It’s been a long summer in South Carolina. The heat has been relentless. I mourn the loss of summer every year: the long days of sunlight, the relaxed schedule, the grilled foods. But now? I’m over it. I am craving days to be a bit shorter, the light more diffuse, the meals heartier, creamy cardigans draped on my couch and 4Runner passenger seat.

I went to Boone over the weekend. Just for a night. As I walked around the beauty of nearby Blowing Rock, I found a small shop selling some ceramic “smalls”. I purchased a lovely little ghost and a happy little squirrel for my vintage letterpress tray, which I hung at the entrance to my office. The weather was at least 12 degrees cooler than at home, and I renewed the realization of the value of getting out of town, retreating, and the novelty of a different view.

I’ve got a few shows that I watch with regularity. The ridiculousness that is 90 Day Fiancé. Naked and Afraid Shipwrecked (so far I’m not loving it). The new season of Ted Lasso. Silo (currently moving through season 2). I’ve also binged Love on the Spectrum, The Four Seasons, Hawk, Voicemails for Isabelle (movie), The Dink (hated it), I Will Find You, the new season of King of the Hill, lot of Major League Pickleball. After working all day and playing pickleball most evenings, I love crawling into bed to watch TV for a few hours.

I finished my first quarter of grad school! My next one begins August 31. I am looking forward to getting back into that routine again and to continue moving forward in investing in myself and my future. It’s been nice to have a little break and to read some fiction (Yesteryear! Strangers! So many thoughts!) I’m gonna try to read Whistler and Calamity Club this next week. Looks like rain this weekend, so I hope to rest and read.

My youngest has started high school, lacrosse practice, and spends the night with me on Wednesdays. I love having this precious time, packing his lunch, and driving him to school. I took my relationships with my children for granted for so long, and now I don’t. Any moment I spend with any of my kids feels like riches. I don’t think any of them can comprehend the deep and wide love I hold for them. People are complicated, choices are layered, but my fervent love for every one of them remains durable, stable, and can withstand any fucking storm created by me or thrown at me. I will go down one day being the only one on this planet knowing the truth despite what might be interpreted, diagnosed, or discussed. My children are living out what was taught and what they caught. Oh, that I could go back and change those scripts. I own who I was, what I said, what I modeled, the spaces I chose for their education and spirituality, what I believed was good and right. And so much was good and beautiful. But what I see now is that so much wasn’t. I placed my children in systems and spaces that I no longer find healthy and reasonable (and honestly, I didn’t think they were healthy then, but lacked the courage, support, and tenacity to chart a different path). I wish I had nurtured more curiosity, more inclusivity, more empathy, more softness. I see the harshest parts of my 20-something self in several of my children, and it brings me to my knees that I could pass that way of being along, whether by nature or nurture. I’m experiencing many of the ways I treated my own mother, and I start crying every time I think of my unkindness, my unwillingness to give her unconditional love and acceptance despite the chronic pain she caused me, the passive-aggressive ways I sought to inflict harm, the painful silences I offered her without any thought to what that does to a mother. I relished her pain. I wanted her to suffer. That’s being honest, even if I couldn’t be honest about it then, but only somehow smiling as I preached the Gospel while repeatedly inflicting harm on an insecure, confused, and terrified woman. I am both beautiful and brutal, and I can acknowledge both.

I have a lot of healing to do. That much is clear. It doesn’t feel burdensome or scary anymore to look these things in the eye. I was afraid that if I ever got really, really, really honest, I would probably lose so much, and that cost seemed too high. Well, I was right. The cost is high. It feels like shit. I’ve lost more than I thought possible. But the cost of living in incongruence will smother you. The cost of misalignment in relationships, values, and beliefs will suffocate you. I had a perpetual image in my head of my being in water with my mouth just above, gasping for air. Treading water. Hoping that I would make it. That’s how I felt as a way of life. Always about to sink, barely being able to breathe, feeling alone and emotionally unsupported. I began to think that’s normal. That’s the calling. My vocation in life is suffering. Read more biographies of suffering women and call it noble and keep going. Double down. My god. What misery. Chosen misery. No more. Suffering will find me, but I don’t need to hunt for it, wear it as a badge, find nobility in gasping. I get to live, breathe. Have an expansive life, thoughts, ideas. No more self-inflicted agony for some sort of spiritual prize. I am content in being a curious beginner, lounging around in a baby pool where the water refreshes, not drowns, splashing and relaxing and feeling good. Here’s to leaning into the final month of summer with lightness, hope, and safe places to find the real that’s inside of us.

I’m breathing again. I remember in January seeing posts remarking that this was the “year of the fire horse”, a rare happening (every 60 years?) that is characterized by intensity, momentum, transformation, ambition, BIG ENERGY. I remember thinking, “Let’s ride!”

My divorce was final on January 15, the same day my ex survived the Hudson plane landing 17 years ago. I didn’t try to read too much into that because gone are the days where I attach some mystical meaning to experiences. I initially felt deep relief, but after about two weeks, a roaring tsunami of grief hit me and was relentless through April. Grief for my children, for broken relationships, for living a life that I felt unaligned with for decades. At every turn, fresh grief would come knocking on my camper door, and I didn’t know if I would survive it. I am relieved to be alive.

