Iām doing things a little backward this year. Usually, I spend my first post of the year talking about goals. Iāve never been much of a āresolutionā gal, Iāve liked to reframe as āgoalsā instead. I talked about this wayyyy back in 2017. Then in 2018 I posted my top goals, and again I did that in 2019. Then the world fell apart, both for everything, and for myself.
This year, I am throwing my goals in the trash. Goals are for people with certain futures, or people who want to plan. Me, Iām just trying to get through the day.
So while most people are future-tripping through 2024 on day 4 of the year, instead, I want to pay homage to myself, and to the 365 days of 2023 I endured. Iām proud of myself. Letās be clear, I wasnāt proud of myself every day. Many days where I cried 4 times before noon and couldnāt scrape myself out of the corner of my U-shaped couch I never would have said, āyes, Iām proud of me.ā But now, in retrospect, I think I have things to recognize. Since this is a personal blog, Iām going to make yāall recognize ME with ME.
So, here are some things Iām proud of myself for in 2023:
Iām proud of myself for surviving. I did it. I got through. Some days I wished I hadnāt. It would have been way easier if a bus somehow made it to the 3rd floor of my apartment building and drove through the window, but that didnāt happen, and Iām still here.
Iām proud of myself for remaining married. Relationships are hard in the easiest of times. Relationships are even harder in extremely rough times. Some studies say 80% of marriages end after child loss, some studies say 16%. I must admit, I didnāt fact check these, and they are clearly wildly different statistics. That said, I know itās hard. No two people grieve a loss in the same way, and in the case of a baby who was carried and birthed by only one of the spouses, it makes sense that their experiences would be extremely different. The experience of grief is a lonely one, and when you feel like youāre the only person in the relationship experiencing it in a specific way, itās even more lonely. In 2023, I was not the perfect spouse, not even close. But I tried. I set up a special surprise for our anniversary. I suggested a trip as a belated birthday gift. I tried to leave the house for a date night here and there, even when it was the last thing I wanted to do because I hated people and the outside. And somehow, through communication and a lot of Chris listening to me cry, we have weathered part 1 of the storm. Thereās still a long way to go (like⦠forever), but Iām proud we made it through months 1-10.





Iām proud of myself for reading. I love to read. It never occurred to me the concentration it takes to sit down, get out of oneās own head, and enter another space for a period of time. When I first left the hospital, I thought Iād never read again. I took the book Someone Elseās Shoes out from the library in mid-February, and usually Iād finish it in a week. I brought it to the hospital with me when I thought I was going for a routine check, and that Iād have to kill time in the waiting room for a while. But I was immediately whisked into triage, and then didnāt pick up that book again for a month. I got a few late notices from the library. But eventually, I picked up reading again, and somehow I got through 36 books in 2023. For me, that’s not any sort of record, but Iām still proud.
Iām proud of myself for remaining active. I love to move my body. I like to feel strong and accomplished. But most of 2023, I wanted to move into a closet and live in darkness. But I didnāt. Somehow, I walked 4,319,734 steps. You read that right, I walked 4.3 MILLION steps. The only month I didnāt average over 10,000 steps/day was March, when I was in the hospital. And that month, I averaged 8,705 steps/day. I went to 116 classes at Orangetheory and I got 2,376 splat points, despite being pregnant for a few months of the year AND not being allowed to go for 6 weeks. I am proud of myself for prioritizing my health, even when my brain was screaming not to.



