A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 284 of 365 Years ago, a friend asked what I was carrying in my purse. Fair question. The purse was enormous. I had just closed the biggest deal of my life up to that point, and I wanted to mark it with something I'd wanted for a long time. Nobody handed it to me. I'd earned it, so I picked it out myself: a beautiful purse, the kind that makes you stand a little taller. Then I filled it. The bigger the bag, I've found, the more I decide needs to come along. What's in My Bag? Let's Put It All on the Table We were in the middle of a restaurant when she asked, so I said, "Well, do you want to see?" Out came the gum and the mints, a handful of cards, some cash, and a tangle of hair clips. Then the lip products: a balm, a lipstick, one gloss that shimmered and one that didn't. Apparently my lips needed options for every kind of lighting. Then we got to the snacks, and at the very bottom sat a banana. It would have been funny enough on its own. But we were about to share fondue for dessert, and we'd just asked for more fruit and been told there wasn't any. Meanwhile, I was sitting on the only fruit in the building. I must have dropped it in that morning and forgotten about it. It was perfectly good, so we sliced it up and dipped it, and I have never felt so well prepared in my life, which is a strange thing to say about something I did entirely by accident. I'm not saying every handbag needs a banana. I'm saying mine earned its keep that night. These Days, I Carry Bags Inside Other Bags Now it's a Trader Joe's tote with a nicer, cuter tote inside it, and a small purse inside that. If you ask me what's in my bag these days, we have to settle first which bag you mean. Between them you'll find baby wipes, contact solution, deodorant, tissues, toddler socks, two umbrellas, sparkling water, and a good many things I couldn't name without digging. There are also sunglasses. Two pairs of mine, because one is cute but won't stay on my face and the other is less cute but stays where I put it. I still haven't decided whether I'd rather look good or stop adjusting them every six seconds, so both come along. My daughter has three pairs of her own, one pink and one white with flower-shaped frames. That's five pairs of sunglasses between two people, and one of them is a toddler. Add a toy school bus and two dinosaur cars, and whatever happens on an outing, transportation is covered. Motherhood Changed the Inventory, Not the Reason Years ago I packed for a good evening. Now I pack for a small person with strong opinions. Wipes, because something will need wiping. Socks, because somebody's will get wet. A dinosaur car, because a ten-minute wait goes a lot better with one in hand. I used to think of this as a flaw, the overpacking. These days I see it differently. Nothing in that bag is random. Each item is an answer to a question I've learned to ask before anyone else does, and I'd guess you know the feeling. You're probably the one at the table with the tissue, the bandage, the phone charger, the exact thing someone needs and nobody else thought to bring. That isn't clutter. It's attention, and attention is a quiet form of love. I'm also getting better at telling what has earned its place. Some of what I carry is there because it genuinely helps. Some is there out of habit, and I can feel the difference now. Carrying a lot and carrying everything aren't the same thing, and I get to decide which one I'm doing on any given day. The Purse Hook Is Still Along for the Ride I carry one of those little folding hooks that clips to the edge of a table, so your bag can hang beside you instead of sitting on a restaurant floor. A lovely idea. For a different bag. This one would not survive two totes, a purse, two umbrellas, sparkling water, five pairs of sunglasses, and a small fleet of toddler vehicles. So it rides along inside the very bag it can't hold, and mostly observes. Maybe one day I'll walk out with one small purse, hang it neatly beside me, and feel like a woman who has her belongings under control. Until then, the hook comes along for the view. A Beautiful Purse and a Trader Joe's Tote Both Have Their Moments I'm glad I bought that purse. I had worked toward something, and I wanted to celebrate it with something I'd love. I don't need to turn that into a lesson about what I should have done with the money. I loved it, and I still love that my memory of it includes emptying its contents onto a restaurant table and finding a banana just when dessert needed one. The bag was beautiful. The moment was ridiculous. I got to have both. My bags tell a different story now, and it's funny to look inside and see how much my life has changed. I'm grateful for the work that bought that purse and for the friend who laughed with me over fondue and a banana. And I'm grateful for the little girl whose socks and dinosaur cars now ride along everywhere I go. She's the reason the bag is heavy, and the reason I don't mind. Would I like a lighter bag some days? Sure. Am I ready to empty it out? Let's not rush. A forgotten banana once saved dessert, and I've never stopped being proud of that. About the Author | Day 284 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. Today that lesson showed up in a purse: the beautiful bag I bought to celebrate a big deal, the banana that rescued dessert, and a toddler's socks and dinosaur cars now riding along in my collection of totes. Day 284 of 365. Still grateful, and still carrying a purse hook that can't hold any of this. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 283 of 365 My ideal cozy night starts with my black pajama pants. They're soft, they're cute, and they could pass for something you'd wear out of the house, which I consider the highest compliment a pair of pajamas can earn. I love them the way some people love a piece of jewelry. I'd like them to stay in my life for a very long time. Once they're on, the evening has begun. Everything else is just details. Cozy Season Starts With Popcorn It has to be popcorn, and specifically Lesser Evil, the organic kind made with coconut oil. Not chips, not crackers, not whatever's left in the pantry. When it goes on sale I stock up, because few things are sadder than getting all settled on the couch and finding the cupboard bare. (This is not a sponsored post. Lesser Evil has no idea who I am. But if they'd like to change that, I know exactly where I'd put the delivery. Kidding. Not kidding.) Before we moved, I gave away five bags. Five. I must have been picturing a future where every other food disappeared and we'd be asked to live on snacks. And now here I am in our temporary house, with a blanket and a plan and no popcorn at all, after all that careful stocking. I'm trying to be mature about it. Something to Watch That Isn't My Actual Life I don't watch much television anymore. When I do, I want something easy, a series or a movie I can sink into without thinking. A story that has nothing to do with what I'm handling tomorrow. If someone on the screen has a complicated problem, wonderful. Let them sort it out. I'm only here for the popcorn. For a few hours, I just want to breathe. Cozy Season Is a Good Time to Get Choosy Here's the part I've been learning to say out loud: for those few hours, I'm not available. Not to the phone, not to a long conversation, not to one more person who needs a piece of me before I've even found the remote. I can love someone completely and still not want to talk right now. Especially if talking means putting down the popcorn. That used to feel like something I had to apologize for. I'd see a call come in and my whole body would say no while my mouth said "sure, of course." But I've started to notice that a quiet evening isn't me pulling away from anyone. It's me deciding what this particular hour is for. Most of my day is spent