I’m not saying my 2022 was the worst year in recorded history, but I’m fairly confident the Mayans were off by about a decade when they predicted the end of the world. It was the year everything fell apart. My work, my love life, even my golf game—it all came crashing down faster than you can say “mercury retrograde.” But here’s the thing about rock bottom: it makes a pretty solid foundation to rebuild. By the time I hit December, covered in metaphorical (and literal) dust, I decided one thing. If I was still standing after the mess, I wasn’t just going to survive—I was going to thrive.

Here’s how I put the pieces back together—and how you can too when life decides to hand you a pile of rubble.

When Life Hands You Cactus (Don’t Sit on It)

Let me set the stage. Imagine you’re in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, where storms don’t just announce themselves—they roll in like a Quentin Tarantino mid-movie plot twist. That was my 2022: an unforgiving monsoon. Professionally, I was pivoting (a polite word for floundering) between freelance gigs after the tech startup I worked for went belly up. Personally, I dealt with heartbreak so abrupt and cliché it could’ve had its own Nicholas Sparks screenplay. It was like everything I’d built—a tidy life with all the right desert chic touches—had been hit by a saguaro-shaped wrecking ball.

But as I learned on family hikes growing up, the desert’s beauty lies in its resilience. Plants don’t grow there because it’s easy; they grow because they adapt. First lesson of rebuilding? Grab some metaphorical gloves and start clearing out the dead brush.

I asked myself an honest but difficult question: What wasn’t working before the storm hit? Sometimes, what falls apart isn’t meant to be rebuilt exactly as it was. For me, it meant leaving behind career paths and relationships that were holding me back.

TL;DR: Don’t waste time replanting weeds. It’s time to prune and move on.

Excavating Who You Are (When You Don’t Like What You Find)

One of the most humbling moments last year was looking in the mirror and realizing the person I thought I was didn’t actually exist. At least, not like I imagined. I’d built so much of my life around external validation—titles, appearances, relationships—that I hadn’t stopped to check in with the guy underneath. Losing everything wasn’t the painful part; seeing how much of my identity revolved around stuff that didn’t matter, well, that stung.

Here’s the kicker: reinvention doesn’t start with scrolling Pinterest boards or buying a new pair of boots (though retail therapy can feel productive). It starts with honesty.

I did something pretty radical for me: I slowed down. I hiked solo through the McDowell Sonoran Preserve once a week, no phone, just me and the desert. There’s something about walking through landscapes that have been shaped over millennia that makes your personal drama feel very, very small. Slowly, I started making peace with myself—the real me, not the curated, ‘Gram-worthy version. Somewhere between the saguaros and sunsets, I rediscovered passions I’d shelved because they didn’t fit the brand I thought I should be.

The Action Plan (Spoiler: It’s Not as Glamorous as You Think)

Once you’ve cleared the debris and gotten honest with yourself, you can start on the rebuild. But let me warn you, the first draft of any great comeback isn’t glamorous. You’re not going to wake up one day feeling like Beyoncé. Rebuilding your life is more like assembling IKEA furniture: confusing instructions, missing screws, and an unreasonable amount of Alan wrenches.

Here’s what worked for me:

  1. Set Small, Achievable Goals
    Instead of sprinting to restart my career, I broke things into chunks. I started by getting back into freelance writing, taking projects that let me learn along the way. On a personal level, I started journaling again—not because it was trendy but because putting pen to paper helped me make sense of, well, me.

  2. Ask for Help
    Look, lone wolfing your way through a tough year sounds noble, but it’s way overrated. I leaned on friends, family, and—true story—a business mentor who schooled me on how to pivot my branding skills into storytelling. It wasn’t easy swallowing pride and asking, “Hey, I need help,” but it worked. Use your people; that’s what they’re there for.

  3. Create Non-Negotiables
    Somewhere along the recovery road, I decided to build my new life with intentionality. For me, that meant boundaries: cutting out toxic relationships, saying no to work that drained me, and dedicating time to things that fueled my happiness (like photography and weekend desert drives). What are your non-negotiables? Write them down. Let them guide you.

  4. Treat Yourself with Patience
    Not every cactus blooms every season, and not every loss needs immediate replacement. It’s okay to feel stuck or messy while you figure it out. My mantra? “Progress, not perfection.”

Hitting Your Stride: The First Day You Feel Whole Again

It didn’t happen overnight, but sometime in the middle of 2023, I felt it—peace. Not happiness exactly, but something better. Confidence. Belonging. Like I’d finally carved out my corner of the desert and wasn’t trying to live someone else’s version of a successful life.

I remember the moment so vividly. I was hiking, and the sky turned that gorgeous lavender-orange shade just before sunset—a truly Southwest masterpiece. I stopped, took in the scene, and realized I’d done it. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. Fully, completely, joyfully mine.

If you’re in the middle of your own cactus-strewn chaos, hear me when I say this: you’ve got what it takes to rebuild, even if your “Year Everything Fell Apart” feels insurmountable right now. The process isn’t glamorous or linear. Some days will feel like a backpack full of rocks, and others will feel like you’re dancing under desert rain. Both are part of your journey.

The Takeaway

Resilience isn’t about bouncing back to the person you were before the storm; it’s about embracing whoever you’re becoming because of it. Whether you’re rebuilding after heartbreak, job loss, or, you know, a global pandemic, trust in the slow but steady process of reinvention. Remember, the desert’s most magnificent blooms grow after the rain—and yours are just around the corner.

Keep going, cactus warrior. You’ve got this.