In life, there are years you never forget—when everything crashes, burns, and then reverses itself in ways you couldn’t have imagined. For me, that year was The Year Everything Fell Apart, also known as last year, when my life felt like a bad country song on shuffle: heartbreak, health crises, career setbacks, and one highly questionable impulse to cut my own hair. (Spoiler: I am not a professional barber.) Here’s how I unraveled—and, more importantly, how I put myself back together piece by piece.

Section 1: When the Dominoes Fall

Picture this: It’s January, and I’m on my couch eating leftover takeout, mostly unbothered, scroll-watching every season of “Living Single” as a form of self-care. I almost didn’t notice when the first domino fell. My then-partner, a man I was three years (and several bad Rihanna covers at karaoke) deep into a relationship with, gave me The Talk. You know the one—“It’s not you, it’s me,” followed by “I just need to figure things out.” Figure what out? Taxes? The meaning of life? Beyoncé’s Renaissance visuals?

I was devastated but determined to soldier on. People break up all the time, Marc. This is no different. Except, apparently, it was. The breakup unlocked something in the universe. Within a month, I lost a freelance contract I’d loudly bragged about on Facebook, burned my hand attempting vegan cooking (justice for tofu!), and got a speeding ticket on the way to my second cousin’s wedding.

It wasn’t only external chaos—my guts joined the rebellion too. I started waking up most mornings feeling weighed down, like my usual resilience packed its bags, checked out early, and left no forwarding address. When I told myself, “You’re fine, you’re just tired,” my body laughed. I finally saw a doctor, who diagnosed me with stress-induced gastritis. Wonderful! I was officially stressed to the point of internal warfare.

Section 2: The Rock Bottom Club

Here’s something no one tells you: rock bottom comes with free membership, but the membership perks are trash. I was sad, lonely, and too broke for retail therapy. Friends invited me to brunch and texted me inspirational memes, but it felt like trying to water a dead plant. I was dried out, parched for something alive, and couldn’t figure out where to even begin.

There was one moment I’ll never forget—a middle-of-the-night spiral as I reread old text conversations with my ex (against my better judgment). My lightbulb decided to blow out dramatically, leaving me in the dark. That was when I realized rock bottom doesn’t send an invitation; it just shows up unannounced, kicks its feet up on your coffee table, and stays as long as you let it.

What I needed was less Netflix and more clarity.

Section 3: Building Back Brick by Brick

Recovery from a year like this isn’t linear or glamorous—it’s sluggish, messy, and powered by awkward trial and error. No magical mantra could fix the fact that some mornings I didn’t feel like getting out of bed. But, brick by brick, I learned how to reconstruct myself.

1. The Self-Care Audit: Prioritizing the Basics
Everyone talks about self-care as though it’s long bubble baths and scented candles. Look, I like candles, but you know what else counts? Taking your meds, drinking water, and remembering that sleep is non-negotiable. I created a list I called “Bare-Minimum Care Tasks,” which included everyday things like:

  • Prep one somewhat healthy meal a day.
  • Walk for 10 minutes, even if it’s just pacing in circles.
  • Text someone—anyone—a little check-in.

These weren’t groundbreaking steps, but they brought me back to life, one tiny habit at a time.

2. The Boundaries Bootcamp: Saying “No” Without Guilt
I’m a recovering people-pleaser. I blame growing up in a Southern Black household where “Yes, Ma’am” and “How can I help?” are practically baked into your DNA. But last year reinforced something I’ve always been afraid to admit: Not everyone deserves unlimited access to you. Some people love showing up for the highs, but they’re busier than Starbucks in December when it comes to your lows.

I started saying no more often—not loud or aggressively, but firmly. “Hey, I really appreciate you asking, but I need to sit this one out.” It also meant unfollowing drama-ridden exes on Instagram and muting group chats with energy so chaotic you just knew a petty argument was around the corner.

3. The Joy Search: Finding Silver Linings Where I Could
Since Beyoncé (aka my spiritual life coach) wasn’t available for one-on-one sessions, I instead turned to the small joys in life. And when I say small, I mean tiny. I found joy mid-solo-dance-party in my kitchen while making boxed macaroni. I discovered peace during late-night drives with nostalgia-heavy playlists that included Luther Vandross and Whitney Houston.

I also reconnected with old hobbies that didn’t involve screens. During spring, I attempted to garden. (Full disclosure: most of my plants thrived for two weeks max.) And I returned to writing—not for success or accolades but because putting words to feelings stung less than bottling them up. Growing up in Beaumont, Texas, my mother always told me: “Pour your pain into something productive.” For me, words carried that weight, sparkling with possibilities even when I didn’t.

Section 4: Lessons Learned the Hard Way

I won’t act like I figured this all out suddenly, like some random epiphany moment from a CW drama where string music swells in the background. Nope. It’s been messy. I’m still messy. Recovery isn’t a checklist; it’s a lifestyle that demands patience, lost battles, and some pretty cringy relapses. (There was a night I shame-ate three pints of Ben & Jerry’s and sent a “U up?” text. Don’t be me.)

What I did learn, though, is worth holding onto:

  • You don’t have to rebuild everything today. Just one thing at a time. Replace guilt with grace.
  • Not every person on your journey deserves a roundtrip ticket. Some folks? One-way, send them off with a smile.
  • Celebrate little wins, even the ones that feel silly. Made it through a hard day? Did one positive thing? That counts.

Conclusion: From Falling Apart to Becoming Whole

By December of last year, the dust had settled—mostly. I wasn’t perfect, but for the first time in months, I felt like I was breathing in color again. Heartbreak, career hiccups, gastritis—it all tore me up in ways I didn’t expect, but it also made me softer, deeper, and more grateful for the path I’d stumbled upon.

If you’re in the middle of your everything falling apart season, remember this: collapsing doesn’t mean you’re done. Sometimes things fall apart so better things can bloom. And, hey, if I can survive ugly crying through “Dreamgirls” and nursing a tofu burn, I believe you can get back up too.

Just don’t try to cut your own hair. Trust me on that one.