The post-divorce settlement arrived in April. I still couldn’t afford a home or even a one-bedroom apartment. Fresh grief arrived that I couldn’t provide space for my children. The monthly child support that I owe takes any financial margin I have. I found a roommate situation located at the midpoint between my kids and my job. I have affordable rent for two bedrooms and a bathroom within a small home, saving me gas, and feels peaceful. I paid to get my car fixed (I had some back-end damage from backing into a small tree a year and a half ago) and new tires. I bought a sofa bed from Koala for my office. An art TV for that space and a small one for my bedroom. And the biggest thing that I did for myself is apply and begin grad school to get my Master's degree in Social Work, a choice I wish that I had made 30 years ago. I’m betting on myself, something that I have had a difficult time doing. I am pushing through mountains of learned helplessness, imposter syndrome, and a fear that I won’t finish what I start. The Fire Horse is galloping.

I work for a family who loves me and is grateful for me and has, frankly, saved my life. They will continue to employ me as I make my way through grad school. They believe in the dignity and worth of people and that a rising tide lifts all boats. They want me to rise too. I keep finding new people who believe in social justice and make everyday choices that better the society around them. They aren’t loud and flashy or stamp a theological jargon on their actions. There is simply a commitment to compassion, no questions asked.

I finish up my first quarter in a week and a half. I paid for my tuition for my next quarter and purchased my textbooks. Being a student again has given me hope, purpose, growth, and healing. I am incredibly humbled by all that I am learning from the content and two wise professors who are older women with doctorates. I could only wish that I had mentors and role models like this in my 20s who would have seen me and pulled me up in their rising tide. But here’s the thing: I have no power over the past, but I have an incredible amount of power over my future. It’s never too late to build a life that you feel aligned with. And there will be unexpected people who come along to cheer you on in that journey.

I feel like I am only beginning in life. I am concurrently healing from a lifetime of damaging messaging while also choosing to advance, believing that good is all around me and in me. Life is smaller and focused. I realize that I have zero control over others, their actions, their reactions, and perceptions, and when you really come to terms with that, you feel free. I have a history of fawning, and I have used that to help keep me safe from judgment, rejection, and conflict. I am learning to tell the truth, to have a voice, to feel okay with someone’s discomfort, and to have my own back. I have needed to embrace some “fuck you” energy rather than constantly being absorbed in empathy without boundaries. None of this is easy and requires a fierce energy that protects me from further self-abandonment and from internal and external voices that nurtured that in me.

Am I happy? Why yes. Happier than I have ever been. The more I extricate myself from a web of indoctrination and dysfunction, the more I feel at home. At home with myself, at home in the world. I feel peace. I feel calm. I feel good in my own skin. I am living at a pace that feels congruent with who I am. I feel awake, alive, connected. As my best friend tells me regularly, “You are okay. And it’s all gonna be okay.” And I feel that, I really do.

I’m still unraveling what has been happening in me the last five years. There are the mid-life hormonal changes. When that estrogen drops, watch out. That change is like a truth serum. When all the nurturing and othering hormones shift, the real feelings rise to the surface. What we have stuffed and renamed and dismissed comes into clarity, and the feelings that accompany need to be felt. Resentment, anger, grief, incredulity. What you see and feel are real and require honesty. But note: that honesty is brutal for you and those around you. None of us really want the truth. And the real truths are threatening.

I was known to be a very honest person as a child, teen and 20-something. You always knew where I stood on things, whether people or preferences. My face hid nothing. When I dove deep into evangelical Christianity, pursuing full-time ministry, I learned that my honesty was not welcomed. I watched as it threatened other’s egos and their ways of parenting and the way they used people to build platforms. If I saw bullshit, I called it. Until I stopped. I learned that to be honest was to be lonely. In general, the Christians that I was surrounded with didn’t welcome curiosity, differences, real wrestling. It wasn’t safe to live outside the box or believe outside the box or do a damn thing outside the box. And you know who I didn’t want to hurt with my honesty? My husband and children. I knew that they wanted inclusion, to not rock the boat, to not be weird, to fit in, to be respected (which in that world, to be respected is to follow the rules, spoken and unspoken, really really well).

I tried to keep my autonomy in as many small ways as possible, but in the end, I tried to mold myself into the communities we found ourselves in. I masked. I doubled-down on everything I was told that God wanted and needed from me. Compliance. Service. Hospitality. Generosity. Laying down my damn life. As days turned into years, I found myself increasingly exhausted. Crying out. “I’m not made for this. I don’t know that this is how I am wired. I feel so confused and wonder if I put my ladder on the wrong wall.” But silence. I bought into the narrative that life is suffering, and that the plan for Aimee is to suffer. Read more missionary biographies. This is your lot in life. And so I soldiered on, ever doubling down and getting more creative on how to accept my days with joy and gratitude. I certainly used gratitude lists as a way to gaslight myself. LOOK AT HOW GOOD THIS IS, AIMEE.

