Contact us at: whispernthunder1@gmail.comThis Year, I Choose Truth
~ Crystal James
There are years that pass quietly.
And then there are years that
change you forever.
2025 was a year that cracked me open
in ways I didn’t see coming. It taught
me to live in my truth, not the curated,
safe truth that’s easy to share, but the
trembling kind. The raw kind. The kind
you speak out loud even when your
voice shakes, even when you don’t know
how the story ends.
And I did it.
I stepped fully into a role I once questioned if I was ready for. I said yes to projects that scared me. I walked into rooms I never imagined myself in, conferences, panels, leadership circles and not only did I take up space, I belonged there. I earned my place there.
I made meaningful connections, built community in new ways, and watched myself rise again and again. I started speaking openly about my experiences with domestic violence and sexual assault. Not from a place of pain, but from power. And in doing so, I helped others find their voices too.
Then something even deeper shifted: I found the clarity and courage to file a report and take legal steps I once thought I’d never be ready for. That moment didn’t erase what happened, but it was a reclamation of voice, of agency, of self.
And while I was building inner strength, I was building outer strength, too.
Against all odds and even my own disbelief, I ran a freaking marathon.
A full marathon.
The kind of feat people train years for.
The kind of goal that once felt impossible to me.
It became the most unexpected metaphor for my year. The aches, the blisters, the doubt, the mental walls… and yet, I kept going. Mile by mile. Step by step. And I crossed that finish line knowing that I am capable of more than I ever gave myself credit for.
But the year wasn’t only triumph.
I also lost my father. And with that loss came a grief I still can’t fully name.
Because I had stepped away from our relationship, telling myself there would be time to mend things. Time to find softer ground. But now, there won’t be.
And what I grieve most is the possibility. The what-could-have-beens. The conversations we’ll never have. The reconciliation that will remain unwritten.
In the midst of that pain, I also experienced an almost love.
Almost, because I was the only one who leapt.
And as beautiful as it was to feel again, it reminded me that I deserve a love that meets me where I am and rises with me.
But through it all, through the celebration, the heartbreak, the silence, the breakthroughs, I stayed true to myself.
I didn’t abandon me.
So as 2026 begins, I’m not making a checklist of goals. I’m making room. Room for authenticity. Room for tenderness. Room to keep living in alignment with my spirit.
Even when it’s messy.
Even when it’s lonely.
Even when it requires starting over again.
Because this.. this sacred, gritty, beautiful truth is mine. And it’s carried me further than fear ever could.
So if you’re entering this year a little worn but still standing, this is your sign: you are doing enough. You are enough.
Let this be the year you:
Stop waiting for permission to begin again.
Give yourself credit for the healing you’ve done quietly.
Finally celebrate the strength it took just to survive.
You don’t have to prove yourself anymore. You just have to believe in who you already are.
You’ve survived too much to keep playing small with your joy.
You’ve earned your place in this world.
You are allowed to take up space in it, not in pieces, but in your fullness.
You are still here. And that alone is a sacred triumph.
This year, I choose truth.
And if your voice is trembling like mine once was, walk with me. I’ve made room for you.