As Benjamin Franklin famously said, 'Nothing is certain except death and taxes'—and I am certainly...
When I was a kid—old enough to stay home alone (so… six years old back in the ’80s… just kidding… sort of)—I woke up almost every Saturday to a chore list. To my young self, it felt like the longest list in the world and the greatest injustice ever inflicted on a child.
On that dreaded list? Make my bed, let the dog out, and vacuum the entire house. I’d drag our massive Electrolux vacuum around, crashing it into every corner with just a hint of rebellious glee. I was convinced the dinged-up floorboards would send a clear message to my parents: See what you’re doing to me on my day off?
Fast forward a few decades, and I found myself helping my parents pack up and move out of my childhood home—their first home in America. Uff da. The wave of emotions, the rollercoaster of coping (some successful, some… not), and the swirling of old wounds and new triggers was a lot. Still is, honestly. But that’s a post for another day.
As an only child—and the only reliable witness to my childhood experience (well, according to me)—I took on the task of sorting through over 50 years of “stuff.” Not just objects, but also dreams, joys, disappointments, regrets, and reminders of every stage of life.
And then it happened: I found myself vacuuming the closet in my parents’ room. Same closet. Same carpet. Same vacuuming motion. Only this time, I was 50.
And suddenly, I wasn’t just vacuuming. I was remembering.
It hit me like a wave: all the times I had done this before, all the Saturdays I had begrudgingly pushed that vacuum around in protest. I know the body holds sensations and memories—but in that moment, I really knew it. I could feel the echoes of my younger self so clearly.
As I write this, I’m still not exactly sure what the point of this post is.
Maybe it’s about grace—grace for myself as I navigate this transition. Maybe it’s about doing the best I can with what I have in each moment, even if it’s messy or far from ideal. Maybe it’s about honoring awareness, even when it doesn’t lead to instant change.
What I do know is that these past few months have been full of contradictions: beautiful and hard, joyful and overwhelming, peaceful and deeply emotional. Some days I show up the way I want to. Other days… not so much.
And maybe that’s the point: grace and self-compassion.
Recognizing that life is showing up with all its intensity, and my job isn’t to get it all right—it’s to keep showing up, keep breathing, and keep noticing the patterns I want to release. Even the ones I’m not fully aware of, but my kids are (which is... humbling).
Oh, and did I mention? I now live in a multi-generational household. Yep—my parents and my kids are here full time. Stay tuned for those blog posts.
So maybe this isn’t a neat and tidy reflection. Maybe it’s a vent. A journal entry. A clearing of emotional weeds to make space for the growth and beauty that’s still unfolding.
Either way, thanks for reading.
And if you're wondering whether I staged the photo for this blog—nope. That was a genuine, emotional moment… and it’s what inspired the post. I love when that kind of magic happens.
If you’re navigating big transitions and want support in staying grounded, aware, and compassionate with yourself…
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