Kristy Kelly: Bracing for the worst, gave me the best
If I had judged the year by how it began, I would have written it off before it even got started. January dragged me into 2025 while I was sick, exhausted, and quietly wondering if my body was about to fail me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Nothing felt steady. Nothing felt hopeful. I thought I was bracing for the worst year of my life.
But something shifted, not because circumstances suddenly improved, but because I stopped letting the worst moments define the whole story. As usual, I held on to the pieces I could control and ignored the rest. Now, standing here on Thanksgiving, I can say honestly that this has been one of the best years I’ve lived.
It feels cliché to list what I’m thankful for, but gratitude has a way of reminding you how you survived. I’ll start with the small things: over-the-counter cold medicine, without which January may have defeated me entirely. I’m thankful for steady work even when the job delivered its own mix of lows; columns people hated, attacks on my character, and the burden of reporting on things you never imagine happening on the street where you live. Including watching someone I once called a friend become the center of an alleged murder plot. Those are the kinds of stories that shake your foundation.
But the year had its anchors too, and many of them belong to Kinston. I’m thankful for the O’Neil Hotel, where I stood with my now husband in front of the old safe; rain pouring, plans changing, and somehow everything still perfect. We didn’t get the rooftop wedding, but being married in front of a piece of this city’s history made the moment feel bigger than anything weather can ruin. And the Farmers Market turned out to be the most fitting place for a reception. There’s something special about celebrating your future in a place so tied to your community’s everyday life.
I’m grateful for the Neuse River and the strange freedom of floating downstream with nothing but time and current carrying you. Even though my son managed to lose my folding kayak this summer, I still think about those slow rides from Seven Springs to Kinston—how the water forces you to exhale. I finally replaced the kayak, and even though I haven’t taken it out yet, just knowing it’s waiting feels like a promise I intend to keep.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped believing the old saying that it’s one step forward and two steps back. I think it’s just a midlife shuffle—sometimes awkward, sometimes chaotic, but still moving. The virus in January didn’t take me out. The wedding didn’t break me. The people who mocked my wedding photos didn’t send me running. The public attacks on my character—attacks that once would have pushed me into a dark spiral—didn’t even knock me off balance.
This year didn’t make me stronger. It revealed the strength I’d already built.
And in the middle of all of it, there were small, perfect moments that made the rest irrelevant: standing at the O’Neil while the rain came down sideways; dancing with my husband at the Farmers Market our friend’s son sang John Legend; a quiet afternoon on the river before the kayak disappeared; and the morning I woke up after being sick and realized I finally felt like myself again.
Those are the moments that carried me. Those are the ones I’m grateful for.
I have so many memories from 2025 that nothing anyone has said or done can come close to dimming the life I’ve built here. And if the year taught me anything, it’s this: beginnings lie. The way something starts has nothing to do with how it ends.
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