And finally, the mask cracked. I couldn’t pick it up and put it on anymore. I hated the mask. I resented all the ways I had been abandoned and had abandoned myself. My reflections on my compliance allowed for deep rage to come up inside of me. And sadly, I felt that I had no safe spaces to release it in. My journals were fraught for decades with words like “trapped”, “smothered”, and “disillusioned”. It’s difficult to get honest with yourself, and when you are looking at another possible 30 years on earth, your body asks, "do you really think we can continue like this?” And I knew I couldn’t.

To be clear, our history is not black and white. There were so many good and beautiful things along the way. This is not me going “all bad” on my life. The big-picture themes and intrinsic drives are deeply unhealthy and sad and it will take me a while to heal and get clear on all of it. I am in no rush. I feel safe and I am loved, and when you feel those things, you can unpack anything. The most beautiful and meaningful parts of my life are the ways in which I loved my children and sought to give them what I believed that they needed. Tears stream down my face right now even talking about it. Every bit of myself that I gave to them will forever be what I find beauty and joy in. I showed up for them in millions of ways that they will never comprehend, and those that watched from the outside know that that is true. I held that ship together, and built a life of stability and grace and beauty, imperfectly and immaturely, but with a huge heart and certain intention.

I am bare-faced. I walk in authenticity. It is loved by some and despised by others. But I am walking in more integrity than I ever have. I am living out what I feel is right and good for me right now. It’s messy to try to live in truth and not hurt others. I know I have messed that up. I am a beginner. I know that I suck. And I know that I am great too. I am accepting myself for who I am and where I am right now. And I do the same for others. I seek to provide safety and acceptance for others wherever they find themselves. It’s rare to find others who offer that, but when I have found it, it has kept me alive. Giving real kindness and real love despite another’s story is one of the greatest gifts of being human. What I have experienced is that love often comes from the very gritty and messy humans, not from the ones with well-ordered, pretty, and “obedient” lives. They are too busy defending their faith and keeping it from being contaminated to actually love someone without condition. Outcasts know love in ways I had never really seen or known. Life on the margins is full of surprises.

I write all of this down because it was the online confessions of others along with memoirs that helped me feel less alone. I know there is a woman reading this who resonates with the themes of this. I don’t know the right answers for anyone and would never pretend to know. I think YOU know the right answers for you. That’s one of the greatest gifts my therapist gave me: the courage to believe myself. I believe you. And I believe in you to figure it out. And whatever is in your heart and in your mind and in your body, I accept you. The dark and the light. And sometimes the “light” in you is actually dark, and the dark is the space where you find the warmth of candlelight. A slow and gentle burn that doesn’t clamor or demand, but invites the softest parts of you home, unmasked, tender-faced, and real.

I have had the same feelings this week as I did in the final week before giving birth to any one of my children. I knew the time was coming. The emotions big and strong. Happy, eager to hold and meet the baby and care for it, concerned about the pain, the exhaustion, and if I had what it takes to nurture and love something so small and dependent. And then when I knew I was in labor, the joy! The anticipation! But then what happens? I hit the dilation of 8cm and the waves of pressure and intensity roll over, faster and faster. What have I done? Can I actually see this through? Am I gonna break? Are me and this baby gonna make it? Will someone make it stop? And then your doula looks you in the eye and says, “You have got this, Aimee. You were made for this. You are strong, you are centered, and you have what it takes to see this new life birthed. Keep breathing, one moment at at time, we are so close and soon the relief and the joy will be reality”

Today is my final divorce hearing. I am emotionally at 9cm. My heart and body are opened wide to see myself be birthed into a new life. I will be born again. It will not be without pressure and intensity, but my mind is focused on the outcome that I have longed for. I will have freedom. Autonomy. Those words sounds great, but they are also terrifying. Prisoners get out and sometimes miss the predictable prison walls.

I don’t exactly know what my “new life” will look like. It is messy and probably will be for a while. But messy is okay when your heart and gut are at peace. I am finally listening to the self inside that knows what is good for me and what I need. I easily can fall back into fear and wanting some outside authority to tell me who I am and what is right and what to do. But those authorities have never gotten it right with me, and I have always, always known it, probably since the age of eight. I was taught not to trust myself or my thoughts or my desires, and that has resulted in unimaginable personal pain, disconnection, and disillusion. I am at peace with making mistakes on my journey and allowing it to unfold organically and without demand.

So at the end of today, I will have a new me to take care of. As I did with my other children, I will follow my attachment principles of holding myself close, feeding on-demand, watching for cues of what I need, being responsive, soft, warm, loving, kind. I have always adored babies and poured all of me into them. I will now do that for myself and believe that I am worthy of that kind of attention and care. I will not try to get this new one to hit milestones before she is ready. I will read her books and make sure she has the softest blankets, and good music, and art and kind people to help hold her. She will get plenty of sunshine and walks and smiles and cheers. She will be delighted in and beloved. This is her birthright as a human.

I haven’t written in so long. I can barely journal. Sometimes I write bullet points down in a composition notebook so that I won’t forget the main details of this time. I miss writing. I miss processing life and sharing my musings with others. My life and I have changed so much, I really don’t know where to begin.

