"What Didn''t Break Me, and What Almost Did" by Nancy D. Galang, MA

I didn’t end 2025 with a big bang. No countdown highlights, no dramatic “I made it” moment. Just a regular day, making sure my family had specially prepared meals for dinner, posting our family gathering on social media, and wishing everyone a simple “Happy New Year.” On the surface it looked ordinary, but it felt so much heavier than it should have. Maybe because I was closing a year without my mom around. I never knew how much her absence would change the way everything felt, even the ordinary moments.

Christmas and the Quiet That Followed

For as long as I can remember, Christmas and New Year celebrations meant Mom’s baked macaroni. It meant looking forward to the gifts she carefully picked out for me and the kids. It meant photo ops around her and watching her drink one bottle of beer before she dozed off.

And now there’s this quiet space where she used to be - a real feeling of emptiness. The last few years with Mom, as she grew weaker, were about making sure I spent time with her on weekends or for as long as I could each month. At first, I’d tell her about my wins and struggles, and she’d always have a comment or a bit of wisdom to share. Later on, even when she couldn’t speak, just knowing she was there and listening meant everything. It was her quiet presence that calmed me and made me feel that every struggle, every win, no matter how small - was still just all worth it.

Those conversations with Mom, whether packed with wisdom or just shared silence taught me to celebrate the little wins. Now that she’s gone, I don’t have her here to share them with or to cheer me on. Still, I carry that practice with me, and in a way, honoring those moments is like keeping her close in every new triumph.

So mga Nan-sis, allow me to share those moments in 2025 that almost broke me. And those that didn't. Moments I should have shared with mom if she was still around.

Amara’s Hospital Confinement - What Almost Broke Me

While 2024 was filled with hospital confinements for me and the kids, I honestly prayed none of those moments would follow us into 2025. But life had other plans.

Early in the year, my one and only apo, my granddaughter Amara, was hospitalized with pneumonia. Being a single mom to a single mom comes with its own kind of weight, and I found myself trying to hold everything together for both of them.

The hardest part and the moment that almost broke me, was watching Amara go through IV insertions and seeing how weak she became. It shook something deep inside me. But somehow, that pain didn’t break me. It only reminded me how much strength we find in the most helpless moments.

Rocky’s Struggle - A Constant Prayer Not to Break Me

Not long after that, my son Rocky’s battle with depression hit its worst point. His struggles were triggered by a series of major life changes: he was no longer a full‑time student, was only attending his OJT classes, started working two jobs, and moved out of the house trying to live independently. He graduated --- a milestone that felt like a huge win for me, because he was the last child I was putting through school.

But all of that pressure became too much, too fast. The transitions overwhelmed him, and he fell into a place where he didn’t want to keep going. Watching my own child struggle with suicidal thoughts (again) was one of the hardest things I’ve ever faced and this was another moment that almost broke me. Every day was full of fear but it made me turn to quiet, solemn prayer everday: that he would find the strength to stay alive, even as I juggled too many projects at work and tried not to fall apart.

My Promotion - What Didn't Break Me (Even If I Couldn’t Celebrate It)

In June, just a month before all of this, I had been promoted to manage the Marketing and Communications office where I work; something I should have been celebrating. But instead of joy, I felt heaviness, because the only thing that mattered was keeping my son safe.

That weight lingered for months, and it was only just last month that I finally began to see him getting better. Thank God that by His grace, I had the courage to hang on and keep praying, surrendering my son's life to Him.

In a way, it was this work ---along with the projects and expectations I needed to meet, that kept me going. I had to deliver; I couldn’t let anyone down. Even when I felt mentally, emotionally, and physically drained, I kept showing up.

Towards the end of the year, my perseverance was rewarded. My team and I received the Excellence in Teamwork and Collaboration award at our company’s recognition ceremony. It felt like a gentle reminder from God not to overlook the joys and milestones along the way, even amid challenges --- a beautiful way to celebrate our efforts and that hard-earned promotion.

Saying Goodbye to Nix - A Mom's Heartbreak

Then just barely a month ago, my eldest daughter, Nix, suddenly left for another country to stay there for good. While this is a wonderful blessing for her, a part of me is aching because I will miss her terribly—my thoughtful, supportive, and caring daughter is no longer by my side. It feels as if I am grieving two loved ones at once, though in very different ways.

Mom’s Final Days - What Almost Broke Me The Most

In October, Mom was confined in the hospital with pneumonia. What was supposed to be a few days turned into 27 long days until she passed. That experience felt like the one thing that truly broke me.

Seeing her intubated, struggling to breathe, her oxygen dropping, the helplessness of it all --- was the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. I prayed for her suffering to end. I prayed that God would take away her pain, even if it meant taking her "home". The sleepless nights beside her hospital bed, the sound of her breath catching, the fear that something could change in an instant - it was almost too much to bear.

When God finally took her home into His arms to rest, it brought mixed feelings --- the relief that her suffering had ended, and at the same time a deep sadness, because suddenly the world felt more alone without her.

Bent - Not Broken

Looking back on 2025 now, it wasn’t marked by dramatic milestones or big celebrations. It was filled with quiet battles, long nights, and moments that tested every part of me --- my faith, my strength, and my hope. There were times I wasn’t sure how I would make it through, times when breaking felt easier than holding on. But here I am.

I’ve learned that strength doesn’t always roar. Sometimes strength is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.” Strength showed up in hospital rooms and whispered prayers, in showing up for my children even when my own heart was heavy. Strength was meeting expectations at work not because I had energy to spare, but because I had no other choice.

What didn’t break me wasn’t some miraculous shield that protected me from pain --- it was the simple, quiet resolve to keep going even when I didn’t feel brave. It was the grace to accept help, the courage to pray without ceasing, and the faith that even the deepest heartbreak would not be the end of my story.

I still miss Mom. I still feel the weight of all we went through. But I also feel her in the little wins, the laughter that returns after tears, the moments of peace after long anxiety, the strength that rises when I least expect it. I carry her with me, not as a burden of sorrow, but as a quiet reminder of the love and wisdom she gave.

So if 2025 taught me anything, it’s this:
You can be bent without being broken. You can be wounded without being defeated. And even in the moments that almost break you, there is still room to rise.

Here’s to a better year for all of us.

Until then, catch you later.

Nancy Mommy

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