February, Midstream

Back Inside the Month That Changed Me

February, Midstream

I almost didn’t write this. February isn’t over and I have a bit more than a week left here in Paris. The days are still unfolding. Maybe this is exactly when to write, while I’m in the middle of it.

If you’ve been reading my public posts, you’ve seen the tulips, ballet classes, and café tables. All of that is true. What I haven’t shared is how different this month feels from last year’s.

On Super Bowl Sunday in 2025, my entire adult life shifted. A relationship ended, and the structure I had built my days around for more than two decades dissolved in a single conversation. It was seismic, the way the ground disappeared from beneath me.

This year, on that same date, I was on the Metro heading home from a less-than-amazing first date, pink Beats headphones on, Chappell Roan singing Picture You. Tears started rolling down my cheeks before I could stop them. They weren’t about that person. It was the calendar—the recognition that I was back inside February and standing in a completely different version of my life.

I thought I had prepared for this anniversary. I hadn’t accounted for how it would live in my body. Heavy in my chest, tight in my throat.