It is the Most Wondery Time of the Year

The day after Christmas always catches me in the feels. Every. Single. Year. One would think that at some point, I would learn to expect it. Prepare for it. I do not. My brain lets it surprise me every year. It’s almost as if this, too, this surprise, system shock, realization about what is creating the big feelings is also part of the process, the re-memory, the re-collection. 

To say 2025 was a BIG year would be a rather impressive understatement. Our youngest daughter graduated from high school. We sold the family home, moved into a pop-up camper on eight acres, and built a white picket fence. I accepted an offer from the Unoversity of Tenneessee English Department to join their 2025 PhD cohort. Mike packed up my stuff and moved me into an apartment in Knoxville. No family, no people. Just me, Decimal, Hemingway, and my library. 

I have tried to keep on top of the Knoxville journey. All things considered, I have done ok. But, I haven’t done great. I could credit that to a bunch of reasonable, justifiable things. Those would only be partially correct and nowhere near the most important. 

The truth is, I have hit a growth spurt, and it is awkward and uncomfortable. 

This realization caught me off guard (much like everything else today), but (also like today) it shouldn’t have. The metaphorical grocery bill has been creeping up for years – if you know much about children, you know exactly what I am talking about^*. Let’s talk about all the ways in which I have been cleaning out the pantry. 

If you are lucky, normal growth is always happening. There was always that going on. But my grocery bill started going up three years ago, in November 2022. I still need to talk about that annulment process, but those particulars aren’t important. What is important is that I will never take the Eucharist for granted again. That process fundamentally changed me as a person – which is probably exactly what it is meant to do. 

During this time, my priorities began to shift. I didn’t care quite so much about maintaining an image. I quit coloring my hair in August 2023, and I got my last mani/pedi the following January. Although I had only done Botox a few times, I gave that up, too. 

My relationship with food and drink shifted. I wanted to eat what I wanted without worrying about my waist, and I was ready to retire the “whiskey-powered” persona. I posted my last TikTok video in September 2023 and eventually changed my handle from “bitchesandbourbon” to “apriltrepagnier”.  On May 5, 2024, I published the last episode of Bitches and Bourbon without acknowledging that it would likely be the last. I then began the long struggle to come to terms with what I was doing, what I wanted, and what that all looked like. It would be another eight months before I would officially announce the podcast’s retirement. 

On November 3, 2024, I missed Sunday Mass. The following Friday, I went to confession because that’s what Catholics do when they miss Mass. Father Dawid is not only my regular confessor, but also a spiritual advisor – in other words, even in the seal of the confessional, we each knew who was on the other side of the screen. Since I was there, I went ahead and confessed all the other stuff too. For my non-Catholic friends, it sounds something like:

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a month since my last confession. I took the Lord’s name in vain, I cut off a guy in traffic, spoke unkindly to my husband, gossiped with a coworker, and missed Mass on Sunday. Please forgive me for these and all of my sins.”

At which point the priest can ask clarifying questions, give you some pointers about being a better Christian, and then gives penance and absolution. 

Father Dawid’s prerogative that day was to say to me that as long as I was still willing to miss Mass, as long as Mass was still optional, none of that other stuff mattered. I was gutted. Here I was, less than seven months removed from the inability to receive the Eucharist even if I wanted to, and already I viewed Sunday Mass as optional. Grocery bill maxed out. As of this writing, I have not missed a Holy Day of Obligation. 

Now, heading into 2026, I move differently. I am a rarely-ever to low-level drinker. I quit smoking. I spend very little time or money on appearance. I insist on periods of solitude. I attend daily Mass with few exceptions. I have a regular Holy Hour with few exceptions. I veil. I swear less. I go to confession more. I prioritize kindness to myself and others. I feel less guilt over things I can’t control. I feel more comfortable with both things that are and things that aren’t – mostly. 

And yet, I know that this creative thing I do – this speaking into the universe – is something I am supposed to do. And I do not do it well. 

First, let’s not be coy. Just because I feel called doesn’t mean I don’t like or enjoy it. We all know that I do. Every byline, every speaking engagement, every publication, that one viral video – that feels good, and I won’t pretend like it doesn’t. It’s ridiculous to suggest otherwise. Worse, it is dishonest. I have been a performer my entire life. I have thoughts about that, but they will wait until a more appropriate time, as that conversation is pretty different from this one. But it is worth noting that I do not consider performance inherently fake or inauthentic. 

I will tell you I have not enjoyed it recently because of my ego. And that is where the problem comes in. When my ego gets in the way of being my best self, I have issues. 

Scrolling the socials, I came across a meme:
“God intentionally made your calling beyond your natural ability so you would have to depend on His grace to fulfill it.”

I don’t know that I would phrase it quite this way, but it tracks well enough. I’ve learned a lot in the last 49 years. Much of it in the last 10. Bunches here recently. It’s a beautiful and painful gift to remain teachable even after you feel like you should have so much of it figured out. While growth is wondrous, it inevitably creates challenges in areas like regret and self-acceptance.

It is this self-acceptance bit that has provided the most challenge. When you are accustomed to looking in the mirror and seeing one thing, it can be tough when you don’t see that anymore. And when you know what other people expect when they look at you, when you know they want what they expect, or want to gloat over the change, or criticize the shifts, that’s pretty tough too. 

But as I sit here, the day after Christmas, full of love and gratitude, trying really hard to be honest, there are three things I know without a shadow of a doubt: Jesus resurrected, Mike Trepagnier loves me, and I am doing what I am supposed to be doing – even if it feels uncomfortable and awkward. 

^*Kids eat like a full battalion of grown fighting men right before a growth spurt. The amount of food they put away is really unbelievable. Then, right when you start to get your budget back in line with the food bill, you have to spend it on clothes as all the pants are high-waters and the sleeves just reach the forearms.