As the year 2024 draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on a journey that has been as harrowing as it has been transformative. A year ago, I was still grappling with the aftermath of a physical assault that shattered my sense of safety and control. Yet here I stand, not unscarred, but undeniably stronger. The days haven’t always been easy, but they’ve taught me an essential truth: change is constant, and so is the need to keep moving forward. Surviving each day has been its own victory, and as I look forward to 2025, I’m filled with hope—not because life will be perfect, but because I’ve learned that I can endure, adapt, and grow.

Change often feels like an unwelcome visitor, thrust upon us when we least expect it. For me, the assault marked an abrupt and unwanted shift in my life’s trajectory. The emotional and mental scars of the assault lingered, whispering doubts and fears. Yet even in my darkest moments, I found strength in the idea that, as the band Imagine Dragons sings in their song “Believer,” “Pain! You made me a believer.” Pain became a teacher, revealing the resilience I never knew I possessed. Every step forward, no matter how small, felt like a rebellion against the weight trying to hold me back.

Music became a lifeline, a source of solace and strength. Songs like Foo Fighters’ “Waiting on a War” reminded me that while conflict—both internal and external—might rage, there’s always a way forward. The lyrics, “Is there more to this than just waiting on a war?” resonated deeply. They urged me to seek not just survival, but a life filled with meaning, connection, and joy. I began to see that while I couldn’t erase the past, I could shape my future by choosing to move forward, no matter how daunting the path.

Throughout 2024, I’ve come to embrace the idea that healing isn’t linear. Some days felt like triumphs; others felt like defeats. On the hardest days, I clung to the words of David Bowie’s “Changes,” “Turn and face the strange.” Change, after all, isn’t something to fear but to confront. Facing the strange—the unfamiliar landscape of life after trauma—required courage I didn’t always think I had. But as I navigated therapy sessions, leaned on friends and family, and rediscovered hobbies that brought me joy, I realized that each day survived was a testament to my strength.

There were moments of unexpected beauty and connection, even amid the struggle. Sharing my story with others who had faced similar challenges reminded me that I wasn’t alone. In those conversations, I saw the truth of Hozier’s lyrics from “Nina Cried Power”: “It’s not the waking, it’s the rising.” Rising, in this context, meant choosing to be vulnerable, to seek help, and to find solidarity with others. The community I found became a source of light, reminding me that even in the darkest times, there are people who will walk alongside you.

As 2025 approaches, I’m reminded of the inevitability of change—not just the kind that upends your life, but the kind that offers renewal and growth. The lyrics of Florence + The Machine’s “Shake It Out” echo in my mind: “It’s always darkest before the dawn.” The dawn, for me, isn’t the absence of pain or hardship but the presence of hope and possibility. It’s the recognition that while the past shapes us, it doesn’t define us. Each sunrise brings a new chance to heal, to grow, and to find joy.

One of the most profound lessons I’ve learned this year is that moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting or dismissing the pain. Instead, it means carrying the lessons it taught you and using them to build a stronger foundation. In Pearl Jam’s “Alright,” Eddie Vedder sings, “It’ll be all right,” and those words became a mantra. They’re not a promise of perfection but a reassurance that even in the face of uncertainty, things can and will improve. Progress is found in the small victories—getting out of bed on a tough morning, reaching out to a friend, or finding joy in a simple moment.

As I step into the new year, I’m committed to embracing the constant of change with open arms. I’ve learned that life’s unpredictability is both its challenge and its gift. Each twist and turn offers an opportunity to learn more about myself and the world around me. I’ve come to see that strength isn’t about never falling but about always getting back up. It’s about finding beauty in the broken places and recognizing that growth often comes from struggle.

Looking ahead, I’m filled with gratitude for the lessons 2024 has brought. I’m grateful for the people who stood by me, the music that lifted my spirits, and the quiet moments of clarity that reminded me of my resilience. And while I know 2025 will bring its own challenges, I’m ready to face them with the knowledge that change is constant, but so is my ability to adapt and move forward.

The road ahead isn’t without its uncertainties, but it’s also filled with possibility. Each step forward, no matter how small, is a testament to the human spirit’s capacity for resilience and renewal.

In closing, I want to celebrate not just the end of 2024 but the promise of 2025. I want to honor the strength it took to get here and the hope that fuels the journey ahead. Life is a series of changes, some painful, others beautiful. But through it all, the need to keep moving forward remains constant. As I step into the new year, I carry with me the lessons of the past, the support of those who’ve walked beside me, and the unshakable belief that every day survived is a victory won. Here’s to the dawn of a new year and the endless possibilities it holds.