Iām proud of myself for keeping my friendships (although changed, and not all credit goes to me). I truly canāt believe I have any friends left. I tried my hardest, really, to keep up with my friendships. I tried to text back, I tried to recognize birthdays, send baby gifts, I tried to peel myself off the couch to go out on coffee dates. I was sometimes successful. Sometimes I was not. But somehow, I havenāt lost any friends in the last 10 months. Credit does not all go to me, except maybe in that I choose amazing friends. But a lot of credit goes to them. For checking in periodically, for offering alternative 1:1 plans when they knew a birthday brunch was just not going to happen, for Amazon-ing me 5-pound bags of gummy bears to keep me afloat. I have an amazing group of friends and I donāt take that for granted. Iām proud of me for trying my hardest, but even more, Iām proud of them for accepting my not-as-great-as-usual friendship.
Iām proud of myself for doing āthe work.ā I tried my damndest to āget better.ā It has not been easy. Also, Iām not sure if it āworked,ā but itās not for lack of trying. I exhausted so many avenues. I had a peer counselor. I tried three therapists. I tried EMDR. I tried two different support groups online, multiple times. I tried a yoga class and art workshop. I tried a writing workshop. I reached out to random loss moms on the internet. I went to coffee and breakfast and happy hour with local loss moms. I joined Facebook groups (back when I was on Facebook). I followed innumerable Instagram accounts. I listened to hours and hours and hours of podcasts. I wrote many blogs. I kept a journal. Itās hard to say whether any of it āworked,ā but I knew I needed support, and I sought it out. Iām proud of myself for that.
Iām proud of myself for trying to figure out and take care of my physical health. Unfortunately, this wasnāt as easy as I thought it would be. Sitting in the uncomfortable uncertainty has taken an extreme amount of patience (and tears). I found out this year that just because you want answers does not mean you will get them. Just because you are seeing the best doctors in the country, they may not be able to solve or explain everything happening in my body. There is still a lot that is a mystery. But I didnāt give up, and I have continued to seek answers. I followed doctorsā orders, I took all of the medications they suggested, I had all of the blood tests (and there were a LOT) and ultrasounds and I took my blood pressure every single day. These things may seem simple or easy, but when you endured severe trauma, even taking a medication twice daily that reminds you of that trauma is difficult. But I did it (and I still do it) and I am proud of myself for that.
Iām proud of myself for keeping my job (even being good at it?) This floors me. There were days I forgot the entirety of the work day. Like I had meetings and 1:1s, I went to conferences, I had work trips, I moved projects forward. And yet, I donāt remember a majority of the year. Itās almost as if I dissociated. I still have a job, and I often get positive feedback. This seems like a strange miracle? I guess I am a compartmentalizer extraordinaire, but I have somehow kept my job, continued to go day after day, and somehow I have been successful at that. While Iām flummoxed, Iām also proud.
Iām proud of myself for still doing my nails. This one is lighter, but equally as important. Somehow, I continued to have a hobby. This one for sure was part of my āfake it ātil you make itā plan. On March 5th, I was discharged from the hospital, and on March 10th, I decided I needed to do my nails. I have completely fallen off posting them on my nailstagram (@manisinmanhattan) but my nails were done almost all of 2023. I am proud that I tried to have/feign interest in something (while not really caring at all about anything).




Iām proud of myself for having my most successful year for my side hustle, Braid in Manhattan. Again, if youāre surprised, Iām even more surprised. I talked a bit about this in my post about Burning Man Braids, but somehow despite my extreme grief, dissociation and disinterest in life in general, I managed to have the most successful year to date in my business. I somehow braided over 100 girlsā hair while thinking about my dead daughter and the hair Iāll never braid. I somehow did hair for birthday parties thinking of the ones my daughter will never have, for family portraits of mothers and daughters that Iāll never take, and for Hanukkah parties of which I had no child to bring. I truly donāt know how I did it without crying in front of a single client (many tears after), but I am proud of all of that.
Finally, I am proud that I tried to find joy. I tried and tried and tried. I met up with friends. I went on walks. I did things I used to love. I traveled. I spent time with my husband. I did crafts. I went to the beach. I saw family. I tried. I canāt honestly say I was successful most of the time, because joy was excruciatingly hard to find, but it didnāt stop me from trying over and over again. I think there’s some pride to be had in the process, despite the mostly failing results.
2023 was not the year to start new things. It was a year to survive, not thrive. It was a year to persist and get through. It was trials and tribulations, not resolutions or celebrations. With all of that in mind, when I reflect, I think I did a damn good job. Iām not going to say, āthis year will be even better!ā because maybe it wonāt. I donāt plan or even opine about things like that anymore. But at the end of this year, maybe Iāll reflect again and be pleasantly surprised. We shall see.































