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I have been meaning to write this post for a long, long time. I suppose you could argue I’ve been waiting to tell this story since early April of 2022, which is when I gave birth to my son. Considering he is now nearly three years old, and I have one glorious day where I am actually on top of my freelance deadlines, the sun is shining, and I have a cup of hot coffee at my side, I thought I’d finally write a blog post about my birth story, or: how I learned to stop worrying and love the epidural (I couldn’t resist the title, which is a nod to my former days of cinephilia and a love of all things Stanley Kubrick).

In other years, I’ve written reviews like 2021: The Worst… I Mean, the Best Year of My Life (a general summary) or ones featuring certain words that meant a lot to me that year or, way back in the day, month by month. For this one, I thought I’d divide it into certain topics, those pillars of my life that make me me: motherhood, writing/work, lifestyle, travel, dating, and mental health. Let’s just say some topics will be juicier than others, hah.

So, without further ado, here is my review of 2024.

The last time I saw you, I knew it would be the last time. Isn’t that a strange feeling? To say goodbye to someone and know you’ll never see them again.

“I’ll see you in a couple of months,” you said to me, your mouth pressed against my ear. We were the same height. I felt the stubble on your chin brush against my cheek as you pulled away, the scent of you lingering for just a moment. Above us was a bright blue sky, an early morning sun. Shopkeepers were just starting to unpack the city, pulling chairs out on café sidewalks, opening shutters on the fruit stalls. A man wearing a loose suit jacket swept outside his bookstore, a steady rhythm of straw hitting concrete.

“I’ll see you in a couple of months,” I echoed, grabbing my backpack off of the cobblestones. We kissed one more time, a quick one, and you tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear.

“Ciao,” you smiled at me.

“Ciao,” I smiled back, turning toward the train station, all the air leaving my lungs.

It doesn’t matter if you were together for 30 years, five years, or even a few months, let’s face it: breakups are terrible. In fact, a tough breakup is often cited as one of the most stressful things you’ll ever go through in life. And as someone who has suffered her fair share of difficult breakups – my last serious relationship ended when my then-partner dumped me while I was pregnant with his child – I can tell you that there are few things in the world that are as energy-draining, as mind-numbing, or as hard to get through. What I’d love to do right now is give you a big hug and tell you it’s going to be OK. Barring that, here are a few things you can do to help yourself through a difficult breakup.

I met Dylan in a sandwich shop on a snowy afternoon in Toronto. With a charming accent and a mop of brown curls, I was instantly smitten. Lunch after lunch, even though it cost a fortune, I visited the sandwich shop for a chance to speak to the handsome man who worked there.

After six weeks, he finally asked me out. From then on, things happened fast: we became boyfriend and girlfriend, moved in together, and planned a future living in another country, all within the span of six months or so. It was my first truly serious relationship – I was 22 – and I was so excited to finally have someone to introduce to friends and family, to plan out holidays with, and to share my life and all its ups and downs.

And although Dylan and I stayed together for nearly three years, lived in three countries together, and even discussed marriage and children, I always had a worrying thought lingering the back of my mind: I don’t think Dylan is very nice to me. In fact… I think Dylan is really, really mean to me.

This is how your heart breaks: slowly and deliberately, and then all at once. A story about falling in and out of love.