Blake had hip replacement surgery just before Christmas.

He’s a healthy, physically fit man whose whole life has been built on capability. You know, powering through, pushing past, getting it done. He threw the crutches away on day 2, refused pain relievers, and now he has cabin fever like I’ve never seen.

What I’ve been observing is that hip replacement doesn’t care about willpower. The recovery needs something completely different from him. Patience. Surrender. Letting his body lead instead of overriding it. Brute force will actually set him back.

Meanwhile, Jack, our new 2-year-old rescue cat, has quietly taken up residence at Blake’s side, sleeping closer to him than to me, and licking his hand in his sleep. The formerly homeless Bengal mix from the Downtown Eastside already knows where he’s needed. And he’s already doing the tending before anyone asked.

We had friends over for Christmas dinner. It was spontaneous, everyone helping in the kitchen, comfortable and warm. Still a lot for my nervous system, but the good kind of a lot. And through all of it, Jack lay in the middle of the room, undisturbed like he’s always been here.

This is the strange, suspended week between the years, and it’s asking something of all of us.

Here’s what’s moving

The energy right now is for looking back honestly. Not the curated version or the highlight reel, but what actually happened this year. Because there’s always a gap between what you planned and what happened. What worked? What didn’t? What did you think you’d accomplish that you didn’t? What happened that you never saw coming? 

I ask these questions because you can’t move forward clearly if you’re dragging an unexamined year behind you. And you can’t build something new if you haven’t acknowledged what the last twelve months actually taught you.

This week supports honest self-assessment. I’m talkin’ about the kind that doesn’t flinch, but instead says, this is what it was, and this is what I learned, and this is what I’m leaving behind.

Take your time and write it down if that helps. Let 2025 tell you its real story before you close the book.

Here’s the belief that won’t survive this week

“You can push through anything if you try hard enough.”

I’ve watched Blake wrestle with this all week. The man who has never met an obstacle he couldn’t muscle past, confronting something that actively resists that approach? Wow. Every time he pushes, his body pushes back. That’s because recovery isn’t asking for effort, but for surrender.

And I think a lot of us carry this belief that willpower is the answer to everything. That if we’re struggling, we just need to try harder. And that rest is for people who aren’t committed enough.

But you and I know that some things don’t respond to force. Some healing only happens when you stop fighting it. And some chapters only close when you stop trying to rewrite them and just… let them end.

So, here’s some next-level questions. 

What if the thing you’ve been pushing against all year is actually asking for a completely different approach? What if the answer isn’t more effort, but more patience or more surrender or more trust that the slow repair is still repair?

Blake’s learning this with his hip. Maybe you’re learning it with something else.

Here’s the part that’s hard to see on your own

There’s a particular kind of helplessness in watching someone you love have to learn a new way of being. You can’t do it for them. You can’t fix it. You can only witness.

I feel Blake’s sleep disrupted every time he tries to turn. I see the frustration when his body won’t do what it’s always done. And I can’t make it faster. I can only be there.

Jack feels it too, apparently. The newly arrived cat now spends his nights pressed against Blake’s side, licking his hand while he sleeps, and offering something I recognize immediately.

This is what tending looks like. It’s not fixing, but being present. Just staying close when someone’s in the hard part.

The ducks have become my breathing room. Even in the rain and wind and cold, walking out with them is where I come back to myself. Tilly, Wensley, and Blue don’t care about surgery recovery, year-end reflection or my Christmas menu. They just want their routines. And that’s exactly what I need too.

We’re all finding our roles in this strange, slow week. The one recovering. The one tending. The one who just arrived and already knows where he belongs. The three who patrol the yard like nothing has changed.

Maybe that’s how you get through the space between the years. You find your role. You let others find theirs. And you stop trying to push through what’s asking you to simply be in it.

Jonni

P.S. However your 2025 went (the parts that matched the plan and the parts that didn’t), I hope you can look at it honestly this week, to understand, and then to let it go gently, carrying forward only what’s worth keeping. See you in 2026.