I live alone in a tiny house/camper. I have a short-term lease until the end of March. I left my marriage over a year ago, and life is only recently beginning to feel calmer and grounded. Beginning again in your 50s as a woman is not easy, especially if you never had a career. I hobbled together three jobs that were substitute teaching, being on a catering team with a large local company, and teaching pickleball lessons. I worked those three jobs for about 8 months and then got a job as a full-time housekeeper/nanny for a wonderful family. I have also completed the online learning curriculum for Teachers of Tomorrow and need to take the Praxis exam. That would give me the opportunity for a full-time teaching job in the public schools and certification over three years. I have also been contemplating grad school for social work. These midlife decisions are not easy, and I try to take one day at a time.

I am happy and at peace. More peace than I have ever experienced despite my tenuous circumstances and instability. I listen to my intuition after rejecting it for most of my life. I have experienced deep and profound grief, broken relationships, and the death of my mother on Easter. I have had to look myself in the eye and be brutally honest. Accountability is humbling. Sifting through the ashes of my faith is freeing. The fire has been thorough in its burn.

Home is wherever you create it. I feel at home in my car, with people who know me and accept me as I am, in this cozy space, on a walk, on the pickleball courts. Home doesn’t require stuff or really anything. Feeling at home in your own skin is the best feeling that there is. I create a sense of home wherever I am. I am at home in my small world.

2025 was the best of times and the worst of times. There were moments where I didn’t think I could go on. I was suicidal many times and am thankful for the support of friends who buoyed me. The losses consumed me, and life did not feel worth it. I am ready to see this year close, and yet I respect all the ways in which I have grown this year. I did the hardest things I have ever done. I forged my own trail without help and little support. I stood up for myself after allowing shame to beat me down and make me believe I deserved ill-treatment. I chose forgiveness again and again, beginning with myself. I have become my own best friend, the one that will have my own back, and embracing the reality that “no one is coming to save you”. I see all the ways I have been taught self-abandonment and self-betrayal, and I am learning what it looks like and feels like to stay close to myself and listen well and take care of me. I feel like I am relearning the Aimee of my youth, the one I eventually tried to put to death in the name of religion and co-dependency, and I am embracing her. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I am learning self-compassion where there has been consistent self -flagellation. I see how small I have made myself in ways that are not healthy and true. I adopted narratives about the way I should be, and rejected who I actually am. I am casting off heavy burdens, yokes that have strangled me, and am resting in the messy place that I am with no pressure to “fix”. I am taking my life back to the studs. Ripping down the wallpaper, the walls themselves, tossing the furnishings. I am renovating myself. The real me who is under all the layers I have built up is still there, and I am removing everything so that she can breathe. I am trusting the slow and painful process.

By the way, I have a new Instagram page: realmidliferenovation

I hope to talk with some of you again. And for many of you who were drawn to my old furnishings and ways of being, it’s okay for you to quietly move on. Stop reading or following. We can amicably part ways without a conversation about it.

Much love to all of you wrestling through your own midlife journeys and all the upheaval that can come from that both relationally, hormonally, vocationally, and spiritually. I hope to continue to be a non-anxious presence and to offer kindness and non-judgmental curiosity. Peace, friends.

August? Really? 2023 is moving right along, and we all know that the fall semester moves like an ever-accelerating freight train. My boys and I have had the best free-range summer ever, and we are mourning that it is coming to an end. I felt it this morning. I woke up and knew that my summer journey had ended, and that today is the new season for routines, planning, mindset shifts, and adulting. Summer felt like a smorgasbord of fun, joy, and release even in the midst of challenge, grief, and confusion. At 50, I know to receive all of it, feel all of it, that this is the brutal beauty of life.

Wellness has been my word. And I have jumped in with both feet. I feel better right now that I have in years and years and years. And that has been my goal: to feel good, to feel whole. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. I have been on a journey to find my truest self again in all of these areas. I allowed years of beautiful babies and rigorous homeschooling and insistent Christian messaging and chronic low-level isolation to form me in ways that I am still processing and working through. I am both in a season of deep grief and deep joy. Shauna Niequist once talked about in her book Present Over Perfect how she found herself operating as a “good soldier” and not as daughter with God. This year has been for me shedding the soldier and allowing myself the tender vulnerability of being daughter. I am not performing orders well or living in rank or following the disciplines of a regiment. I have been on a journey of receiving spiritual and mental rest while feeling more emotionally and physically engaged. I have lived for so many years in the land of my mind, overtaxing it, hyper-vigilant, overloaded. I was a brain, somehow not seeing or experiencing that a mind is attached to a body. Wildly unbalanced.

This has been a year of being in my body. I didn’t think I liked that. I didn’t think I liked getting my heartbeat raised. I didn’t think I liked dripping with sweat and being hot. I didn’t think I liked muscle fatigue or exertion. I had told myself a story for 50 years that comfort was what I needed and comfort was safe. I told myself that “this is just who I am and the way I am wired” and that “everyone is different and I am just a homebody who needs a blanket, retreat, and escape through books and shows”. We tell ourselves a million self-limiting beliefs. We are only this and not that. This is part of my grief: I have realized that I am so much more.

My mind has needed a rest. I can barely read. I plan at a minimal level. I haven’t had a lot of words or things to say. This is the first day in months that I feel like I can put words to my journey. I have simply needed to be in my body, sleeping (barely! perimenopause has taken all my sleep the past month!), eating simple whole foods, playing pickleball, stretching, puttering, repeat. I run errands. Fold clothes. Tidy here and there. I don’t think too deeply or strain to find the reasons or meaning behind every bush. I am being at mental rest, and trusting God for all the rest.

