The Covenant of Authenticity: A Year-End Reflection

Long before this blog existed, I chose a word for 2025 instead of making a resolution. The word was:

Authenticity

In January of 2025, I posted a video on Instagram with a script I had written about authenticity, almost like a "quiet covenant." A covenant is often understood in an ecclesiastical or biblical sense, but at its core, it simply means an agreement or promise. Usually, it is a formal commitment between two or more parties to act, or not act, in a particular way. But in this case, the covenant was not between two people. It was between myself and myself, or perhaps between myself and what I understand as the Divine.

I entered into a covenant of authenticity with the Universe. I promised to show up fully as myself, without apology or hesitation. I promised to reclaim my voice, honor my lived experiences, and trust the depth of knowledge, skill, and wisdom I bring into every space I enter.

This covenant of authenticity did not mean perfection. It meant alignment. Alignment with my values, my vision, and my voice.

When Achievement Wasn’t Enough

I had been in a dark place, both professionally and personally, clawing my way out of something heavy. Part of what made it so heavy was the realization that I had been pulled into directions where I felt anything but myself. I struggled to make sense of how I could feel so profoundly misaligned while also standing at the finish line of a PhD.

What I came to understand was that achievement does not protect against emotional or spiritual decay. Accomplishment does not automatically bring connection. And when those forms of connection are ignored, the nervous system has a way of screaming the truth.

There was a non-death grief present, a grief for who I was and who I no longer recognized. When I looked in the mirror, I did not want to be the person staring back at me. During that time, the grief I felt for my mother also deepened. I often held her picture to my heart, sobbing over it more times than I can count, believing that she was the only person who could ever love this damaged version of myself without condition.

Years ago, they might have called it a nervous breakdown. Today, we would more accurately name it a mental health crisis.

Whatever it was, somehow, through resilience, faith, perseverance, the support of several extraordinary professionals and humans, a couple of cats, and sprinkled with grace, I found the courage to begin again and slowly navigate my way back toward my truth.

Why Silence Wasn’t an Option

I needed to write. I thought about a blog. I’ve hosted blogs before, but they were largely focused on reach and connections.

The blog I created this year is different.

I wanted to create something that could hold what I needed to express. Of course, in this era, there is constant pressure to build followers, connections, or become the next “unique” thing. But at the core, I wasn’t trying to build an audience. I had something that needed to be disseminated. Through both lived experience and research, I had developed insights on grief, pet loss, and marginalized experiences that felt important to share. Yet I had become increasingly aware that many research-based dissertations on meaningful topics go largely unnoticed, not because they lack value, but because there is no clear plan for dissemination. There is often an assumption that dissemination begins and ends with scholarly publication. While that is certainly one path, I encountered work that encouraged dissemination through diverse modes of communication. A blog was one of the modes suggested.

I am a writer. I have always been a writer. I wanted to take my time with scholarly publications, but I did not believe that waiting was a reason for silence.

So I quietly and imperfectly started this blog.

It has become part of my healing process, a place where reflection, professional insight, and academic thinking are allowed to coexist. It is also part of something larger, a space where heart and science are not in competition with one another, but in conversation.

What This Year Asked of Me

This year, the collective weight of grief felt undeniable. Personal losses. Public tragedies. Human suffering. Animal suffering and none of it arrived neatly or politely.

I needed to write, or I was going to explode.

Not everything was about pet loss, although that remains a core part of my mission, but about grief itself. Death. Bereavement. Loss. Something I was deeply acquainted with, yet something we rarely speak about honestly.

Starting this blog and writing that first post felt like breathing again, and somehow, I felt more aligned with my authenticity than I had in a very long time.

Since then, I have shared personal, professional, and academic stories. Grief stories. Faith-adjacent reflections. Research-informed insights. Pieces that sit at the intersection of lived experience and scholarly thought.

That blend, I think, is what gives this blog a unique voice.

Heart and science are not separable for me. I cannot study grief without feeling it, and I cannot move through the world without both knowing and sensing.

2025 was not my hardest personal year, but it was a heavy one, collectively. Grief, as a presence, was impossible to ignore. So much occurred that did not make sense and had to be carried without answers.

The Way Forward

This blog is still new. I may not post every week, and I am not chasing algorithms or influence. If those things come, that is fine. But what I am committed to is the covenant of authenticity I made at the beginning of this year, and continuing to write from a place of honesty, alignment, and meaning as we move into 2026.

If you have read, liked, shared, subscribed, or supported in any way, I hope something here has met you where you are, offered validation, or helped you feel less alone.

This is the work I feel called to do right now.

And I am grateful you are here. 😻