MIA, But Not Gone
I know I’ve been MIA.
Sometimes, life demands that we step back—not just from work or social media—but from everything. I had to hit pause. I had to give myself permission to simply be.
Over the past few months, I’ve been dealing with some health issues that forced me to reassess my routines and my life in a real, deep way. It wasn’t as easy as just adding a new pill to my morning or nighttime regimen and calling it a day. These were foundational shifts. Things had to change—mentally, physically, emotionally.
I had to move more. I had to get better at managing my stress. And I don’t mean just more yoga, more meditation, or another breathing exercise. I mean truly facing some things I’ve carried for a long time. Things that made me feel angry, sad, and raw. Grief came back around—like it always does—and knocked the wind out of me when I least expected it.
So I’ve been sitting with my feelings. Letting them breathe. Giving them space instead of stuffing them down like I’ve done so many times before. I’ve had to re-center. To literally touch grass. I know it sounds cliché, but there was something healing about standing barefoot in the yard, letting the sun warm my skin and the earth hold me up.
All this while life keeps moving forward at full speed.
My youngest son is heading into his sophomore year of high school—talking about getting a job, becoming more independent, stepping into the world in new ways. And my oldest daughter… she’s getting married. Married. There’s so much to be proud of, so much to be pleased about—but also this deep ache. Because they’re not babies anymore.
They will always be my babies. But we’re not in that chapter anymore. And letting go of those earlier seasons, even while embracing the beauty of what’s now, has been its own kind of mourning.
It’s a strange, tender time. A phase of life where things are shifting—again. We’re growing. We’re changing. And while I know, deep down, that this next chapter is going to be beautiful—it’s also really messy. It’s hard. It’s uncertain. And sometimes it’s just plain exhausting.
But here’s what I do know: I’ve survived 100% of the days I thought would break me. And I’m still here. We’re still here. Finding our footing. Creating new routines. Learning how to breathe deeply again.
So if you’re in the thick of it too—whatever your “it” looks like—just know that you’re not alone. Healing isn’t linear. Growth isn’t neat. And the hard days don’t last forever.
We’re adjusting. And it’s going to be okay. Maybe even more than okay.
We’re making something beautiful.
Mess and all.