listening, answering, thinking, and showing up. The evening has a different job, and I'm allowed to protect it. You probably know the feeling. The phone lights up, you feel your shoulders rise toward your ears, and then you feel guilty for the shoulders. Maybe the kindest thing you can do for the person calling, and for yourself, is to call back tomorrow when you actually have something to give them. An Evening Doesn't Have to Impress Anyone When I describe what I actually want, it's embarrassingly simple. The pants I love, popcorn, something easy to watch, and a phone I'm not answering. I'm not looking for a beautifully planned night. I don't need to earn it by finishing a list first. The whole appeal is that very little is required of me. Maybe your version looks different. Maybe it's a book and a heavy blanket, or a quiet kitchen after everyone else has gone to bed. Whatever it is, I'd love to know what you would choose if the evening didn't have to look good to anybody. Mine wouldn't make much of a highlight reel. Woman puts on her favorite pants and eats popcorn in front of the television. Phone stays face down. Honestly, it sounds lovely. I'm grateful I already know what makes an evening feel good to me. I don't have to guess, and I don't have to go anywhere to find it. It's been in my drawer the whole time. Now I just need to buy more popcorn. The pants are ready. About the Author | Day 283 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. Today that lesson looked like deciding what I'm available for tonight, and discovering that my ideal cozy evening needs almost nothing: my favorite pajama pants, popcorn, and a phone I'm free to ignore. Day 283 of 365. Still showing up. Still grateful. Still wondering how I gave away five bags of popcorn and ended up with none. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 282 of 365 I was trying to buy something on Amazon. The listing said I could pick it up at Whole Foods the next day, which felt like a little gift. I had a work trip coming up, and here was one errand that would take care of itself. Then I got to checkout, and the pickup date jumped ahead a full week, to a time when I wouldn't even be around. "Tomorrow" had apparently gone into negotiations without me. I tried again. And again. I called Amazon, and the person on the other end couldn't tell me why it was doing that either. It wasn't a crisis, and I was still annoyed in a way that felt bigger than the problem. Which led me to a question I suspect a lot of us have quietly asked ourselves. Why Do Little Things Bother Me Most When I Was Counting on Them? Looking back, it wasn't really about the order. It was about the job I had quietly handed that errand. Before a trip, so many things need careful timing and real thought, and I had decided this one would be the easy item. Find it, buy it, pick it up. I had stopped thinking about it before I even reached checkout. So, why do little things bother me this much? Often because I had already marked them "handled." When something you've crossed off comes undone, it lands harder than a problem you saw coming. The hard stuff, you braced for. The easy stuff, you were counting on, and that's what turns a minor inconvenience into the last straw. You may know this one. The prescription that's suddenly "not in stock after all." The appointment that moves an hour after you rearranged your whole morning around it. Your reaction seems silly even to you, so you pile a second layer of frustration on top for being frustrated at all. What My Frustration Was Actually Pointing To My first description of the whole thing was "silly, but frustrating." I've started to distrust the word silly. It's a quick way to wave off a feeling before I've heard what it has to say. So this time I asked what it was telling me, and the answer was fairly plain. Before a trip I guard my attention carefully, and I had been treating that one errand as the place I wouldn't have to spend any. A checkout page crossed a very small line. That's useful information. It tells me how much I value things doing what they say they'll do, and how little patience I have right now for being strung along by a system I can't reason with. It also reminded me that I get to decide what a problem is worth. Amazon held my attention longer than it deserved, and that part I can do something about. Not every glitch earns another round of refreshing the page. If something small knocked you sideways lately, try this before you scold yourself. Ask what you had been counting on it to do. Your answer will probably say more about what you're protecting than about how well you're coping. I'm grateful I can look back and see that now. It doesn't fix the delivery date. It does let me understand my frustration without insulting myself for having it. Some days I have patience for complications. Some days I would just like "pick up tomorrow" to mean pick up tomorrow. I think that's a reasonable request. About the Author | Day 282 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. Today that lesson looked like asking what a small frustration was really protecting, and deciding how much of my energy one checkout page had earned. Day 282 of 365. Still showing up. Still grateful. Still hoping "pick up tomorrow" means pick up tomorrow. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 281 of 365 This week I treated myself to a really nice manicure and spa pedicure, and it wasn't until the pedicurist got started that I realized how badly I needed it. I sat there thinking, what in the what? Why haven't I done this sooner? My nails had been pleading for attention since the start of October. Apparently the message finally reached management. The internet has a name for this: little treat culture. It's the idea that a small pleasure can brighten an ordinary day without having to change your whole life. I used to roll my eyes at trends like this. After this week, I'm a convert. Little Treat Culture Without the Guilt Did guilt come along to the salon? Of course it did. Partway through, the voice started up. I should be working. I should be answering something. I should be using this time better. I shoulded all over a perfectly lovely pedicure. It's worth saying that I used to get a pedicure every other week, and I almost never just sat there. I'd bring work along, or I'd spend the hour on the phone with someone, usually about work. At the very least I'd catch up with a friend. The chair was one more place to be productive. I've always chatted with the people doing my nails, just never for the entire appointment. This time I talked with both of them the whole time, about nothing that needed fixing or finishing, and I think that's why it hit me the way it did. Then I asked myself a different question: is this guilt telling me something true, or is it just noise? Guilt can be useful. If I've hurt someone, I want to know about it. But guilt over a manicure is a habit, and a lot of us picked it up young, the belief that pleasure has to be earned and approved before we're allowed to enjoy it. Once I saw it as a habit and not a verdict, I could set it down and let my nails dry. The same thing happened when I found a good sale and ordered a few wardrobe basics. My first thought was, should I really be buying clothes? Yes. I should. Most of my wardrobe is holding a very long meeting inside a storage unit, and I'm allowed to wear something that fits the woman I am right now. I also started drinking mushroom coffee not long ago. I'm not calling it a miracle, and I'm not building it a shrine beside Nessie and Nessoo, but I feel better, and I'm paying attention to that. Apparently the people who said it helped were onto something. I just needed to run my own very small coffee study. Not Every Treat Is Avoidance In my twenties, shopping sometimes meant I was sad, or overwhelmed, or trying hard not to feel something. I