He is so kind to me. I have never felt as loved and accepted as I have this year. I feel delighted in and seen and known. I am not performing beautifully. I am allowing myself to be messy and undone and not tidying up myself quickly. I feel like a toddler half the time instead of an overachieving, self-sufficient adult. I am allowing myself to be loved in my frustrations, sadness, and anger. I am detaching in healthy ways from unhealthy situations. I am doing it all poorly and also well. And it’s all okay, because I am so loved and carried by Him. I feel like a child who needs a Dad, and He keeps showing up for me. I ignore him and pitch internal fits, and He pursues me and hugs me. He is not impatient with me like I am with myself. I am learning the *unforced* rhythms of grace.

Wellness is happening. True wellness isn’t a tidy linear plan with all the neat boxes checked. It’s circular and messy and dark and then progress and clarity and light. It’s saying yes to all of it. It’s moving through things, not trying to outwit the process by ignoring the hard, the questions, and the challenges. I am so grateful for a life right now that I couldn’t see coming one year ago. I would have laughed if you had told me where I would be physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually a year later. God writes the most thrilling stories that will surprise and delight us, and we keep walking them out by faith. I have lived way outside my comfort zone both physically and socially, challenging myself to risk. There have been setbacks and victories, but the journey of it all has been the most fulfilling ride. I am no longer defining myself or others as this or that, but allowing for growth and change and surprise. It’s so important to give ourselves and our people the freedom to reinvent themselves and cheer them on in their journey without judgment or frustration. My friend Susan has told me a few times, “your pickleball journey is my favorite thing on the internet”, and when she says that, I get teary and smile so big. Having people cheer you on is gracious love that sees you and calls out your best potential.

I have so much more to say. So much is filling out for me right now. It’s been simmering for months, and when I woke up today, I immediately thought, “I HAVE WORDS!” Midlife memoirs are one of my favorite genres, and I feel like I am living out a version of those these days. I hope that when I share mine, you find some bit of challenge or encouragement that sets you free on yours.

Much love and I am certainly cheering you on,

Aimee

2022 was beautiful and terrible, the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Many beautiful celebrations and milestones with graduations, birthdays, and anniversaries. Many saddening experiences like a funeral, a car accident, dysfunctional relationships, a diagnosis, and loved ones suffering with mental health lows. It was one for the books!

I ended 2022 with Covid beginning on December 21. I had our live-yet-dead Christmas tree hauled out on the 20th and grabbed one of the last Fraser Firs at Home Depot to replace it. I spent the day-before-sickness getting a tree redecorated with the help of my children. It was the best of times and the worst of times. I wasn’t sure at first that it was Covid because I initially tested negative, but my telehealth doctor was pretty sure that it was, and told me to take another test on Saturday, December 24th. I took two tests and both were immediately positive. Christmas Eve dinner is one that I usually host for the extended family, and we had to pivot quickly. My Christmas Eve was the saddest of my life, and I hadn’t cried that hard in years. Christmas Day was lovely enough, but I was quickly back in bed after all the gifts were enjoyed. I spent that last week of December resting deeply, grateful that my husband had time off and jumped into running the home and fixing meals like a champ. We had a small New Year’s Eve celebration with just our children— normally I host a big party! Mike fixed Hoppin’ John, collards, and cornbread on New Years Day, and I basked in the flip of the calendar page. I love a fresh start, even if I was still convalescing.

My word for 2023 is WELLNESS. I decided that some time in early November. I knew that I was very run-down physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually from a year of “steady matriarchy”, the phrase I use to describe my 2022. The Lord gave me the grace to be an eye in the hurricane of our year, a calm + faithful presence that made sure everyone had what they needed individually while also navigating the intensity of the aftermath of my son’s car accident along with the ongoing challenges of a mother with dementia. I wanted my children to feel like I was seeing and engaged with their lives and interests while also dealing with heavy + weighty issues that could have distracted me completely. My prayer life was the strongest it has ever been, and I look back at that as the highlight of my year (along with our beach trip to beloved Holden Beach, NC!) Unfortunately, rhythms of caring for my body went out the window, and I wasn’t finding spaces where I was served well/invested in, but instead tried to offer that to others which left me emotionally depleted. I was never able to find good routines that served me well during this transition to my children being in public school. By the end of the year, I knew that my focus would have to be wellness which also seemed appropriate with turning 50 this year!

I participated in Edie Wadsworth’s Made for More workshop that final week of December while I rested in bed. It was extremely helpful for where I am, and as a result, I decided to join her Life Mentoring School for 2023. I decided that I was worth investing in, and that all my money didn’t always need to go to the needs of my children. I need someone older in the life-coaching community to hold me accountable to better ways of living and to point out blind spots I am operating in. I want to clean up my thought-life, learn to better use 90-day goal setting, rebuild my daily routines, and focus on my physical wellness for the first quarter. And not feel like I am alone while I am doing it. They say amazing things can happen when you have both a coach and a community, and I am hopeful that this will reorient my mindset as I head into a new decade!

