Tag: growth

The Letter L: Lessons, Layers, and the Beauty of Letting Go

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation


Today marks a fresh page in the notebook. If you caught my post Saturday August 1,  on A New Beginning, you know we are stepping into this season with fresh intention, a clean slate, and a willingness to embrace where we are right now.
As we keep moving through our alphabetical journey, we’ve arrived at L. And honestly? It couldn’t have come at a better time. Life isn’t linear—it’s full of turns, unexpected shifts, and quiet victories. Today, we’re unpacking three “L” words that help us make sense of the journey and keep us grounded as we build what’s next.
1. Lessons (The Gold in the Grit)
Every season leaves behind a trail of wisdom—if we’re willing to look for it. The hard days, the messy kitchen tables, the pivots in our plans, and the unexpected delays aren’t waste; they are curriculum.
When we look back on where we’ve been, the goal isn’t to linger on what went wrong, but to gather up the lessons. What did that challenging week teach you about your boundaries? What did that creative block teach you about rest? When you view every outcome as information rather than failure, suddenly nothing is lost. Everything becomes fuel for where you’re going next.
Takeaway: Don’t regret the detours. Write down the lesson, keep the wisdom, and drop the weight.
2. Layers (Embracing Your Multitudes)
None of us are just one thing. You aren’t just defined by your day job, your family role, your creative side projects, or your past. You are a collection of layers built over time.
Sometimes we feel pulled in a dozen directions because we carry so many different passions and responsibilities. But here’s the beauty of layers: they give you depth. The patience you practice in one area of your life feeds into your creative work. The organizational systems you build for your home give you the freedom to dream bigger. Embrace all the different titles and talents you carry—they don’t make you scattered; they make you whole.
Takeaway: You don’t have to fit into a single box. Give yourself permission to honor every layer of who you are today.
3. Letting Go (Making Room for the New)
You can’t start a new chapter if you’re still holding onto the clutter of the last one. Whether it’s physical space, old expectations, or the pressure to have everything figured out by Monday morning, letting go is the ultimate act of trust.
As we launch into this new season, take a look around your desk, your calendar, and your mind. What are you holding onto simply out of habit? What mental tabs can you close today? When you clear out what isn’t serving your current season, you create the quiet space needed for new ideas, new energy, and new peace to settle in.
Takeaway: Hands that are full of old clutter can’t reach for new blessings. Open your hands and let it go.
Bringing It Home Today
As you move through this weekend, take a quiet moment over your morning coffee or evening wind-down to ask yourself:
What lesson am I carrying forward into this new start?
What layer of myself have I been neglecting lately?
What space do I need to clear out to make room for what’s next?
Here’s to living intentionally, learning as we go, and giving ourselves grace for the journey.

K is for Kitchen, Keepsakes, and Kinetic Energy

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation



We are stepping back into our alphabet journey today, landing right on the letter K. After celebrating the roots and wings of my songwriting last week, it’s time to bring our focus back to the immediate spaces we inhabit—especially when we are managing our capacity.
When you’re navigating health challenges, perimenopause, or the heavy weight of a shifting season, the physical world around you can start to feel like a demanding boss. That’s why we need to talk about three words that change how we interact with our immediate environment: Kitchen, Keepsakes, and Kinetic Energy.
Kitchen (The Command Center): They say the kitchen is the heart of the home, but let’s be honest—it’s the operations hub. Between meal prep, groceries, and feeding a crowd, it takes a lot of mental labor to keep it running. True efficiency here isn’t about color-coded containers; it’s about creating an intuitive flow that cuts down on decision fatigue. When your kitchen has a smart system, it works for you, saving your precious energy when you need it most.
Keepsakes (The Anchors): A home shouldn’t just be functional; it needs to hold your soul. Keepsakes are the tangible pieces of our history—the hand-stitched quilts, the old notebooks, the reminders of loved ones lost that line our shelves. Tending to our keepsakes isn’t about dusting clutter; it’s about honoring the roots that hold us steady. When the world outside feels chaotic or our bodies force us to pause, these pieces remind us of who we are.
Kinetic Energy (The Flow of Action): Kinetic energy is the energy of motion. When you have a “full steam ahead” personality, you want to use your energy in massive bursts—deep-cleaning the whole house or tackling huge projects all at once. But when you are healing, you have to learn to manage your kinetic energy in small, intentional drops. It’s the five-minute counter sweep, or the slow preparation of a single meal. It’s letting the energy flow gently, rather than burning it all out in a single match-strike.
True “mother-sense” is knowing how to balance the management of our physical spaces with the reality of our physical strength. We don’t need to conquer the whole house today. We just need to create a gentle flow that supports us right where we are.
This week, look at your command center. How can you shift the energy in your kitchen or spend a quiet moment with a keepsake to bring a little more peace to your Monday?

The Forced Exhale

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation



We are stepping away from the alphabet today. No letters, no structured frameworks, and no systems to analyze. Just a collective, heavy sigh before we head into the weekend.
I’ve spent a lot of time recently talking about the necessity of a pause, but if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t gracefully choose this quiet space. I was dragged into it. For anyone built with a “full steam ahead” default setting, resting feels a lot like quitting. We tell ourselves, “Just one more project,” “Just through this next week,” or “I’ll rest when everything is in order.”
But here is the brutal truth I’ve had to face lately: if you do not choose a time to rest, your body will eventually pick a time for you. And its choice is never convenient.
When you ignore the subtle warning signs—the creeping fatigue, the physical aches, the mental fog—your body eventually pulls the emergency brake. That’s where I’ve found myself, dealing with health issues that completely sidelined my best-laid plans. It turns out, you can’t negotiate with an exhausted nervous system or an ailing physical frame. It doesn’t care about your deadlines, your blog schedule, or the life you thought you’d be effortlessly managing at 50.
So this weekend isn’t just a casual break for me; it’s a necessary, forced evacuation from my own ambition.
Getting your life in order doesn’t always look like organizing a space or checking off a goal. Sometimes, getting yourself in order means surrendering to the couch. It means admitting that you are human, that your energy is finite, and that the world will not stop turning if you step away from the wheel for a few days.
If you are currently running on fumes, trying to outrun your own physical limits or the heavy grief that crops up when you finally slow down, please don’t wait for the crash. Don’t wait for your body to force your hand.
Let this Friday be your choice. Drop your shoulders. Unclench your jaw. Leave the unfinished projects exactly where they are—they will survive without you until Monday.
Take the breath now, on your own terms. Let’s exhale.