could walk into a store with a feeling and walk out with three bags and the same feeling. This is different, and I think I can finally tell the difference. One kind of treat covers up what hurts. The other just makes a Tuesday nicer, and then it's over, and you go on with your day. The first leaves something hollow behind it. The second doesn't. Some days the treat is a healthy lunch I picked up because I didn't feel like cooking. That isn't failure. That's lunch. When I was growing up, tartufo, those little chocolate cake balls, made me ridiculously happy. So did tiramisu. They still do. Some parts of personal growth are highly overrated. A few days ago I wrote Healing Fatigue: When Taking Care of Yourself Starts to Feel Like a Full-Time Job, about what happens when caring for yourself turns into one more job. I had turned every act of care into something to track and get right. A manicure doesn't have to regulate my nervous system. A cup of coffee doesn't have to heal me. A piece of tiramisu doesn't need measurable outcomes. Some things are allowed to just be enjoyable. You Are Worthy of Small Joys Yesterday I shared the words a coach taught me to keep close: You are worthy. You are loved. You are lovable. You have love all around you. Those words still apply when the thing in question is flowers on the table or thirty uninterrupted minutes alone. You don't have to wear yourself out first to deserve a good moment. Today, joy looked like a real laugh and a home-cooked meal I made myself. No breakthrough. No hidden block uncovered, no plan for personal transformation. I laughed, and I ate something delicious, and I liked my day. That was enough. So if you needed a nudge, here it is. Pick your little treat on purpose. It might be a pastry, or new flowers, or an hour when nobody asks you for anything. Choose it because you want it, notice how it feels, and let it be exactly as small as it is. Not everything that helps has to be deep. Sometimes it just has to be delightful. About the Author | Day 281 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. Today that lesson looked like sitting through a spa pedicure without apologizing for it, and remembering that joy doesn't need to justify its place in my life. Day 281 of 365. Still showing up. Still grateful. Still trying not to should all over a perfectly good little treat. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 280 of 365 Before I ever worked with a coach, I pictured a whistle, a clipboard, and someone barking at me to run another lap. That is not what I found. Today is National Coaches Day, and I've been thinking about the coaches who changed my life and the clients who have let me sit beside them while they changed theirs. Mostly I've been thinking about what makes a good coach, because the answer surprised me, and I suspect it might surprise you too. A good coach doesn't do the work for you. She doesn't arrive with a magic answer, rearrange your life, and send you home healed by Thursday. What she does is quieter. She helps clear away the noise until you can hear yourself again, and then she gently points out the old fears and patterns that have been steering you without your permission. The key you've been searching for turns out to be in your own pocket. What Makes a Good Coach Starts With Questions, Not Answers People come to coaching for all kinds of reasons. Some feel completely lost. Some want accountability or a clear head. Some are doing great, truly, and simply want to keep growing, because a good life can still have a next level. Plenty already know what they want and are afraid to say it out loud. And some just need one person who understands what they mean before they've found the words. Clients ask me, "What should I do?" all the time. I usually answer, "What do you think you should do?" I know that can be annoying. But most of the time, they know. The answer is simply buried under years of being told what a good woman does, what a successful person wants, and what keeps everyone else comfortable. If you've ever polled five friends about a decision your gut made weeks ago, you know exactly what I mean. So I don't choose for anyone. I help her see why she feels stuck and what keeps pulling her back to the same spot, and then we look for a way forward that actually belongs to her. A coach who makes every decision for you can make life feel easier for a while. A coach who helps you trust yourself changes what happens after the sessions end. The Key Was Always in You The best coaches I've worked with never tried to convince me they had something I lacked. They showed me what was already there. One of them gave me words during a stretch when I couldn't find a single kind one for myself. You are worthy. You are loved. You are lovable. You have love all around you. I read them every day. At first they felt like something she believed on my behalf. Slowly, I started to wonder whether I could believe them too. That's what a good coach can do. She holds a truth steady until you're ready to hold it yourself. I'm also deeply grateful for the business coach who has supported us lately. He has been generous with his time, drew up a detailed plan for one of my businesses, and answered question after question without once making me feel foolish for asking. When I was standing too close to the problem to see around it, he helped me find the angles. He didn't build the business for me. He showed me how I could build it, and there is a world of difference between those two things. Good Coaching Doesn't Always Feel Comfortable Every good coach I've had has told me something I didn't want to hear. It stung. Sometimes I wanted encouragement and got a question that landed right on the spot where I was getting in my own way. Sometimes I wanted someone to agree that the problem was entirely out there somewhere, and instead I had to look at the part I could change. Then the sting settled, and I could see it was exactly what I needed. Honesty isn't cruelty with a nicer name. Good coaching doesn't humiliate you or leave you feeling broken, and it never uses your vulnerability against you. The truth can be delivered kindly. What that looks like depends on the woman in front of me. One client needs room and a good question. Another needs me to say, "I've noticed this pattern. What do you think?" Mostly, coaching is noticing the small things: the pause before an answer, the subject she keeps steering around, the way her voice shifts when she finally says what she wants. I'm not trying to catch her doing something wrong. I'm trying to notice when she starts to disappear. The Day She Remembered Who She Was I want to tell you about one of my favorite moments, and it belongs to a woman I know well. She had spent years feeling small and unheard. She had grown so used to being diminished that she questioned whether she was allowed to take up space. Then one day, someone she was working with spoke to her with open contempt. When she finally pushed back, the person sneered, "Who do you think you are?" She told them her name. "And that's freaking who," she added, and walked away. Now that is a mic drop. She didn't have a perfect line ready. She simply refused to make herself smaller so someone else could stay comfortable. She knew who she was, said it out loud, and left. Nobody handed her that strength. It was hers all along. The people in her corner had simply held the truth steady until she was ready to pick it up. How to Choose a Good Coach Maybe you're reading this and wondering whether you need a coach, or whether the one you have is right for you. The biggest green flag is trust. You should feel heard, not like she's waiting for her turn to give her favorite speech. She shouldn't push her version of success onto your life or leave you feeling you'd fall apart without her. A good coach wants you more sure of your own judgment