I have already made tweaks to my sleep schedule and diet, have all of my annual check-ups scheduled for this month (I like to do all of them in January each year and then I don’t think about them anymore!), and am playing pickleball 3-4 times a week. I went to water aerobics this past week, but it wore me out because I am still experiencing Covid fatigue. I feel on top of my current schedule, and I am not hosting anything until the very end of the month. I am scheduling FUN into my weekly calendar and making sure that I am eating a good lunch each day. I am getting in my bed around 9, even if I don’t go immediately asleep (most nights however I am asleep by 10!) I feel like I am taking small steps to better living day by day by day.

I felt a huge sense of gratitude today for my life, for all that God has provided, for all that I truly do not deserve at all. I am grateful for God’s love and care for me and that He doesn’t drive me like I drive myself. I really want to believe that. I sense His shepherding heart towards me these days, and feel a deep sense of rest in Him. He is my eye in the hurricane, and I can lie down and sleep.

I worked for three hours this morning, and then had the delight of picking up Henry from school early at 11:40am for “early release day”. I took him to the mall to ChickFilA for lunch and having that sweet time with him warmed my soul. As we were waiting for our food, there was a young girl behind us with her mother. She was dressed in a princess ball gown with faux jeweled earrings and necklace. It is her 5th birthday, and she was positively glowing! It brought back such dear memories of my daughter Katie at that age. You couldn’t get her out of Disney princess dresses, plastic heels, and all manner of accessories. Time is so fleeting! Those moments feel like a lifetime ago, and it made me appreciate the fact that I still have a 10 year old and that my mothering years have been abundantly full. Having six children was the overflowing joy I didn’t know I needed.

I came home after all that and took a lovely nap for an hour. I had a bit of time before picking up Luke from school so I prepped the Taco Casserole for dinner. Then I grabbed two Caramel Apple lollipops, one for me and one for Luke, and headed out on the golf cart to get him. He always wants me to bring the dog, and I do, and we happily reunite after a full day. I grabbed Henry and we headed to his swim practice. I dropped him there and headed to Planet Fitness again. I walked a mere 1.15 miles, but that is better than I have been doing! I walked out to a windy + crazy storm, picked him Henry, and headed home to partly cloudy skies. Dinner is in the oven, all of my kids have evening plans, and we are going to play some Spikeball and watch Madam Secretary.

I am looking forward to a hot shower and some deep sleep tonight. Fingers crossed! Sleep makes all the difference in the world for me and my energy levels, and when I get 7-8 uninterrupted sleep consistently, I can get amazing amounts of work done. But when I don’t, everything feels hard and I let housework slide. My clean laundry pile has grown, and I need to tackle it!

Hope your Thursday evening is filled with connection and peace.

I finally joined Planet Fitness yesterday. I loved going there when we lived in Lexington, but when we moved, it wasn’t feasible to go there anymore with my schedule and the drive. But now that Henry is swimming four times a week at a pool right by it, I decided that it would be a good fit for me again. I walked for 30 minutes on the treadmill and then used the Hydromassage for 10 minutes and then enjoyed the last 15 minutes of his swim team time. It felt so good to have organized movement again! I listened to the Lazy Genius podcast and kept the pace light.

Today I went to the first meeting of a local MOMS group. I have served as a mentor mom for many years now (8? 9?), and enjoy encouraging younger mothers. Wonderful food, laughter, and connection with other women brings life and beauty. It felt good to see old friends and new faces, to hear women’s stories, and to listen to where the Spirit may be leading me to pray.

I came home and put in a Walmart pick up order of all the essentials for the dinners for the next week. I need to run to Publix and grab a few things for the dinner plan for tonight (good old Poppyseed Chicken! and roasted green beans in the air fryer!) I have a few loads of laundry to fold, but I believe a solid nap is calling my name. I don’t have a swim meet to be at this evening so there is plenty of time to knock out my chores later! This week feels slower with a bit more breathing room, and I am grateful. The weekend will be busy with a mountain bike race and a swim meet, but all good. And of course, PICKLEBALL!

Much mid-week love,

Aimee

Insomnia struck again last night. I haven’t been sleeping well the past 4-5 nights, and boy does that catch up with me. I was up from 3-5:30am and have felt like a zombie ever since. My sister Leslie and I try to take our mom out weekly for breakfast. She lives in a retirement community about 20 minutes away and she no longer drives (although she does regularly remind us that her license doesn’t expire for another year!) We like getting her out into the world, and she loves chatting it up with the waiter and forever wishing that she ordered only half the portion they bring. Her attitude and presence has been calm and easy for weeks now. She’s not agitated, anxious, or endlessly repeating herself. I think all the intensity of caregiving for her husband up until his death, the stress of a cross-country move, all the continual change and forging trusting relationships with us has finally settled down, and she has found her new normal. She isn’t as confused or combative, offers up gratitude, and truly seems content overall with her life. God is incredibly gracious to her and to us in this journey. She loves to joke around and even mentioned how hilarious it would be to give the server at Cafe Strudel her Panera Rewards card instead of her Visa card. We laughed and she loves it when others take delight in her!

