Twenty-Something Year Old Journalist

Yes, I’m aware. It’s been awhile. 

The end of 2025 was… less than ideal. I really don’t know what happened there—blog wise, mental health wise, screentime wise, will to live wise. 

Blog wise, it really went downhill. For a little bit there not only was I not blogging, I wasn’t even writing. My scattered notebooks all laid dormant, judging me just a tad too loudly. Despite their persistence and my growing dislike of myself for not writing, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t write. 

Blah, blah, blah, sad, depressed, feeling pity for myself, and in desperate need of a haircut slowly turned into finding a new therapist, repeat listens of “This Is Me Trying” by Taylor Swift, and the small actions it takes to start to get better. (Starting with a haircut)

Over that time I slowly started writing again, but nothing felt right. Words didn’t flow out of me as easily as they once did, the formulaic equation of my past blog posts was suddenly unsolvable, and the word count would watch me with every slight of the keyboard. 

I still am finding those things to be true, the only thing that has changed is the year. 

But with new years, come new beginnings. And with any new beginning, there comes a blog post. 

blog post noun

b·​log p·ost

1: something I overthink while writing, publishing, and rereading indefinitely

Did you hear the news? Kylee has a new blog post!

I know last year I wrote all about having no resolutions, about being content with the way my life is (was), about happiness, or some shit like that. And while I still wouldn’t say I have any resolutions this year (I’m much too ashamed about not accomplishing the only thing I wanted to accomplish last year: 100 subscribers), I do have expectations for both you and I this year. 

I am going to write and post at least every other week, even if I don’t think my writing is up to the standards I try to keep for my 53 subscribers. Expect movie reviews, poor attempts at political jokes, horror over political news, maybe some dating stories (one of my aforementioned expectations this year is to get a boyfriend—fingers crossed!), and probably just a lot more writing about myself in typical I-have-a-blog-fashion. 

I am going to be nicer to myself and wage a guerilla positivity-war against negative self-talk. Expect dubious amounts of optimism, possibly a brief stint in astrology, and unfortunately therefore no boyfriend this year, as I wouldn’t hate myself enough to let myself end up with any of the males in my generation. 

This might come as a shock to some, but after years of savansanas, downward dogs, and plank jacks, expect no more CorePower classes. Despite devoting gallons of sweat to CorePower, sweeping their floors and unclogging their toilets, that 5:30 AM wake up call is no longer in my cards. Expect more stretching, (who am I without a downward dog?) more Google searches of “is this food good for you,” and an increased interest in my company’s ClassPass discount. 

Things change, life ebbs and flows, but I want to be happy and make the most of what I have. I wish I could simply sit here and wait for life to change, (Tina Fey, you know my ringer is always on) but I know I must do the work to live up to my expectations. 

Things will not always look good, feel good, or feel comfortable, but I expect myself to persist. My writing doesn’t feel the same anymore, but I want to change and grow, so who am I to think my writing wouldn’t as well? 

And with that, I’m back to blogging, baby.