when you leave than when you arrived. The red flags are easier to spot than we like to admit. Be wary of anyone who guarantees a transformation, pretends meaningful change is always easy, or pressures you to decide today with an urgency that appeared out of nowhere. Dependency is another one. If a coach needs you to believe she alone holds the answer to your life, that isn't empowerment. A good coach also knows where her work ends. She doesn't pretend to be a therapist or a doctor when she isn't one, and she's honest when you need a different kind of support. And if something feels off, believe it. You don't need a twelve-slide explanation for why your nervous system is saying no. Even Penguins Don't Go It Alone If you're embarrassed that you need support, I wrote What Penguins Can Teach Us About Getting Through the Hard Seasons of Life for you. Even penguins don't stand alone in the cold. Needing a coach, or a mentor, or a community of your own doesn't make you incapable. It makes you human. The strongest people I know have support, and the wisest ones know which kind they need. My clients have taught me about rebirth. I've watched women walk paths tangled with fear and uncertainty and, little by little, become peaceful, happy women who recognize themselves again. They did the work. I was honored to walk beside them while they did it. So, in the words of my coach: you are worthy. You are loved. You are lovable. You have love all around you. A good coach doesn't hand you a new identity. She helps you remember who you were before the world talked you out of it. About the Author | Day 280 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. Today that lesson looked like thanking the coaches who helped me hear my own voice and remembering that the key we're all searching for is often already inside us. Day 280 of 365. Still showing up. Still grateful. Still helping women remember exactly who they are. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 279 of 365 Today is World Teachers' Day, and my mind went straight to two people. The first is Mrs. Myers, my high school English teacher. Somewhere between the assigned reading and the red ink, she saw strength in me, and leadership, and a creative streak I had no idea what to do with. I was a teenager. Mostly I saw homework. The second is my college writing professor, who read something I'd written and told me I had a voice. Then he told me to protect it and grow it. I think about him now, on Day 279 of writing in public every day, and I wonder if he'd be surprised. Probably not. A good teacher can spot the start of something long before the student knows anything has started. Maybe you had someone like that. A teacher who treated your question as if it deserved a real answer, or who said one sentence in a hallway that still shows up decades later, right when you need it. Teachers rarely get to see where their words end up. The Teachers Who Changed My Life Looked Past the Grade Mrs. Myers taught me English, but what I carried out of her classroom was a picture of myself I hadn't earned yet, or so I believed. She handed it to me anyway and trusted me to grow into it. My professor never tried to make me sound like someone else. He heard something in my writing that I couldn't hear, and he asked me to make it more fully mine. I've leaned on that more than he could possibly know. Writing my truth every day means leaving some thoughts a little rough around the edges. I've written about business and motherhood and grief, about crying in the bathroom and the drip coffee maker I'm stuck with while my Nespresso machines wait in storage. Some days I felt wise. Some days I had no idea what I was doing. If he could read this, I'd tell him I kept going. It took me a while, but I did. Some Teachers Show You What You Refuse to Become Not every teacher made me feel seen. I still remember dreading one particular grade because the teacher was moody and vindictive and, plainly, cruel. Children know when an adult has the power to humiliate them. They feel it long before they have words for it. I won't tie a bow around that and call it character building. Some things leave a mark we'd have been better off without. But she did show me exactly what I never wanted to be, and she showed me how far an adult's words can sink into a child. Mrs. Myers showed me the opposite, how the right words can help a young person recognize herself. If you can still name the teacher who embarrassed you or wrote you off, you aren't being sensitive. It stuck because it mattered. And if you can name the one who noticed you on a day you felt invisible, that stuck too. Here's what I've come to understand as a grown woman: we're allowed to choose which of those voices keeps teaching us. The old criticism doesn't get a permanent seat just because it got there first. I get to decide who's still in the room. Teachers Without Classrooms Show Up Too I've been lucky to learn from coaches and mentors who changed my life for the better, and a few who did it with remarkable generosity. I have a best friend who checks on me and lifts me. I have a health coach, and people who said exactly the right thing at exactly the right time without knowing how badly I needed it. During one hard stretch, I asked someone almost on a whim how they got through something like this. Their answer was simple. "I tell myself, this too shall pass." Nothing about my circumstances changed that day, but something in me loosened. I remembered that a season can feel endless without being permanent. My businesses have taught me plenty, mostly by tossing me into the deep end. You make a decision, see what happens, adjust, and figure out the next piece as best you can. Just when I start feeling sure of myself, there's a new test I definitely didn't study for. And then there's my daughter, who finds joy in ordinary moments without first checking whether the moment is impressive enough. She is simply there, completely, and when the moment changes she changes with it. I've learned more about being present from watching her than from any book I've read. Hard Seasons Don't Always Come With a Lesson This year has asked a lot of me. I'm meeting a version of myself I didn't know was coming, one who can walk into not knowing and stay on her feet. She has rebuilt before. She's learning that she can move toward what she wants before the proof shows up. Still, I don't believe every painful thing has to be turned into a lesson. Some things are just hard, and we don't need to make them inspirational before we're allowed to say so. Grief especially owes us no lesson and no tidy ending. With some seasons, though, there's a strange gift on the far side. After the hard stretch, you stop rushing past a quiet, ordinary morning, because you remember when quiet felt impossible. Sometimes the lesson comes much later. Sometimes the only lesson is that you got through it. You May Be Someone's Teacher Right Now More than once during this commitment I've wanted to quit. And then a message arrives from a woman telling me a post found her on the right day, or helped her feel understood. Most of the time I had no idea. It makes me wonder how many of us have taught someone without ever being told. Maybe you listened when a friend expected judgment. Maybe someone on your team watched how you handled a mistake, or your child noticed that you apologized after losing your patience. You don't need a classroom for any of that. You only need to be yourself, honest and generous when you can manage it. So today I'm grateful for Mrs. Myers, who saw strength in me, and for the professor who heard a voice worth building. I'm grateful for the coaches and mentors and friends who kept showing up, and for one joyful little girl who is teaching me still. To everyone who believed in me before I did: thank you. I'm not who I am without you. And if nobody has said it lately, you may already be that person for someone else. About the Author | Day 279 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. Today that lesson looked like remembering the teachers who saw something in me before I could, and realizing our words may be shaping someone long after we've forgotten saying them. Day 279 of 365. Still showing up. Still grateful. Still cultivating the voice someone heard in me years ago. