Truth in Motion: The Year I Shed My Skin

Every year I choose a word or a short phrase. It’s not a resolution or a goal. It’s plain and simple. It’s something that I can return to when the year inevitably becomes messy and complicated, which it always does.

Last year was the Year of the Snake. It was a tough year for me, one where the awakening and clarity that I had begun arriving at in 2024 required a resolution. But not without a boiling point. Something had to give way. And so much did.

For me, it became a year of molting, the process by which a snake sheds its skin. In reality, a snake tends to shed its skin in a process called ecdysis, in one large, often inside-out piece. Snakes shed their skin because they have to. The skin that once protected them becomes too tight, too restrictive. Staying in it would eventually suffocate them. And that’s exactly how I felt.

So snakes push against it, slowly, painfully, until the skin peels away. In one long piece. That was last year for me, except that my shedding came in bits and pieces. Parts of my old self that felt limiting fell away. It was a year of shedding identities that had calcified by dropping or reframing relationships that no longer fit, old expectations about who I was supposed to be. Professionally, personally, even internally.

While some parts of the process of shedding can be freeing, there are other times when it is painful. It is awkward and uncomfortable. There were moments when I wondered if I was starting to lose something essential of myself in all that I was leaving behind. Thankfully, somewhere in the process that I sometimes forced myself to endure, something started to emerge. Not loudly. But quietly and persistently. Oprah Winfrey often says that life speaks to you in whispers before it starts to shout. And in those whispers, I began to hear something I could no longer ignore: truth.

My truth.

The truth about what I value. The truth about who I am. The truth about what I want. The truth about the spaces and relationships that feel expansive versus the ones that feel small.

But here’s the thing about truth. Discovering it is only the first step and living it is something else entirely. Because truth asks something of you. It asks you to claim agency over your life, to stop drifting along the paths others expect of you and instead choose, deliberately, where you want to go.

This year is the Year of the Horse. And more specifically, the Year of the Fire Horse.

In the Chinese zodiac, the horse symbolizes movement, courage, and forward momentum. Horses don’t linger in the past. They run toward what is in front of them. This year, the Fire Horse amplifies those traits with intensity and passion, bringing a sense of urgency that pushes change to happen quickly. That energy feels aligned with where I am in life right now.

If last year was about shedding old skins and uncovering truth, this year is about movement. About allowing that truth to shape how I live, work, write, and show up in the world. Not cautiously. Not apologetically. Just honestly and authentically.

So my intention for this year is simple: Truth in motion.

Not truth as something abstract or philosophical, but truth as a practice. It is choosing the conversations that are real instead of polite. It is choosing work that aligns with my values instead of what looks impressive on paper. It is choosing relationships where I can show up fully, imperfectly, honestly.

In other words, messy bliss. Because the older I get, the more I realize that a meaningful life is not about perfection. It’s about alignment. It’s about the quiet relief of knowing that the life you are building actually belongs to you.

Last year, I shed. This year, I run. Towards my truth.