the phoenix

Normally, I pick one word for the year. But 2024 was meant to be different I suppose, as I ended up with three.

Fire. Resurrection. Phoenix.

2023 felt like dying. I turned 29 and it seemed a downward tumble after that. There were many moments I wasn’t sure I could keep going, some moments I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I am forever grateful to those who saw and stepped in, who fought when I didn’t have it in me. They carried me long enough to find my own fight again. 

2024 didn’t fix anything. There was no automatic ‘new year, new me.’ In the midst of this one friend told me that, perhaps, 2024 was meant to be feisty, fire-y, about the fight. And another friend told me how something I had written smelled like resurrection. And that’s what I wanted, to come back to life. To be made new. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Letting grief and disappointment continue to deepen my empathy and influence how I want to move through the world. I was asked to rise above, to take the high road. And I was reminded, so clearly, of the sacrifices of the few for the sake of the many. 

Thirty felt like breathing again. Like I was getting to wake up from a sweat-inducing nightmare. It was not an easy breath, but one that felt like I had clawed my way towards. Resurrection wasn’t neat, there was dirt in my nails and my hair askew. Born into a new decade. Time to rediscover who Mallory is, what she loves, and who she is meant to be. 

And that’s what I sprinkled this year with. Moments that brought me joy. Activities that reminded me of what I once loved. My own resurrection. The burning away of what no longer is, of dreams long gone, iterations of me only crafted for the benefit of someone else. 

I fell in love with dancing again this year. I started dancing when I was three. Big Bird did ballet on Sesame Street and I decided I needed to as well. Then I danced for the next eleven years. While I’m sure dancing is something I loved at one point, it became something I dreaded. It certainly wasn’t my strong suit, I was far better academically. And it highlighted to me all that I hated and deemed bad about my body. There is no hiding in a leotard and tights. As I’ve looked back I’ve wondered if my lack of motivation really stemmed from growing weary by the hate for my own body. I’m inclined to think that’s the case.

My journey with dance didn’t stop then though. I took a couple classes in high school. A couple in college, one of them being the only 8 am class of my entire college career. And most importantly, I danced at camp. With silly costumes and lots of laughing, just because it was fun. Just because it was good. It’s how dancing came back to me and became something I enjoyed again. So I danced in the car and I danced in the kitchen whenever the desire struck.

A dear friend had encouraged me to take dance classes again, I had brought it up a few times. He knew I would love it if I did it again, he certainly had. And that’s precisely what I did at the start of 2024. Taking classes once a week, whenever I could, any style of dance. Dancing for the love of it, not to perform or be perfect. Dancing to move my body, to be free. I can take the stress of the week and leave it in the studio time and time again. I am amazed at what my body remembers after years and years of no formal classes. But I have been even more amazed at the beauty I have found in the mirrors of the dance studio this time around. Remembering what a gift it is that my body can move. The delight in dancing with others who are here just to be. My body is capable of far more than I have given her credit for and I’m grateful to learn this lesson. 

My love for my body deepened this year. A lot of it happened in the dance studio. Some of it happened in my therapist’s office. But perhaps the bulk of it happened in a tattoo artist’s chair. I slowly started a sleeve in March of 2021. I thought I was going in for one lamppost, but Jennifer knew I would be back. And I was. Now my whole arm tells the story of Narnia, of books that I loved as a child and love even more dearly as an adult. The art is beautiful, bringing me to tears time after time as each piece was revealed to me. I adore it. I love showing it off. But I love how it has brought healing to how I view my body. 

Sitting in that chair, talking with Jennifer, and learning about how my body has to prepare and heal from a tattoo has taught me so much. I developed tenderness and awareness for my body. A deeper desire to care for her on a grander scale. And as art was added to my body I began to see my own body as art. Thinking about how many people I have hugged, tears I have wiped away, miles I have run. My body has carried me through so much, protected me in so many instances. She is not inherently bad. She is not a problem. And she is not the enemy. Somehow, sitting with Jennifer for all those hours, I finally began to realize and let that sink in. I didn’t realize what a gift it would be to receive an arm full of tattoos, but I’m glad I decided to take the chance. To do something because it brought me joy, because it brings such color to my life. A permanent reminder of goodness, through the stories represented and the stories I’ve been able to write. 

I don’t know what my thirties will hold, not a clue what 2025 will be like. But I feel sure that so much more is coming, the new decade beckoning new beginnings. The last years of my twenties saw the death of a lot of dreams, of a number of “I thought by nows” and the hope to just have it all figured out by now. 

That’s perhaps one of the greatest tricks of adulthood. That it seems like everyone else must have it all figured out. Or at least they sure make it seem that way. We get tricked into thinking that everyone’s curated outward appearances must be the complete truth. 

There isn’t much I feel like I have figured out just yet. Thirty years honestly feels like so little time. But there are some things I feel rather sure about. I know that I am going to keep dancing. I am sure I’ll be getting more tattoos. I know that I will continue to cook and eat incredible food. I am more certain than ever of the gift of community and friends who know and love me well. I know that I am where I am meant to be right now. Where I live, where I work, where I attend church. And I am certain of how deeply loved I am. I have watched God show up this year through the people in my life time and time again. I have not been forgotten. In the midst of the grief and the fire there has certainly been One calling me into new life, calling me to rise from the ashes. So I will. Dusting myself off, passion in my eyes, and a fire within my heart. I am sure that the best is yet to come, things far better than I have ever dreamed of.