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 278 of 365 Today is World Animal Day, which feels like a fair excuse to write about penguins. I did name my whole brand after one. The more I read about them, the better the name fits. Emperor penguins spend the Antarctic winter pressed together in a huddle of thousands, shuffling in tiny steps so that nobody is stuck on the windy outer edge for long. The ones on the outside work their way in. The ones in the warm middle drift out and take their turn facing the wind. Nobody owns the good spot. I, on the other hand, have spent a good part of my life standing in a metaphorical blizzard telling anyone who asked, "No, really, I've got it." The penguins would not have believed me for a second. Getting Through the Hard Seasons of Life Takes a Huddle This has been one of the hardest stretches I've lived through. We left the apartment that felt like home, put most of what we own into storage, and stepped into a chapter with far fewer guarantees than I had pictured. Some days I wake up grateful and steady. Other days there are bathroom tears and a long, quiet question about whether choosing this much uncertainty was brave or completely unhinged. Probably some of each. I used to believe the people who made it through the hard seasons of life had some special tolerance for cold. After living inside one, I think they simply had people nearby and let those people come closer. That has been true for me, more than I'd like to admit. My husband has carried so much of this. He packs and unpacks the car and handles whatever needs handling, and when I'm running low he says, "Just take our daughter. I'll get the rest." My team somewhat kept the work moving while the ground shifted under all of us. Friends have listened without trying to fix me, and the practitioners looking after my body and nervous system have stayed steady when I wasn't. That's my huddle, and I am more grateful for it than I know how to say in a blog post. A Huddle Is Something You Choose Here is the part I'm still learning. Asking for warmth is a decision, and you get to make it on purpose. Not everyone belongs in the middle with you. Some people want the whole story and never take a turn on the windy side, or hand you advice when you needed company. Others leave you steadier than they found you, without making a big deal of it. Pay attention to which is which. Notice who you feel calmer around after a conversation, and who leaves you more tired. Then move toward the first kind. I spent years feeling guilty about that, as if choosing the people who help me was somehow unkind to everyone else. These days I call it good judgment. If you're someone who is very good at being everybody else's warm middle, this may be harder than it sounds. You know exactly how to shelter other people, and stepping inward yourself can feel like cutting in line. It isn't. In a huddle, everyone gets a turn. Shared Responsibility Looks Like Love Emperor penguin parents don't do identical jobs at the same moment. The female lays a single egg and passes it to the male, who keeps it warm on his feet through the worst of the winter while she walks to the sea to feed. When she returns, the work shifts again. One carries while the other gathers, and then they trade. I find that beautiful: love that doesn't demand a perfect fifty-fifty split every second. Some seasons one person carries more because the other is grieving, or doing something only she can do. And sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let yourself be carried without treating their care as evidence that you failed. For years I confused strength with being the person who could manage anything alone. If I needed too much, I assumed I had mishandled my life. I'm slowly unlearning that. Strength, it turns out, includes knowing when to hand off the egg. Move Toward the Warmth Maybe your hard season looks nothing like mine. Maybe you're grieving someone, or waking up to a life you barely recognize. You might be so good at holding everything together that nobody has noticed how cold you are. Tell one person. Not the whole colony, just one. Let a friend bring dinner or let your partner take the morning shift, and then actually let them. You don't owe anyone an explanation for not handling the cold more gracefully. It's cold. And if you're the one standing in the warm middle right now, remember that the penguins don't stay there. There are seasons for giving warmth and seasons for needing it, and I'm learning to treat both as part of the same winter. I'm still in it. Our things are still in storage, and plenty of this chapter is unfinished. But I'm warmer than I was, because I stopped insisting on facing it alone. It's still cold out here. I'm just not standing in it by myself. About the Author | Day 278 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. Today that lesson looked like thanking the people who have stood around me through one of my hardest seasons, and remembering that letting someone in close is part of how a winter gets survived. Day 278 of 365. Still showing up, and standing a little closer to the warmth. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 277 of 365 Sometime in the last few months, healing quietly turned into a job. Nobody posted the opening and I don't remember applying, but here I am with a full schedule. Between the nervous system adjustments several times a week and a whole new way of eating, there are supplements to track, appointments to keep, and rest I try to wedge into whatever gap life leaves. I'm tired from trying not to be tired. I'm calling it healing fatigue. I'm not a doctor, so I mean that as a description and not a diagnosis. It's what happens when taking care of yourself starts to feel like a list you keep falling behind on. I want to say the grateful part first, because it's true. The people and practices in my life have helped me. Gentle adjustments and massage have made a real difference in how I feel, and I don't take that for granted. Keeping up with it does take time and money, though, and a memory sharp enough to recall whether I already took that supplement or only thought about it while standing in the kitchen, having forgotten why I walked in. Healing Fatigue Is Information, Not Failure My tiredness, I'm starting to think, says less about wanting to quit and more about how I've been going about all of this. I would rather listen to it than push harder. If you've ever been through a long stretch of treatment or recovery, or just a long season of trying to feel like yourself again, you may know this place. Wanting to get better and having the energy to keep trying are two separate things, and they don't always show up together. The wanting is still there. It's the reserves that run low. Then you pick up your phone and a reel explains that feeling better is actually simple. Drink this, stop eating that, get up with the sun, be in bed by nine. Some days that kind of content lifts me. On other days, the quiet message underneath is that if I'm still struggling, I must be doing it wrong, and the fix is another protocol, another practitioner, another beautifully labeled tub of powder. I've gotten better at noticing which kind of day it is before I keep scrolling. Choosing What Stays in Your Healing Somewhere in all of this I figured out that I don't have to say yes to an idea just because it's a good one. A practice can be helpful and still not belong