At the beginning of 2025, my life looked… fine.

The Instagram fine. The “she’s got it together” fine.

I was living in a house I owned with my two children, aged 15 and 5. I was in an on-again, off-again relationship with my daughter’s father — the kind where you call it “complicated” when really it’s just familiar. I was working in construction project management on new build developments, a job that fitted beautifully around school hours and childcare. Sensible. Practical. Responsible.

Gold star adulting ⭐️

Years earlier, when my son was young, I worked in event operations and travelled the world. It was exciting and chaotic and full of stories — but it came at a cost. I missed school runs, play days, the small moments that only feel important once they’ve passed. This time around, I promised myself I wouldn’t miss them again. So I chose stability. I chose routine. I chose everyone else first.

From the outside, my life looked content and perfectly normal. Inside, I felt like I’d quietly parked my potential somewhere and forgotten to pick it up again.

I wasn’t unhappy — but I was settling. My life felt stagnant, like everything was on pause while I stayed very busy holding it all together. My career had been gently placed on the back burner so I could be “just” a mum (a role I love deeply, but one that doesn’t cancel out who you are).

And then, during 2025, something shifted.

By the end of the year, I had finally accepted that staying in a relationship for the sake of my daughter wasn’t the right answer. I put my house on the market. I moved out. And I relocated to a rented bungalow in my friend’s garden, tucked away in the countryside.

Single. No longer a homeowner. Living in a garden.

Not exactly the dream Pinterest board.

But here’s the interesting part.

In December, almost as an afterthought, I discovered that 2025 was the Year of the Snake in the Chinese zodiac. The snake symbolises shedding — letting go of old skins, old identities, and ways of living that no longer serve you.

Unbeknown to me, I’d spent the entire year doing exactly that.

I shed a relationship that kept me stuck.
I shed a version of success that looked good but felt hollow.
I even shed a house — unintentionally, but necessarily — that no longer fitted the life I was growing into.

And as it turns out, snakes don’t shed because they’re broken. They shed because they’re growing.

As 2025 closed, I stepped into 2026 — the Year of the Horse. A year associated with movement, momentum, independence, and bold forward energy. The year of backing yourself and not looking over your shoulder.

Perfect timing.

I signed up for a degree in interior design — something I’d dreamed about but never believed I was “the type” to do. I’d only ever taken my GCSEs, so this felt huge. Scary. Slightly unhinged. But completely right. Completing that degree will be one of my greatest achievements — not just academically, but personally.

And somewhere between lectures, late-night ideas, and cups of tea in my little country bungalow, True was born.

My second act.
My career pivot.
My decision to stop settling.

I don’t own my forever home yet — but I know exactly where it will be. In the countryside. Designed with intention. Built with courage. And paid for by a woman who finally decided to bet on herself.

2025 taught me how to shed.
2026 is teaching me how to run.

Goodbye Snake.
Hello Horse. 🐍🐎