I turned 32 earlier this year. It’s my favorite number because it signifies my birth date, February 3rd. I had hoped 32 would be my magic number – a year of happiness, a time when I could simply glide through life after a couple of grueling years. Perhaps it would be the year I figured everything out, maybe even started planning the life I wanted to build with the man I was seeing.

Instead, this year has been one of the hardest of my life. Each month seemed to hurl one lemon after another. From getting shingles and spraining a foot, to dealing with a non-paying housemate and police reports, to going through romantic and financial turmoil. The final nail in the coffin was when my beloved first cat, Luna, suddenly went into acute kidney failure, just days after my breakup was sealed. 

I broke down. When I saw my reflection in the mirror, my eyes were so full of sadness that I wondered if I’d ever be truly happy again. 

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