I love the freedom and fun that comes with doing a fantasy photo shoot where I can be anyone or be anywhere. it is very freeing, especially when I am so shy and fearful in my personal life.

I never imagined that something as simple as dressing up in a costume could change how I see myself, but that’s exactly what happened when I started doing fantasy and cosplay photoshoots. For someone like me—a 24-year-old woman carrying the weight of a traumatic past and struggling with anxiety—it felt like stepping into another world where I wasn’t defined by my fears. It became my escape, my therapy, and my source of strength.

Fear has been a constant companion in my life. It shapes how I walk through the world, how I interact with people, and how I see myself. But when I put on a costume—whether it’s the flowing cape of a powerful sorceress, or the battle gear of a fearless warrior—I feel like I’m becoming someone new.

Cosplaying a character is more than wearing an outfit; it’s about embodying the traits that character represents. For me, it’s been a way to explore bravery, resilience, and determination in a way I never thought possible. When I stand in front of the camera as a hero who saves the day or as a rebel who stands against impossible odds, I feel powerful—like I can finally leave behind the version of me that’s held back by fear.

One of the hardest parts of my trauma has been the way it’s stolen my confidence. For years, I felt invisible, like I wasn’t worth noticing. But something magical happens when you see yourself as someone else through the lens of a camera.

During my first photoshoot, I was terrified. Standing in front of a camera felt so vulnerable, and I worried I wouldn’t measure up. But when I saw the final photos, I couldn’t believe it was me staring back—fierce, radiant, and unapologetically strong. That version of myself looked fearless, and it made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, I could start seeing myself that way too.

Each photoshoot became a little easier, and with every costume and every character, I began to reclaim a part of myself. These moments of confidence on camera have started to bleed into my everyday life. Now, when I walk into a room, I remind myself of the warrior or adventurer I’ve been in my shoots. And it works—I feel just a little braver.

What I love most about fantasy and cosplay is how they let me escape. I’ve spent so much of my life feeling trapped by my past, replaying old memories and anxieties. But when I’m dressed as a mythical queen standing in a misty forest or something else, my mind can finally quiet down.

These shoots are like stepping into a different universe. They give me permission to leave behind the heaviness of reality and let my imagination take over. For those hours, I’m not the scared girl with too many regrets—I’m a hero, a dreamer, someone who matters.

This escape isn’t just temporary; it’s healing. I’ve learned to use these characters as a way to process my feelings. When I play someone who faces impossible odds, I remind myself that I’ve overcome my own. And when I embody characters who are unapologetically bold, it helps me believe that I can be that way, too.

Before doing these types of shoots, I often felt like I was on the outside looking in. Social anxiety has made it hard for me to connect with others, and my past has left me hesitant to trust. But this community is different.

When I show up to a photoshoot, we are all there for the same reason: to create something magical. The photographer, the stylist, — they’re all so supportive. No one judges you if your costume isn’t perfect or if you’re still learning. Instead, they cheer you on and celebrate your creativity.

I’ve met some of the kindest people through these shoots. It feels amazing to be part of something bigger than myself, to share my love for stories and characters with people who understand. Slowly, I’ve started to trust again, and for someone like me, that’s a big deal.

These shoots have also given me a way to express emotions I’ve struggled to put into words. When I choose a character to portray, it’s often because something about their story resonates with me. Maybe they’ve faced betrayal, fought through impossible pain, or defied expectations—just like I’m trying to do.

Through the costumes, the poses, and the photos, I get to tell a story. And in a way, it helps me tell my own story, too. The time and effort I put into creating each look—choosing the fabric, designing props, working on makeup—give me a sense of control over something when so much of my life has felt out of my hands.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned through fantasy and cosplay photoshoots is that I don’t have to be defined by what’s happened to me. I’ve spent so many years feeling small and scared, but cosplay has shown me that I can be bigger, braver, and bolder than I ever thought.

Every time I put on a costume and step in front of a camera, I’m choosing to rewrite my story. I’m letting myself dream and play and explore. And most importantly, I’m proving to myself that I’m more than my past.

Fantasy and cosplay have given me the freedom to imagine a different version of myself—and to believe that I can become her. For that, I’ll always be grateful.

When I reflect on the last few years, I can’t help but marvel at the resilience of the human spirit. Surviving a physical assault is a battle I never imagined I would face, but it’s a battle I am learning to win—one day at a time. There were moments when the weight of the trauma felt too heavy to bear, but I’ve come to understand a profound truth: every day survived is a victory won. It is a mantra that has carried me through the darkest nights and the loneliest days, and it is one I hope will inspire others to keep going, no matter what adversity they face.

