My September Reset Needed a Reset: When Temporary Doesn't Feel Like Home

Day 249 of a 365-day commitment to show up and write my truth | Karma Penguin

In my head, September was the month everything came back together. Our things would come out of storage. My daughter would get her toys and her playroom back. My clothes, shoes, and purses would leave the boxes in the storage unit they've been hanging out in and return to an actual, organized, walk-in closet. I would have my desk again — my ridiculous, Pinterest-perfect desk. I would have a home that felt like me.

That was the plan. This was supposed to be my September reset.

September showed up right on schedule. We did not. We're still here, in the temporary house, waiting on a life that hasn't quite caught up to the calendar yet.

I miss our old place more than I expected to. I miss the concierge team, who somehow became family over the years we were there — there were tears when we moved, and not all of them were mine. I miss the view I used to dream about long before it belonged to me. I miss my closet. I miss the plush bedding and the sofa that actually fit my body, and the West Elm pillows that made the whole apartment feel warm even on the days I didn't.

West Elm sent them to me, by the way. I paid them too. This was not a sponsorship — just a woman with a credit card and a deep, unwavering belief in throw pillows. (If you've read my confessions about my pillow obsession, you already know how deep that belief runs.)

The furniture here is dark and stiff and not particularly well made. There isn't much color in this house, and there isn't much of me in it either. The layout doesn't feel like me. The light doesn't feel like me. I've tried to argue with that — new sheets, a new comforter, a candle for the desk, a small decorative intervention I staged mostly out of stubbornness. It helped. A little. The candle is doing its absolute best. It is still just one candle in a house that needs more than wax and wick to feel like mine.

Most of our belongings are still in storage, including Nessie and Nessoo — my Nespresso machine and her newer sibling. In their place, I've been living through what can only be described as a temporary coffee-drip situation, and it is making me a little miserable in a way that feels almost embarrassing to say out loud. Making coffee used to be the best five minutes of my day. I'd make it, sit down, and just be, before anyone needed anything from me. It was never really about the coffee. It was the one small ritual that belonged only to me. And it was magically delicious.

A September Reset Can Hold Gratitude and Honesty at the Same Time

I feel a little guilty even writing this. I know exactly how fortunate we are. I moved here from a big city, where I regularly saw what it looks like to have no home at all. My family has a safe roof over our heads right now, and I don't take that lightly, not ever.

But gratitude was never supposed to require dishonesty.

I can be genuinely thankful for this roof and still know it isn't where I'm meant to stay. Missing my old home doesn't erase how grateful I am for this one. Wanting beauty and comfort and a sense of belonging doesn't make me ungrateful — it just makes me honest about what feels good to me, and what doesn't. None of it turns dark furniture into a colorful couch.

Maybe that's what a September reset actually asks of us. Not to force a temporary house into feeling permanent, but to stop arguing with ourselves about how we feel while we're in it.

So the new bedding stays. The pillows stay. The candle keeps doing its best, and I'll keep buying it backup.

When we finally move, I already know what I'm unpacking first. Nessie and Nessoo are coming out of their boxes before anything else in this house. I'll set them on the counter, make my coffee, sit down, and just be — the way I used to, before any of this started.

Home, I think, begins the moment your own small routines find you again. But really, home is anywhere I am with my husband and my daughter, with one small piece of home comfort to go with them.

About the Author | Day 249 of 365

I'm a soul-led coach, entrepreneur, mother, and recovering perfectionist, currently navigating healing, uncertainty, temporary chapters, motherhood, work, big transitions, grief, nervous system healing, overstimulation, emotional growth, and the ongoing lesson that life works a whole lot better when we stop trying to carry everything alone. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Nessie and Nessoo are still waiting patiently in storage — I am considerably less patient.

This is day 249 of a promise I made to myself: show up and write my truth for 365 days, even through the messy, uncomfortable, inconvenient chapters. If today's post found you living somewhere — or inside a season — that doesn't feel like you yet, I hope it reminded you that gratitude doesn't require pretending. I'll be here again tomorrow, probably still asking one candle and a few throw pillows to do the emotional work of an entire home.

Day 249 of 365. Come back tomorrow — I'm still going. 🐧