Tonight, a group of women will come over for my Sally Clarkson MomHeart group. We will be discussing the introduction and first chapter of Help, I’m Drowning: Weathering the Storms of Life with Grace and Hope. It’s actually one of my favorite books of Sally’s, and I resonated with it deeply last year. I am happy to discuss it in community and help each other face challenging circumstances with faith and integrity.

We are in another late summer heat wave this week. Summer always takes its last brutal stand down here in late September. We will hit the upper 90s on Thursday, and then have a lovely drop in temperature the next day. Fall isn’t really fall here until late October, and November is absolutely gorgeous. Even so, I am craving a cup of hot tea, and need to go start a load of laundry. I hope your Tuesday has been filled with small graces and that you notice the ways He is sending His love to you.

I spent Thursday and Friday working long days for Abundant Graze doing prep and set-up for two big events. They were good days, but by Saturday morning, I was exhausted! Being on your feet for days and feeling the time pressure + adrenaline of events will leave you needing deep rest. I ended up watching the newest season opener of The Great British Baking Show and hours of college football. We ended the day by celebrating my brother-in-law’s birthday which is always a good way to end a day. We got up early Sunday for Henry’s first swim meet with Carolina Aquatics. He did well, and it was a very fast meet. After tidying the home in the afternoon for Sunday Night Dinner, I took a short nap. Then Mike and I went to an Introduction to Pickleball class at a local recreation center. We had so much fun! I am now scouring the internet for paddles, and how-tos, and promoting getting pickle ball to Quail Valley.

My sister Leslie and my friend Lula joined me at 5:30 this morning to watch the Queen’s funeral. The pomp and circumstance was impressive, beautiful, and incredibly well-organized. We loved that the Dean of Windsor mentioned her “uncomplicated faith” (or was it the Archbishop of Canterbury? I loved both of their remarks!) It was moving to watch the removal of crown, orb, and scepter from the top of her coffin, and to listen to her piper play for her one last time as he exited the castle as her coffin descended below. Don’t get me started on how beautiful it was to see her horse Emma and her two beloved Corgis!

This week begins my monthly MomHeart group that I have led for four years? We read a Sally Clarkson book together every school year and discuss. The group of women are wonderful, teachable mothers seeking to grow in wisdom and humility. This week also begins the MOMS group (a local version of MOPS) that meets twice a month on Wednesday mornings. I have been a mentor mom there for at least seven years, and I take joy encouraging younger mothers. It will be nice to get back into rhythms of service and teaching.

Well, I must go get Henry from school and then take him to swim practice. After spending the entire day sitting in front of the television, it will be nice to get some fresh air!

Wednesdays are full. We get paid every Wednesday, and so I used my morning to pay bills, tweak meal plans, order groceries through Walmart pick-up, and went to Costco. I always make sure my kitchen counters are clear, and my fridge/freezer are mostly organized before I bring groceries home. Nothing worse than bringing in a bunch of groceries to counters filled with dirty dishes and a fridge filled with expired leftovers!

Today I also worked a few hours for Abundant Graze! It’s been a full day with much more of it still to go. I bought three rotisserie chickens, and when I am done writing, I will go pull the meat, put in freezer bags, and store until needed for chicken spaghetti, honey lime chicken enchiladas, and poppyseed chicken. This afternoon I have to take my son Luke his swim bag/dinner to the bus loop at the high school, and then I will drive about 45 minutes away to his swim meet, volunteer as a timer, and get home late. My husband and oldest son go to a class at church on Wednesday evenings on Gender and Sexuality, and my youngest goes to a 5th grade program there. I am already looking forward to bedtime!

It was nice to see the big plastic dividers that were put up at the beginning of the pandemic officially taken down at the Costco check-out lines. Stores like HomeGoods and Michaels have full inventory. I had gotten used to seeing spare shelves for so long that I forgot all the ABUNDANCE of choices we used to have. Most social and shopping opportunities are feeling like good old 2019 again, and I feel a deep sigh of relief.

Well, I am off! Much to finish up. I keep trying to love my future self by using my time really well. Staying ahead of the game in Autumn makes for a smooth + steady pace.

The ride to school this morning was chilly. I grabbed my gray Columbia fleece before we headed out on the golf cart. Soon I will need to wear a cozy beanie, and then a fleece blanket will be added. We will keep up our morning golf cart ride as long as weather permits, and then I will resign myself to a vehicle.

I added a small white lamp to my kitchen counter yesterday. It was in my son’s room, and he never uses it, and I miss having a lamp on the counters. It has added a cozy glow to the room, and I can’t believe I haven’t done it sooner. It sits next to a pile of fall-ish cookbooks, and the warmth of the light feels like an invitation to bake or chop or contemplate. I woke up before 6 today because of weird dreams, so I crept downstairs and put together baked oatmeal and slid it into the oven to be ready at 6:45. That’s when our boys stumble down the back stairs, hair standing on end, eyes squinting. I have been streaming the same playlist since school started, and that soft worship music calms the room. I light a beeswax taper, and the morning begins.

