What I Would Leave in 2024 and You Should Too

As we near the end of 2024, I find myself reflecting on the experiences that have shaped me, challenged me, and—let’s be honest—left me exhausted. If I could pack up a few lessons and leave them behind as I step into the new year, it would be these:

I would leave behind the illusion of perfection, the idea that there’s one right way to live, to love, to grow. I would leave behind the relentless pursuit of timelines and milestones—those invisible markers we think define us. I would leave behind the heavy, burdened mindset that says, “Something is wrong with me because my journey doesn’t look like everyone else’s.”

One of the most difficult, personal journeys that have challenged me in 2024, and perhaps you too, is the journey of infertility. I say this not with any sense of defeat, but with the power of knowing that this struggle, like every challenge, has taught me something profound.

Infertility is one of those silent struggles—so many of us suffer through it quietly. We think we’re the only ones. We feel isolated by a sense of shame or inadequacy that is deeply rooted in the world’s expectations about what makes a family. And yet, year after year, more and more of us are confronting this truth: that family doesn’t have to look any one way. But that’s hard, isn’t it?

In a world that places so much emphasis on biological markers of success—on having children, on becoming parents—it’s easy to believe that we’re falling short when we can’t check that box. That our worth, our purpose, and our future somehow slip away as we face infertility. And so we carry it. We carry the guilt, the frustration, the “why me?”, the questions with no answers, the resentment, the grief. But here’s the thing: in 2024, I learned that none of that weight belongs to me. And it doesn’t belong to you, either.

The first thing I’m leaving behind is the idea that my life has to look like everyone else’s. That my family needs to have the traditional structure to be valid. There’s no shame in needing support through IVF, through adoption, through whatever path you are walking on your own terms. There’s no shame in it, and it doesn’t make us any less than those who can conceive without struggle. We’re all navigating our own unique challenges. And just because I can’t grow a baby in my body doesn’t mean I’m less of a woman, less of a person, less of a future mother.

What I’d also leave behind? The notion that it’s over for me. The belief that because 2024 wasn’t the year I imagined, I have somehow missed my window. Too often, we tie our happiness to a specific vision of what the future should look like. We see infertility as the door that shuts forever, but sometimes, it’s just a redirection. When I let go of the “have to,” I opened up the space to receive the “what if.” What if the best part of my journey hasn’t happened yet? What if the new family I’ve always dreamt of takes a form I never expected? What if the journey is more beautiful than the destination?

It’s not easy, though. Letting go of expectations, of timelines, of preconceived notions. But when you do, you create room for a new kind of peace. A peace that allows you to grieve what wasn’t, while also holding space for what is.

In 2024, I stopped apologizing for my body’s limitations. I stopped holding myself to the unforgiving standards of others. I stopped letting comparison steal my joy. I stopped letting the noise drown out my truth. And maybe that’s what you need to leave behind, too. You deserve to live life as it is for you—without constantly measuring it against someone else’s.

It’s time we leave behind the shame we carry around infertility. The feeling that we need to keep it hidden, that we must handle it alone. This is not a burden meant for isolation. It’s a part of our story. Yes, it’s painful. Yes, it can feel like a never-ending battle. But it is part of who we are, and we are worthy of compassion, of kindness, of understanding. We are worthy of hope—especially when hope feels out of reach.

I would leave behind the idea that “something’s wrong with me.” I would leave behind the belief that because my body isn’t fulfilling a certain societal role, I’m incomplete. I would leave behind the notion that infertility defines me in any way other than the resilience it has built in me.

And I would invite you to leave behind the same.

Whatever your personal struggle is—whether it’s infertility, a loss, a dream unfulfilled, a relationship that didn’t last, a failure that left you questioning yourself—let go of the story that says you aren’t enough. Because you are. You’re allowed to grow at your own pace. You’re allowed to redefine what success looks like. You’re allowed to heal in your own time, on your own terms. You’re allowed to be at peace with the unfolding of your life, even if it doesn’t look the way you thought it would.

So in 2024, I’m leaving behind the weight of all of those heavy beliefs. I’m leaving behind the narratives that no longer serve me. And I’m walking into 2025 with a sense of freedom, a sense of possibility, and a newfound love for the unpredictable beauty of this journey.

I’m challenging myself—and you—to do the same. What would you leave behind?