In the immediate aftermath, survival felt like an abstract concept. The physical pain faded faster than the emotional scars, and it was the latter that seemed insurmountable. I was gripped by fear, anger, and a sense of injustice so profound that it threatened to swallow me whole. But then, a quiet voice within reminded me of the words of Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor who wrote, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” I realized I couldn’t rewrite the past, but I could shape the future. Every morning that I got out of bed, every meal I ate, every breath I took was an act of defiance against despair. These small, seemingly mundane actions were victories—proof that I was still here, still fighting.

Faith has been both a comfort and a guide in this journey. I’ve found solace in the words of the Bible, particularly in Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” During moments of doubt and isolation, this verse reminded me that I was never truly alone. I found strength in the idea that there was a higher power walking beside me, celebrating my small triumphs and holding me steady when I faltered. It is this belief that has helped me to see each day as a gift, each moment of survival as a step closer to healing.

In the process of rebuilding, I’ve drawn inspiration from countless others who have faced unimaginable hardships and emerged stronger. The story of Malala Yousafzai, for instance, has been a beacon of hope for me. Shot for advocating girls’ education, she could have given in to fear and anger. Instead, she chose courage and forgiveness, famously stating, “Let us make our future now, and let us make our dreams tomorrow’s reality.” Her resilience reminds me that even in the face of violence and adversity, we have the power to reclaim our narratives and build a future that reflects our dreams rather than our pain.

Of course, the path to healing is not linear. There have been setbacks, days when the weight of my experience felt too heavy to carry. On those days, I’ve turned to the wisdom of others to find my footing. The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s famous words, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger,” have been a source of both comfort and motivation. While the pain of trauma is undeniable, it has also shown me the depth of my strength. It has forced me to confront my fears, to reach out for help, and to rebuild my life piece by piece. Every step forward, no matter how small, has been a testament to my resilience.

Community has played an essential role in my journey. In sharing my story, I’ve connected with others who have faced their own battles, and together, we’ve found strength in our shared humanity. It reminds me of the African proverb, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” The people in my life—family, friends, therapists, and even strangers—have shown me that survival is not a solitary act. Their love and support have been lifelines, pulling me back from the brink and helping me to see the beauty that still exists in the world.

There is also a profound power in forgiveness. For a long time, I wrestled with anger—anger at the person who hurt me, anger at a world that could allow such pain to exist. But carrying that anger was exhausting, a burden that weighed heavily on my soul. In time, I came to understand the wisdom in the words of Nelson Mandela: “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” Forgiveness does not mean forgetting or excusing what happened. It means choosing to let go of the anger and bitterness that hold us back from healing. Forgiveness is a gift we give ourselves, a way to reclaim our power and find peace.

One of the most profound lessons I’ve learned is that healing is not about erasing the pain but about integrating it into a new narrative. The Japanese art of kintsugi, in which broken pottery is repaired with gold, has become a metaphor for my journey. The cracks in the pottery are not hidden; they are highlighted, transformed into something beautiful. Similarly, the scars I carry—both visible and invisible—are not marks of weakness but of survival. They tell a story of resilience, of a life that refused to be defined by a single moment of pain.

Philosophers and spiritual leaders across time have recognized the transformative power of adversity. The Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius wrote, “The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.” This idea has resonated deeply with me. The assault was an impediment, a seemingly insurmountable obstacle, but it has also been a catalyst for growth. It has forced me to confront my vulnerabilities, to seek out strength I didn’t know I had, and to find meaning in the struggle. It has taught me that every day survived is a victory won, a step toward becoming the person I was meant to be.

I’ve also found healing in creative expression. Writing, photography, my graphics work, and especially experiencing music have been outlets for processing the complex emotions that come with trauma. These creative acts are reminders that beauty can emerge from pain, that even in the darkest moments, there is the potential for light. As Leonard Cohen so beautifully wrote, “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” These words remind me that perfection is not the goal; survival, growth, and transformation are.

As I continue to navigate this journey, I am struck by the resilience of the human spirit. We are capable of enduring more than we imagine, of finding hope in the most unlikely places, and of rebuilding our lives even after the most devastating losses. Every day I wake up, every day I choose to move forward, I am reminded of the truth that has carried me through: every day survived is a victory won. It is a victory not just for me but for anyone who has faced adversity and chosen to keep going.

In sharing my story, I hope to offer a message of hope and encouragement to others. Life is not without its hardships, but it is also filled with moments of beauty, connection, and triumph. The road to healing is long and often difficult, but it is worth every step. Every day survived is a testament to our strength, a reminder that we are more resilient than we realize. And in that resilience lies the power to overcome, to heal, and to create a future defined not by our pain but by our hope.