2025 was a year of stopping, questioning, letting things end, and finding the courage to stay still when I did not know what was next. Some books I read, I needed something to hold onto while I stayed inside the uncertainty. These books did not fix anything for me. They did not give me answers or tell me what to do next. They stayed with me.
Each book came at a moment when I needed it. One helped me think more clearly about the kind of support I actually needed. Another helped me stay grateful during a time when I was out of work and unsure where things were heading. Others reminded me of who I am, how I speak, and what I feel when things are unclear.
What they all had in common is this. They helped me keep moving without leaving myself behind. And sometimes, that is enough.
One of the most important lessons I took from The First 90 Days is that support is not generic. You cannot ask for the same kind of support in every season of your life.
This book made something obvious to me. When you are in transition, you need to understand your current situation before deciding what support you need. Not every moment requires the same people, the same advice, or the same level of challenge.
To be clear, I am not talking about being transactional in relationships. What I agreed with myself on is that being intentional and honest in these moments matters. There are times when you need people who will help you think, people who will stretch your perspective. And there are times when you need stability, people or structures that allow you to move forward step by step without pressure.
One of my key learnings is that moving forward well requires asking yourself difficult but necessary questions. Where am I right now? What kind of support does this moment actually require? Who or what is aligned with where I am going?
Bittersweet
I encountered Bittersweet during a moment of uncertainty. I was out of a job and standing between chapters. I did not know where the next opportunity or miracle would come from.
This book helped me understand that gratitude does not mean ignoring pain or pretending that everything is fine. It means honoring what has been good even when the future is unclear.
It taught me that I could celebrate the years that shaped me. I could acknowledge the work I had done and the growth I had experienced. I could remain grounded and thankful even while not knowing what was coming next.
I first read The Gifts of Imperfection in 2023. I reread it in 2024. Each time, it felt like a reminder I still needed. In 2025, I realized something had changed. I no longer felt like I was reading this book to convince myself of its message. I was reading it and recognizing that I had already begun to live it.
This is the year I realized I am ready to give away my hard copy in 2026. Not because the message is no longer critical, but because it has become internalized.
As we grow older, something subtle happens. We become more responsible, more strategic, more careful. And in the process, we sometimes forget the part of ourselves that once spoke with clarity and instinct.
Speak Your Truth felt like a quiet return to that place. It reminded me of the younger version of myself who trusted her voice more easily, who did not edit herself as much to fit expectations. In moments of uncertainty, this book served as a gentle flashback. It reminded me who I am beneath the roles, the titles, and the negotiations of adulthood.
Truth does not disappear with age. It simply waits to be remembered.
This is the book I am still exploring.
It is heavy in every sense of the word. And yet, I feel drawn to it because of what it offers—a deeper emotional vocabulary.
Atlas of the Heart invites us to name emotions precisely rather than collapsing them into vague categories. In doing so, it opens new possibilities for connection with ourselves and with others.
As I read, I realize that some of these emotions I have felt for years without ever naming them correctly. Have you experienced that too?
There is something powerful about naming what we feel. It brings clarity. It creates bridges. It allows us to connect without confusion or defensiveness.
Beyond the books, the people mattered even more.
As grounding as these books were, the people I stayed connected to mattered just as much, if not more.
Some relationships revealed parts of myself I had not fully explored. Others helped me see patterns I had quietly stepped away from without noticing. With the right people, I did not have to struggle or overexplain. Some answers emerged simply because I felt safe enough to be honest.
Books grounded me. People helped me see myself more clearly.
Looking toward 2026
My shelf already holds books waiting to be explored. And yet, I find myself open to recommendations. If you have books that helped you navigate uncertainty or moments of deep reflection, I would genuinely love to hear about them.