Writing this post feels strange after the past year. I thought my 2019 review was rough, and then 2020 happened. It was a year of relentless upheaval, loss, and unexpected lessons. While I’m grateful for the basics—our health in many ways, flexible jobs, time together, and the results of the November election—those positives don’t erase the grief so many of us felt. Lives, health, and livelihoods were lost or altered forever, and that weight lingers.
This NPR piece captured much of how the year felt to me: a quiet, persistent ache for all the milestones and moments we missed. I’m trying to be honest with myself heading into 2021: there are reasons to hope—a new administration and vaccines coming—but there’s also a reality that many aspects of life will remain constrained for some time. I’ve learned to temper my expectations and build a clearer, more realistic view of the future.
If I had to name the year, it would be the Year of Grief. We experienced personal losses in our family and the widespread losses felt across our communities—plans dissolved, jobs vanished, businesses closed. We also mourned a different kind of loss: the realization that some people we thought we knew revealed values and behaviors that were painful or disappointing.
One quote that resonated with me this year said, “This year may have broken your heart, but it opened your eyes.” The pandemic, the social justice movement, and the election all acted like a spotlight. For some people, my admiration and love deepened profoundly. I want to rush toward those who stood up, sacrificed, and showed compassion. For others, their actions or silence exposed selfishness, racism, or complicity. Those impressions are lasting, and I don’t think I’ll soon forget them.
In a way, 2020 clarified things that were previously easy to ignore. Privilege and busy lives allowed many of us to overlook uncomfortable truths; this year made them harder to dismiss. I hope that clarity leads to more thoughtful, equitable choices about who we surround ourselves with and how we act in the world. Still, recognizing these truths has been painful.
Like in previous years, some of our family’s challenges aren’t public. There are things I can’t share—either because they aren’t my story to tell or because I’m not ready. I’ve faced new health struggles this year and will keep most details private for now as we navigate treatment and recovery.
I had surgery in August, and having a procedure during a pandemic is something I hope to avoid repeating. Initially, companions weren’t allowed, and the idea of going into surgery alone was terrifying. At the last minute the rules changed, and Jeff was allowed to accompany me. We moved quickly to arrange COVID testing and childcare, and a dear friend helped so Jeff could be present at the start. I recovered in the hospital largely on my own afterward, but I remain deeply grateful he was there for those early hours.
That experience reminded me how many people weren’t so fortunate. Many patients faced surgeries, births, or final goodbyes alone because hospitals restricted visitors to limit viral spread. Nurses and medical staff took on the physical risk of COVID and the emotional burden of supporting patients without families present. It’s a heavy reality that contrasts sharply with those who still gathered maskless or treated the pandemic casually. The disparity felt impossible to reconcile.
After months of managing appointments, surgery, recovery, and childcare challenges while running a business, we made the difficult choice to invite some family to help temporarily. With testing and quarantine protocols in place, we minimized risk, but I still carried guilt about the decision. We needed support we couldn’t otherwise get while trying to protect our small household.
On the adoption front, our plans were put on hold after a turbulent two years in the process. Many of you have asked for updates. The pandemic made the delay even more painful as we spent long stretches as the three of us. I would love for Arlo to have a sibling; he’s grown so much this year, with an incredible imagination and surprising outgoingness. Children have made huge sacrifices during this time and deserve recognition for it.
Looking ahead, my expectations for 2021 are cautious but not without hope. I plan to get the vaccine as soon as I’m eligible—I trust the science and the people who worked to make it possible, and I’m grateful to the medical professionals who accept it. I’ll continue to push for a more just and equitable society and hold the new administration accountable for meaningful progress.
I’ll keep working on my physical health with my medical team and my mental health with a therapist. Beyond that, my goal is simple: get through the year, savor the good moments, and endure the hard ones one day at a time. If others use big resolutions to cope, that’s valid. If you, like me, need to focus on getting through each day, that’s okay too.
My hope for 2021 is that more people choose science and selflessness over conspiracy and selfishness. I’m sending love to everyone who has lost a person, a job, trust, or stability. You are not alone.
Thank you for being here throughout this nearly decade-long journey on Studio DIY. I don’t know what the coming year will bring, but I’m grateful you’re along for the ride. I look forward to sharing more of our home life, the talented people I meet, and the small moments that keep us going.
Stay safe, wear a mask, and if you can, thank an essential worker in your life.
xo,
Kelly