Embracing the Eras: My Journey Through Love, Heartbreak, and Growth

Reflecting on Transformative Moments

Don't you just love iPhone memories? There's something so comforting about opening your phone and being reminded of a moment you might have forgotten—a photo, a video, a tiny piece of your life returned to you. It breaks the cycle of doom-scrolling and instead gives me a chance to pause, reminisce, and remember just how precious life really is.

Lately, those little reminders have shown me just how much can change in five years. If you had told me back then that I would live through some of the deepest heartbreak and the most expansive love of my life, I'm not sure I would have believed you. Yet here I am, looking back over half a decade that stretched me, softened me, and shaped me in ways I'm still learning to understand.

I've started to think of these years as eras—distinct yet deeply connected in seasons of becoming. And when I scroll through those unexpected memories, I can see them so clearly.

2020 - My Long-Distance Love Era

November 2020 was a strange moment in time when so many of us felt the same heaviness but had nowhere to put it. We thought Covid was easing, that maybe we were turning a corner, and then suddenly a stubborn new strain appeared—and of all places, South Africa. After months of anxiety, uncertainty, and plans that kept dissolving, I had finally allowed myself to hope again. The thought of seeing my grandparents for Christmas filled me right up, like sunlight returning after a long winter.

And then, almost instantly, it all collapsed—like a pile of books tumbling down from the top shelf. The news came that they wouldn't be joining us. Another holiday apart. Another moment we couldn't get back.

It wasn't just about a festive season without them; it was about the ache of time slipping through our fingers. So many families felt it: the longing, the distance, the loving with no place to put our arms. We were learning how to care through screens, how to hold on without holding each other, how to love across borders we never asked for.

That era taught me patience, tenderness, and that love, even stretched thin across continents and lockdowns, can still hold more power than fear.

2021 - My Courage Over Comfort Era

November 2021 was the year I said yes, even though I was terrified. I agreed to co-host my first-ever yoga workshop, and I remember feeling completely out of my depth. My nerves were loud, my doubt even louder.

And yet, I showed up.

My voice trembled, my hands shook, but I did it. In that moment, I realized courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes it's a whisper that says:

"Try anyway."

That workshop was the beginning of something I didn't have language for yet—a path I'm still walking.

2022 - My Verona in Golden Light Era

November 2022 brought a different kind of sweetness—the kind that lingers. We spent a weekend in Verona, celebrating birthdays missed with people I adore. Laughter spilled into ancient streets, we shared long meals that stretched into the night, and warm golden evenings wrapped around us like a Netflix Christmas movie shared with best friends.

Somewhere between the clinking glasses and the cobblestones, a new tradition was born—a promise to gather, to celebrate life, and to carve out joy on purpose. After long seasons of uncertainty, Verona reminded me that happiness isn't always something we stumble into; sometimes it's something we return to, year after year, because it deserves a place in our lives.

It settled softly in my heart, and it's a tradition I hope we keep—a yearly pilgrimage to friendship, laughter, and golden light.

2023 - My Heartbreak & Holding On Era

November 2023 changed me in ways I still struggle to put into words. I flew to South Africa to be with my best friend after learning she had stage 4 breast cancer. The fear, the anxiety, the helplessness—it was overwhelming. It felt like living inside a storm I couldn't protect her from, no matter how tightly I held on.

And when I flew back home, the storm didn't end. It simply became a long-distance fight—messages, calls, voice notes, updates that lift me one minute and break me open the next. Loving someone through pain you cannot take away is a weight that settles into the deepest parts of you.

I'm still living through it.

This era is teaching me that love is not always soft. Sometimes it is fierce, protective, and painfully loyal—stretched across oceans yet somehow still right there in the room with her. It's teaching me that grief can begin long before goodbye, and that hope can be both quiet and stubborn.

I'm learning that presence doesn't always mean being physically close. Sometimes presence is a voice note at midnight, a prayer whispered into a pillow, a steady belief held on the days she cannot hold it herself.

This is an era of loving loudly, even from afar. An era of holding on. An era of refusing to let distance dilute devotion.

2024 - My Same Place, Different Heart Era

Almost exactly one year later, I returned for my cousin's wedding. Two trips, a year apart, and yet the contrast was undeniable.

The landscapes were familiar, the sky just as wide, the air carrying that same scent of home—but I was not the same. Because her fight isn't over. Every update, every message, every moment of hope or fear travels with me, no matter where I go.

Joy and heartache stood side by side that year. I danced, I celebrated, and I also cried quietly when no one was looking, carrying the weight of someone I love who is still in the middle of a battle she never asked for.

Life had shifted, and I was learning how to hold two truths at once:

That beauty still exists, and that pain doesn't simply stay behind—it travels with us, sits at the table, blends into laughter, and reminds us what matters.

This era taught me that it's possible to keep showing up for life while still showing up for someone you love. That hope can live inside uncertainty. And that sometimes, returning to the same place with a different heart is its own kind of courage.

2025 - My I Have More Strength Era

And now here we are—a new chapter, a new era shaped by every one that came before it.

I carry 2020 with me, a year that taught us all how strong love can be across any distance.

I carry 2021, when I chose courage even while my hands were shaking.

I carry 2022, when Verona gifted us a new tradition and reminded me that joy can always return.

I carry 2023, a long-distance fight that continues—proof that loyalty, hope, and friendship can stretch across oceans and still remain unbreakable.

And I carry 2024, when I learned that life doesn't wait for perfect conditions; joy and uncertainty can exist together, and I can keep showing up for both.

These eras didn't break me—they built me.

November 2025 arrives with a quiet understanding: yes, some days feel heavier than others, and yes, the fight is still being fought, but I am here—fully present. I'm here for my family, for the sweeter, calmer moments, for the laughter that surprises me, for the peace that finds me when I least expect it. I stand beside the people I love who are still on their journey, still in their chapter, still fighting in ways seen and unseen.

Because this is my I Have More Strength Era.

The era where I recognize how far I've come.

The era where I trust myself to hold what matters.

The era where I know I can do hard things and still remain soft.

The era where I choose presence over perfection.

Today, I am home, wrapped in warmth and ordinary magic, reminded that these small, gentle moments are not distractions from life—they are life. Every challenge, every joy, every in-between moment has shaped me into the person I am today, just as many eras before have, and many eras to come will continue to do.

Here's to strength that grows quietly.

Here's to hope that keeps returning.

Here's to becoming, again and again, era by era.

Chantelle x