in my life right now. A suggestion can come from someone who means well and still not be mine to follow. Discernment is part of healing too. I get to ask what is actually helping me and what I'm only doing because I'm afraid of falling behind. Then I get to put some of it down, without apologizing and without deciding that I've failed. Rest is the hardest one to hand myself. After years of reacting and managing, a day without working on myself doesn't feel peaceful at first. It feels irresponsible. You sit down and wonder whether you should be stretching or meditating, or listening to something educational about why you can't sit still. Rest becomes one more thing to do correctly, and I would like to stop grading it. I don't want to spend my life getting ready to live once I'm finally healed enough. I want to laugh without wondering whether it's good for my vagus nerve, and to eat a meal without reviewing every ingredient. I want an afternoon where I'm a person and not a project. Support That Fits the Life You Actually Have If you're worn out from trying to become the healed, regulated version of yourself, start with real support. Find a medical team you trust and ask them your questions. When appointments feel like too much, bring someone who can help you organize your thoughts and remember what was said. If you're curious about other supportive approaches, explore them carefully, with professional guidance. A friendly disclaimer: I'm not a doctor, and this blog reflects only my personal experience. It isn't medical advice, and your treatment plan may look nothing like mine. What I can tell you is that needing help doesn't mean you're healing wrong. Being tired of the process doesn't mean you've given up, either, and a break from researching your symptoms doesn't mean you've stopped caring about yourself. You're allowed to have a life while you heal. Watch something ridiculous and enjoy the people you love, or spend an afternoon doing nothing productive at all. Healing doesn't have to take over every conversation or every hour you have. I'm grateful for the care that has carried me this far and for the people who've walked through it with me. I'm also remembering why I started. I wanted to live. To be in my days, gently, instead of just getting through them. About the Author | Day 277 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. Today that lesson looked like admitting that healing had started to feel like a job, choosing what deserves a place in it, and remembering that I'm allowed to live while the healing is still happening. Day 277 of 365. Still showing up. Still grateful. Still choosing what to keep. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 276 of 365 Today is both the International Day of Non-Violence and World Smile Day, which is a funny pairing when you think about it. It's so easy to smile at a stranger and then, ten minutes later, say something to yourself you'd never forgive anyone else for saying. I've done it for years. My negative self-talk has covered nearly every category there is, starting with my weight and whichever part of my body I'd decided was too big or too small. In my twenties, I called myself fat when I wasn't. Apparently facts weren't invited to that conversation. Yours might sound different. Maybe it's about your age, or the thing you still haven't finished. Then came my other names: loser, failure, dumb, too slow, too late. Failure was the favorite. It showed up whenever a business decision went sideways or someone else seemed to be miles ahead of me. I would never talk to someone I love that way. The Negative Self-Talk I Mistook for Honesty That voice gets loudest when I'm exhausted or overwhelmed, or when I'm standing at the mirror comparing myself to someone else. It always seems to pick the moments I need kindness most. Some of it is mine. Some of it started as criticism I heard from other people and repeated so many times it began to sound like my own opinion. If you listen closely, you might recognize whose voice it was first. A parent, maybe, or a teacher you wanted to impress. Here's what makes negative self-talk so sneaky. After a while you stop asking where it came from. You assume it must be true, because you've heard it so many times. If you've ever sent an email and then spent the evening wondering what's wrong with you, you know this voice. It rides along in the car and waits at the bathroom mirror. Chances are you've called yourself something this week that would horrify you coming out of someone else's mouth about your best friend. If my daughter made a mistake, I would never call her a failure. And if someone on my team needed more time, I wouldn't decide she was hopeless. I'd ask what kind of week she'd had. So why has it been so hard to give myself that same humanity? A Kinder Voice Can Still Tell the Truth Being kind to myself doesn't mean calling every choice brilliant or covering every mistake with a motivational quote. I can still tell myself the truth. I just don't have to be cruel while I do it. Sometimes the truth is, you made the wrong call. And sometimes it's simply, you're doing your best. That second one has been hard for me to believe. I think it's because criticism always felt more productive. If I stayed hard on myself, maybe I'd move faster and finally earn the right to feel proud. It never worked. All it did was leave me more tired. A coach once told me something I still use daily. It goes like this : you are worthy, you are unconditionally loved, you are lovable, and there is love all around you. I'm grateful for her, and for every person who said it to me before I could say it to myself. What stays with me is when she said it applied. Not after the weight comes off or the business hits the number. Not even once I catch up to the version of me who never makes mistakes. Now. Would You Say It to Someone You Love? Try this tonight. Think of the cruelest thing you said to yourself today, then picture your best friend saying it about herself. Notice how fast you'd jump to her defense. You've just been saving that for everyone but yourself. If it's something you'd never say to her, it doesn't belong in your conversation with yourself either. You might be tired. You might need help or a different plan. None of that makes you a failure. It means you're in a rough patch, and rough patches go better with a softer voice. You are worthy and loved, even on the days your own head won't say it. Today, on a day set aside for non-violence and smiles, I'm trying that out on myself. I'm listening for the words nobody else hears, and trying to speak to myself the way I'd speak to a friend. I'm grateful you're here reading this. It tells me you're listening for that voice too, and I think that counts for something. Your heart matters. So does mine. Sending you lots of love, dear reader. I'm cheering you on. You got this. ❤️ About the Author | Day 276 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. Today that lesson looked like catching the cruelty hiding in my negative self-talk and offering myself the same compassion I'd give anyone I love. Day 276 of 365. Still grateful, and still learning that kindness starts with how I talk to myself. