By Kristyna Moore 
The year 2025 began as a quiet storm. I was slipping into the fog of depression while navigating the early chaos of perimenopause, and some days simply getting out of bed felt impossible. My thoughts felt dark and heavy, my body unfamiliar, my energy nonexistent, and my moods uncontrollable. And yet, in the haze, there was one constant: my husband. He noticed the subtle shifts I barely acknowledged. The sighs, the quiet retreats into myself, the moments I almost broke. Instead of judgment or frustration, he offered presence. He held space for my struggle without trying to “fix” it, and slowly, he held my hand as I clawed my way back into the light.
Just when I thought I might find solid ground, life threw another storm our way. In August, I was blindsided to learn my dad was terminally ill. Suddenly, I found myself traveling back and forth between Alabama and California, balancing caregiving, estate responsibilities, and the wrenching weight of impending loss. Each trip was emotionally exhausting – my mind constantly split between logistics, finances, my grief, staying afloat at work, and the immense guilt I felt for constantly being away from my young kids.
Through all of it, my husband was my anchor. When I hesitated at the cost of last-minute flights and hotels, he didn’t hesitate for me. “Book it. Being there with your dad is what matters, not the money.” When we first found out my dad was ill, he insisted we get all four of us out there within days to see him before he got worse. Yes, it would be expensive, but he reminded me we would regret not being there far more than we would regret spending the money. We did exactly that.
Less than a week after we all left, my dad’s health declined rapidly, and I remember crying to my husband, saying how relieved I was that he had pushed us to go. Through it all, his calm guidance and unwavering insistence that family came first made the impossible feel manageable. He held our home together in my absence and always asked, “What do you need?” Not as a rhetorical question, but as a sincere invitation. He listened patiently as I processed every fear, regret, and heartbreak. There were moments when I felt utterly untethered, and in those moments, his love reminded me I wasn’t facing this alone.
Just a few weeks later came the hardest day of all: my dad passed away. Grief would hit me in waves. One minute I was in survival mode, just pushing through the never-ending tasks of his estate; the next I was reduced to a puddle of tears, overwhelmed by the devastation. My husband was there through every moment. We cried together, sometimes in silence, sometimes with words spilling out in messy confessions of pain and love. He held me through my tears, never flinching, never rushing me through the sorrow. Simple gestures like a warm dinner waiting when I came home, holding me when I couldn’t speak, sitting beside me while I made dreaded phone calls, his patience and reassurance when I broke down mid-task—they became lifelines. He was grieving too, but in those moments, he made room for my grief. In those hours, and in the days that followed, I realized grief could not be endured alone—it must be shared, held tenderly, and witnessed. And that is exactly what he did. Together, we emerged stronger.
This year taught me a profound truth: love isn’t always about fireworks or sweeping romance. Sometimes, it’s about sitting beside someone when their world is unraveling, holding their hand while they navigate storms you can’t calm, crying together until you both feel a little lighter. My husband has shown that love for me. A partner whose strength is measured not by his absence of struggle, but by his unwavering commitment to show up.
Now, as we welcome a new year, I see how the storms of 2025 didn’t just test us—they revealed us. Through depression, hormonal shifts, illness, caregiving, grief, and exhaustion, we discovered our resilience. We discovered the extraordinary, quiet power of simply being there for one another. And in the midst of all that pain, I’ve found something precious: a love that doesn’t just survive life’s hardest years and moments – it thrives through them.
Through every storm, he’s been my shelter. And I hope I’ve been his.
by Kristal Black 
by Tiffany Nardoni 
