just before the Delta variant wreaked havoc. (Side note: I caught it—thankfully, a few weeks after the wedding and honeymoon)
2022: We moved from the city to NJ—more space and closer to my family. Two big wins.
2023: I found out I was pregnant and, after a healthy pregnancy, brought Billie Harlow (aka the best thing to ever happen to me) into the world.
And then came 2024.
In January, I experienced the most painful headache of my life. It turned out to be a thunderclap headache—thankfully a CT scan confirmed that it was not a sign of a brain bleed—but when I left for the hospital, my blood pressure was 196/100. The headache eased after about a week, but the high blood pressure lingered for months before finally regulating with medication.
I was also wrestling with postpartum depression and anxiety. I should have reached out for help, but I kept pushing it aside. I had every reason to feel happy, yet I couldn’t escape the suffocating fog. Maternity leave was mentally and emotionally draining. Most days, I was just going through the motions, sharing a highlight reel while quietly struggling with a newborn who hated naps—unless she was taking a contact nap on me. She wasn’t extremely fussy, most would describe her as chill. But she was attached to me all day outside of tummy time. I’m talking bouncing chair in the bathroom. Baby carrier to wash dishes. We could only go for short walks as she became more alert because she didn’t sleep in the stroller. What baby stays awake in the stroller? She was and is so adorable, but when you’re sleep-deprived because your baby doesn’t sleep past 5:30 am the cuteness wears off.
My husband and family would gush about Billie, and I felt guilty for not sharing their excitement, for not feeling the same. I found myself looking forward to returning to work, hoping for time to myself, but that also came with its own layer of guilt.
Beyond that, I was consumed with irrational fears—constantly worrying about what could happen to me, to Billie, to my husband. I was a shell of myself, wearing a mask that didn’t even fit. Occasionally, cracks showed. One time, I accidentally let my guard down at the pediatrician’s office when they gave me a postpartum questionnaire. I answered honestly, and when they asked if I was okay, I quickly brushed it off. My answers were concerning, but they didn’t push, probably because I expressed I didn’t feel like a danger to myself or Billie. Thankfully, as low as I felt at times, I never felt that.
Nothing about my time with Billie was irregular. It was a standard first-time parent experience. So why wasn’t I happy? Yes, there are hard moments, but why am I not gushing? Why do I feel such a disconnect? It wasn’t until I finally admitted the truth—out loud to my husband—that I wasn’t happy, that things started to shift. Strangely, voicing it helped me take the first step toward reclaiming myself. The fog began to lift, but it was a lonely place.
I was laid off just four months after returning to work from maternity leave. I’d been with the company since 2016. The writing was on the wall business-wise, but I believed my eight years of hard work and tenure would protect me. I was wrong. It was a harsh reminder to always prioritize your career over a company.
A week after being laid off, my uncle passed away after a painful battle with cancer. Even though his prognosis was terminal, his death was a shock. It was a major loss for my family, especially for my cousins and my father, who’ve endured so much tragedy. While I’m grateful he’s no longer in pain, I’ve had to grapple with the grief and anger that comes with losing nearly all of my extended family on my dad’s side.
I turned 35 in September and didn’t feel like I had much to celebrate. But even through the funk, I celebrated anyway. It rained that day, but when the clouds cleared, so did my perspective. It wasn’t my best year, but there were so many highs.
I traveled with family, both domestically and abroad. I watched Billie blossom into the most curious, intelligent little girl. I made beautiful memories with my husband. I celebrated incredible milestones in my friends’ lives. I launched a virtual assistant business that taps into my organizational and creative passions.
When I look back on 2024, it wasn’t the best year of my life. In fact, it was one of the hardest. But there was still laughter that left me breathless. There were still smiles that made my cheeks hurt. There was still beauty. There was still joy.
I share this to say: while everyone shares their glossy recaps, it’s okay if your year wasn’t your best. It’s also okay to remain hopeful for what’s to come. In fact, I hope you never lose that hope—it’s what carried me through this year.
Happy New Year, fashionistas! May 2025 be an amazing year for all of us.
Alexa Alfonso 