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 275 of 365 Apparently the internet has decided October is the new January. They're calling it the October reset: a chance to take a hard look at your life, build better habits, and turn into a brand-new person before the holidays hit. Normally, being told I need another reset would just wear me out. This one made me sit up. I'm a Libra, and October has always been my month. For as long as I can remember, fall has felt like the real start of the year to me. The air turns, the light gets low and golden, and beginning again seems possible without all the noise and pressure January brings. But I don't want to reinvent my whole life this October. I want to feel better inside the one I'm already rebuilding. If you've been scrolling past all those lists of things to fix and feeling tired instead of inspired, I think you might want that too. My October Reset Begins With Taking Care of Myself Part of my promise to show up and write my truth is admitting when I haven't been taking good care of myself. I haven't. My hair is staging an intervention. My nails are begging for an appointment and a little attention. I need clothes that fit the woman I am right now, not the one I used to be, not the one I might become someday, and definitely not the one whose wardrobe is sitting in a storage unit. Hello, October. Here's my Amex. I know that can sound frivolous next to everything I've written about healing and nervous systems and uncertainty. But taking care of yourself isn't always the deep work. Sometimes it's resting, or eating something that actually nourishes you, or finally calling the doctor. And sometimes it's a haircut or touch up, because every time you pass a mirror it seems to ask whether the two of you have given up. You probably know how that goes. Everyone else's needs come first for so long that the small things slide, and then one day you catch your reflection and realize you haven't really looked at yourself in months. On Day 274 I wrote about not treating my body like a problem to solve, and this is the same thought. I'm not trying to fix myself or become more acceptable. I'm looking after the person who has carried me through this enormous transition. I want to feel renewed. I want to recognize myself again. I'm Rebuilding My Businesses, Not Starting From Nothing October is also National Women's Small Business Month, which feels like the right time to say out loud that I'm rebuilding my businesses with a fresh perspective. I took apart systems that used to work, because I knew they wouldn't carry me where I wanted to go next. I gave up income. I handed off responsibilities. I questioned plans I'd held onto for years and made decisions without any proof yet that they'd pay off. The old ways are finished. The new results haven't shown up. That in-between can make you feel like you're starting over, but I'm not starting from nothing. I'm starting with years of experience, clearer standards, lessons I'd rather not repeat, stronger boundaries, and a much better sense of what I want my businesses, and my life, to feel like. My businesses will be successful. I know it. I can't point to the results yet or tell you how every piece will fall into place. It's more like knowing a season has ended before the weather catches up. I'm standing at the edge of something that isn't fully here in the 3D yet, and I realize how that sounds. It also feels completely true. You Don't Need an Entirely New Life Who hasn't made a beautiful monthly plan and dropped it about four days later? We buy the planner. We write the list. We decide this is the month we'll wake up early, exercise every day, drink enough water, clean out every closet, fix our finances, grow the business, heal our childhood, and become the kind of person who remembers to defrost dinner. Then life goes on being life, and we decide we've failed again. I don't want change that comes from criticism anymore. I want the kind that feels like renewal, the kind that comes from knowing something better is already unfolding even when I can't see it yet. Your October reset might not need twelve goals. It might be one appointment. One boundary. One honest conversation, or one promise to stop abandoning yourself every time life gets busy. You may not need to reinvent your life at all. You may just need to take care of the person who's living it. If Nobody Has Told You Lately If you're standing where I am, past the ending but unable to see the new beginning clearly, there's something I want you to hear. Keep going, sweetheart. You're doing great. It has already worked out, even if the proof hasn't arrived. You may be carrying things nobody knows about, and quietly holding your family, your work, your grief, and your hope together while wondering why nobody seems to notice how much that takes. I notice. I know how heavy it is. You're doing an amazing job, and you're worthy of the life you're working toward, including the parts nobody can see yet. You don't have to earn your new beginning by becoming perfect first. As for me, I'm walking into October grateful. Grateful for what ended, even though the ending hurt. Grateful for what's taking shape, even though I can't hold it yet. Grateful for the businesses I get to rebuild and the woman who's emerging alongside them. She needs a haircut, a manicure, and a few new outfits. But she's coming. And I think she's going to be magnificent. About the Author | Day 275 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. Today that lesson looked like welcoming an October reset without demanding that I reinvent my entire life, and trusting that what I'm building has already worked out, even if I can't see all of it yet. Day 275 of 365. Still showing up. Still grateful. Still handing October my Amex and trusting the woman who's emerging. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 274 of 365 Today is National Women's Health and Fitness Day. I started out motivated, slid into guilt, and landed somewhere between pressure and annoyance, because at some point my body became one more thing I'm supposed to be managing correctly. Balance the hormones. Heal the nervous system. Sleep more, eat better, drink the water, move every day, lose the weight, lower the stress. And do all of it while running a business, raising a little girl, keeping up with appointments and the house and the people I love, plus the seventeen other things waiting on me. I know the reminders come from a good place. Some days they still land like a to-do list that never gets finished. If you've ever read a headline about taking care of yourself and felt more tired afterward instead of encouraged, you know what I mean. When Body Acceptance Was Really About Being Smaller In my twenties, health was mostly a vanity project. If I looked slender, I took it as proof that I was doing well. How I actually felt got very little of my attention. I could be worn out and still call it a good week if my clothes fit the way I wanted them to. My definition has changed. I still want to look good, and I won't pretend otherwise. I haven't floated above every beauty standard, and I still notice how my clothes fit. But these days I want to feel good, too. I want energy. I want to sleep deeply, think clearly, move comfortably, and get through a day without my body and me negotiating separate contracts. The conversation around women's health has shifted, and I'm glad. People talk more about strength, hormones, nourishment, and how women actually feel, not only how much space we take up. But the old message hasn't left. Sometimes "get healthy" still means "make yourself smaller," just said more nicely. Most of us learned early to keep score, whether it was the scale, the dressing room, or the photo we quietly deleted. If you've ever judged a whole day by how you looked in one mirror, I understand. I did it for years. The Body I Thought Was Betraying Me There have been stretches when I felt completely betrayed by my body. When symptoms showed up, or my energy disappeared right when I needed it most, my reaction was rarely gentle. It was closer to Seriously? Now? I wanted it to cooperate with the plan. Keep going, stay quiet, and ask for nothing beyond coffee and good intentions. Eventually I had to look at what I was so annoyed with. This body carried me through motherhood, work, life, fun. It got me through anxiety, illness, grief, broken sleep, constant travel, business stress, and days when I was falling apart inside and still had to function. It carried me through my