G is for Grief, Grace, and Gratitude…

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation



When I started mapping out this alphabet series, I had a neat, tidy plan. But life doesn’t always care about our editorial calendars. Lately, my health has thrown up some major roadblocks, forcing me into a position where I’ve had to literally pause.
For someone who loves to run full steam ahead with big plans, hitting the brakes like this is incredibly frustrating. It requires a massive step back to get myself in order, to heal, and to rest. But as I sit in this forced quiet, I’m realizing that the letter G isn’t just one simple concept. It’s a delicate, powerful trifecta: Grief, Grace, and Gratitude.
Grief: Hitting the pause button doesn’t stop the grief we carry; if anything, the quiet makes it louder. And it’s not just grief over a paused schedule. It’s the kind that shows up every single day in ways you don’t expect—the sudden, sharp reminder of loved ones lost, or the quiet ache of mourning the life you thought you would be living now that you’re 50. It’s a heavy thing to carry when your physical body is already tired.
Grace: This is where I am forced to practice what I preach. Grace means giving myself permission to take a step back from my full-steam-ahead plans without viewing it as a failure. It’s letting go of the guilt of the unfinished checklist and understanding that getting myself in order isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity.
Gratitude: Even in the midst of physical frustration, unexpected grief, and shifted expectations, gratitude doesn’t stop. It coexists right alongside the pain. I am deeply thankful for the quiet, the safety to rest, and the love that surrounds me. Gratitude doesn’t cancel out the hardship, but it gives me a solid place to anchor my soul while I heal.
If you are currently facing a forced pause—whether you’re navigating health challenges, wrestling with the realities of a milestone age, or just trying to catch your breath—know that you don’t have to choose just one emotion. You can hold space for the grief of what was and what might have been, extend yourself the grace to rest right where you are, and still find the gratitude to keep your heart open.
The plans will still be there when we are ready to run again. For today, the pause is exactly where we need to be.

The Weight and the Warmth of June 19th

by Mothersense, posted in This Life


The calendar tells us that Friday, June 19th is Juneteenth—a day designated for collective reflection, freedom, and celebration. But for me, the date always pulls me backward into a deeply personal history. It forces a quiet pause in the middle of summer. It rewinds the clock to 2019, to a road trip to Louisiana, and to a room filled with a heavy, holy kind of love.
June 19th was my precious Uncle John’s birthday. For probably twenty years or more, if you asked him his age, he’d grin and tell you he was “39 and holding.” But on that specific Wednesday in 2019, time was finally catching up. My sisters and I traveled down to see him, knowing we were stepping into a celebration that was also a final, fragile goodbye. He was about to be transitioned to comfort care.
The air in the room was heavy. We each took a turn to have a moment alone with him. When my turn came, I leaned in close. I leaned into the space between this world and whatever comes next, and I whispered into his ear that it was okay to go. I told him that Jeff would take care of me now. I’m not entirely sure how aware he was in that moment, but whispering those words into the quiet of the room was a balm for my own aching heart.
Then, the priest arrived to perform the anointing of the sick. Because Uncle John was a deacon, he shared a long, deeply rooted history with the priest—a brotherhood of faith and service. Yet, in the middle of all that sorrow, a strange and beautiful thing happened. The priest looked at me, knew exactly who I was, and called me by my name. “Emeline’s daughter,” he recognized. Uncle John had woven stories of me into his life and friendships long before those final days. He had carried me in his conversations for years, just as he carried me in his heart.
I still sit with that moment. I think about it every June 19th, right before the anniversary of his passing on June 20th. I look up at the sky and whisper back to him, hoping with everything I have that I am making him proud.
The Magic of a Louisiana Kitchen
When the grief settles into something softer, it usually leads me straight to the stove.
Truthfully, I was blessed with a family of cooks. Uncle John and Aunt Mertie weren’t the only ones who let me sit and pepper them with a million questions while they worked. But being in those Louisiana kitchens? That was a different kind of magic entirely.
Growing up, learning from Mom or Granny had its own rhythm, rooted in the familiar comfort of daily life. But stepping into Uncle John and Aunt Mertie’s kitchen felt like entering a sacred, vibrant sanctuary of flavor and storytelling. The humidity, the slow simmer of a roux, the effortless dance between them as they threw together dishes that tasted like pure love—it was an education in hospitality. They didn’t do it through formal lessons; they taught me simply by letting me exist in their space, answering every curious question a young girl could dream up.
To pass down a legacy is to answer the questions of the curious girl standing by the counter, watching you create.
God, I miss them. I miss the laughter, the Louisiana warmth, and the safe harbor of their home. But every time I replicate a flavor, test the seasoning, or cook with that patient, soul-filled instinct they modeled for me, they are right there.
So this Friday, while the world celebrates, I’ll be holding a quiet space for the deacon who was forever 39, for the mother who came before me, and for the beautiful, heartbreaking privilege of having people in our lives who are this terribly hard to lose.
Happy Birthday, Uncle Johnny. I hope the kitchen in heaven is everything you ever wanted.