best days and my worst ones and every ordinary day in between. And for much of my youth, I spoke to it worse than I'd speak to an enemy. That's hard to write. It's harder to admit that I'm not sure I'm all that much kinder now. I could rest more and feed it better, and I could listen before it has to shout to get my attention. Body acceptance isn't something I've mastered. It's something I keep coming back to, usually after I've wandered off. Caring for Your Body Without Constantly Correcting It From the outside, caring for your body and treating it like a problem can look exactly the same. You change what you eat, move more, make the doctor's appointment, go to bed earlier. What's different is the voice doing the asking. When I'm caring for my body, that voice wants to know what it needs. When I'm criticizing it, the voice wants to know why it can't just get this right. I've asked the second question far more often than I'd like to admit. You might have too. Maybe you've stood at a mirror picking apart the body that kept your heart beating through a season you weren't sure you'd survive, or resented the softness, the scars, and the exhaustion without ever stopping to think about what those years asked of you. You don't have to love every part of your body today. Nobody is grading you on that. But maybe you can stop talking to it as though it has failed you. Today I'm grateful for the body that kept carrying me even when I wasn't grateful for it. It showed up through every version of me, including the versions that treated it terribly. It doesn't need another lecture from me. What it needs is rest, real food, and attention that comes from love instead of punishment. My body is not another problem waiting to be solved. It is the place that carried me here. About the Author | Day 274 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. Today that lesson looked like thanking the body that carried me through my best days, my worst days, and every ordinary day in between, and admitting that care feels very different when it comes from love instead of criticism. Day 274 of 365. Still showing up. Still grateful. Still learning to speak kindly to the body that brought me here. 🐧

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 273 of 365 Happy National Coffee Day. Before we go any further, a moment of silence for Nessie and Nessoo, my beloved Nespresso therapists, who are still boxed up in storage. In their place, I have a drip coffee maker. Measure the grounds, add the water, push the button, add milk. Done. There's no picking something lovely, no little moment when the smell convinces me things might be okay. It's a caffeine transaction, and it's the only kind of National Coffee Day I have to offer this year. We did buy three pretty mugs, so at least we're drinking our exhaustion with some dignity. Celebrating National Coffee Day Without the Ritual Back on Day 249, in My September Reset Needed a Reset, I told you that making coffee used to be the best five minutes of my day, the one small thing that belonged only to me. Months later, it's still in storage, and I'm still measuring grounds. That's what National Coffee Day looks like around here this year. So if you've ever stood in your kitchen with a full mug in your hand and asked yourself, "Why am I always tired?", welcome. Pull up a chair. My answer is that I'm short on sleep, emotionally worn out, sick of making decisions, overstimulated, and whatever you call a woman whose brain is running tomorrow's schedule while her body is still finishing today. Sometimes coffee wakes me up. Sometimes it just makes me functional enough to answer messages. Sometimes it does neither, and I drink it anyway, because I like having hope (just kidding, lol). Not long ago, after months of broken sleep, I woke up clear. Truly clear. Of course it happened on the morning our life shifted again, and of course it lasted exactly one night. My nervous system, it turns out, offers free trials but no membership. Still, I keep thinking about that morning, because it told me this fog isn't who I am. Somewhere under the interrupted sleep and the running list is a woman who can finish a thought without reheating her coffee three times. I miss her. "I Don't Know How You Do It" People say that to me, and they mean it kindly. Some days I take it as support. Other days I want to answer, "Neither do I. Please send help." I don't need another compliment about how strong I am. I need someone to notice why so much strength is being asked of me, and then take something off my plate. It's the same thing I said a few days ago about needing less to carry, and I'd guess plenty of you could say it too. I'd love to tell you I'm a wonderful listener when a friend says she's exhausted. I am. I nod. I say, "That sounds so hard." Then she tells me it's because she has so many events, or so many errands to run, and somewhere in the back of my head, a very tired little voice whispers, "Oh, honey, sit down." I'm kidding. Mostly. Tired is tired, and I know that. It's just that I've lost all perspective, and it's hard to be sympathetic while running on fumes and drip coffee. Coffee Is a Ritual, Not a Rescue Plan I love coffee, and I don't want every enjoyable thing to turn into a wellness lecture. A good cup in a favorite mug is a small pause before the day starts asking questions. It feels like someone quietly handing it to you and saying, "Here. You might need this." But coffee can't do my sleeping for me. It can't carry the mental load, settle a tired nervous system, or build the support I keep pretending I don't need. At best, it sits beside me while I work those out. What I'd actually love is a weekend of Netflix and sleep. I want to drift in and out until I've slept so much that I willingly walk outside looking for sunshine and other human beings. That sounds simple. It feels wildly luxurious. Maybe your version is one uninterrupted night, an afternoon nobody needs you, or a morning when you wake before the alarm and don't feel behind already. Whatever it is, wanting it doesn't make you lazy. And if the tiredness won't lift even after you've rested, please talk to a doctor. I'm not a doctor, and this post isn't medical advice. Persistent exhaustion can have physical causes worth checking, and it deserves more than another joke about stronger coffee. Although, to be clear, I may still need stronger coffee. Where This Leaves Me in the Temporary House On Day 249, I said home begins the moment your own small routines find you again. I still believe that. I'm just not there yet. The candle is still on my desk doing its best, and most of our things are still in storage. But looking back over these last few weeks, what carried me wasn't anything big. It was three pretty mugs. A muted group chat. An hour spent staring at the wall because my body had forgotten how to rest. A glass raised to an ending and a beginning while I cried through the whole toast. Warm bagels at a table with people I love. Small things, held onto on purpose. I'm grateful for those, for one clear morning that reminded me she's still in there, and for a safe roof over my family while we wait. When the Nespresso machines finally come out of their boxes, they're getting unpacked first. I'll make the first cup, sit down, and just be. I don't want to get better at functioning while depleted. I want a life where I don't always have to. So this National Coffee Day, if you're reading with a cup in your hand, I hope you get to sit down with it. About the Author | Day 273 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. Today that lesson looked like admitting that coffee is doing far more emotional labor than any beverage should, and that needing real rest doesn't make any of us less capable. Day 273 of 365. Still showing up. Still grateful. Still drinking drip coffee while my Nespresso machines wait in storage. 🐧