Yesterday and today, I make it point to tackle the laundry queue first thing. I fold everything right there by the dryer. For so many years, I simply needed the laundry to keep moving, so freshly dried clothes got tossed in an empty basket by a child and taken to our bedroom. Baskets would pile up and it would be challenging to stay on top of it all. These days, the laundry is folded easily and never enters my bedroom. What a beautiful change! Some time this year I began using Tide Original as my detergent again. In part due to the fact that GoCleanCo teaches to use teaspoons of it in hot water to clean walls, surfaces, and floors. It works so well. The main reason I began using it (besides the fact that it also cleans clothes SO well) is that the scent brings me back to childhood. My mother always used Tide, and I had forgotten that its scent would bring me back to 7th grade Esprit t-shirts, OP shorts, and deeply loved Benetton anything. Isn’t it amazing how scents can trigger a host of memories? I am happy that basic Tide brings up good ones.

I have a pork tenderloin marinating to be grilled tonight. My sister gave me her air fryer since she upgraded to a air fryer/pressure cooker/crockpot combo. We cooked kielbasa in it last night to dump into a stir-fry, and I heated up frozen chicken strips today for my high schooler’s lunch box. Tonight I plan on trying to roast vegetables in it and see how they turn out! I am not a fan of extraneous appliances, but I am enjoying playing with this. How do you like to use your air fryer?

I am grabbing lunch today with a few neighborhood friends at a local place that serves the best shrimp po boys. The chef is from Louisiana and has nailed the ratios and elements of this sandwich. I hope the afternoon will include a short nap before I grab Henry and Luke from school (golf cart again!), and then I take Henry to his swim practice and Luke has his swim practice here in the neighborhood! The high school swim team has 7th-12th graders, and they use our pool here in Quail Valley as their practice space and home meets. Very convenient for us!

I hope your Tuesday has space to breathe, moments of tangible joy, and a heart that finds gratitude in the small things.

Grace + peace.

Since school began, I can’t seem to find a rhythm for the Morning Pages that I enjoyed doing all summer. Three pages of freehand writing about random things, usually first thing in the morning. I loved it, it was cathartic, but also takes 30-45 minutes which doesn’t work on busy school routine mornings unless I get up at 5am, and that’s a big nope. I saw another writer choosing to do a “30 Page Notebook Challenge” starting today, and it peaked my interest. Typing a short (or long!) daily letter might give me the joy that my Morning Pages did. I have learned over the years that “challenges” jump start me creatively whether cleaning challenges, writing, Scripture reading, etc. I don’t always complete the challenges, but they get me going again, and that’s the point: not completion but progress.

I’m happy it’s Monday. I have been enjoying a quiet morning of cleaning my kitchen, moving the laundry forward, dusting, cleaning dirty glass doors, my backsplash, oven front and dishwasher front. The end of my week is going to be full + busy working for a local charcuterie business, so I want to use today and tomorrow to make sure the house is clean, menus are executed, bills paid, calendar updated. I also need to get over to the chiropractor today and return some library books. I enjoy these methodical acts of home/life management.

I am about to bake some pumpkin bread, an old recipe of my friend Laura’s grandma that I believe was originally from Southern Living. I have no qualms about jumping into fully to the Autumn season. It’s such a short and lovely season. I feel like early Christmas advertising seems to overshadow it every year, so I start enjoying it all in early September now. Acoustic folk music streams through my kitchen Bluetooth speaker, and I check daily for any hint of leaf-change in the soaring trees across the pond. Life has brought some deep sadness this year with my mom’s husband passing away, my son’s car accident, and my sister’s cancer journey. My extended family and friends have also dealt with their own losses and personal challenges, and walking with others in that means we have collective sadness over many situations. Lighting fall candles, baking beautiful treats, and softening our spaces helps heal the weary hearts. Small acts of love comfort and console.

I hope I don’t bore you to death with my daily musings. I enjoy reading people’s real-life pondering and the way their daily lives play out. Early blogs were simple places of, “oh, you too?” and inspiration. Now we are influenced so dang much that it can feel artificial and scripted. Here’s a slice of a basic middle-aged woman raising normal kids, cooking and eating family-focused menus, and keeping a very beloved and used home. I seek a lifestyle of prayer + service while adding beauty + grace.

The first few weeks of school were marked by the typical feelings of transitions. Fatigue, joy, confusion. I had one goal: to create peace, calm, and joyful order to our days and nights. I wanted the mornings to run smoothly, a doable after-school routine, and dinner on the table every evening. In the midst of change and new schooling situations, I wanted home to feel solid + stable. And I did it! In spite of it being challenging to get up early each morning, I have found myself again.

The role of homemaker is an energizing vocation for me. I like creating systems and order, choosing menus and ingredients, nurturing comfortable spaces, surprising my family with goodies, and keeping the schedule running well. I view this role as laying a solid foundation for my family to remain steady + healthy as we live, move, and work in the world. With the removal of my homeschooling hat, I feel emotionally expansive, and my husband has seen how much more open I am, happy, and energized. I feel grateful for this season that I am in.

I have begun adding fall touches to my home. I prefer to do this through menus, fresh hand towels, touches of copper, browns, golds, greens. I will bring in more orange as we near October. I remove the seasonal vignettes from my kitchen and dining room that were the patriotic colors of summer and add moodier shades of books and candles. I’ve started playing Autumn-inspired playlists when I cook dinner at night. I made a delicious Overnight Cinnamon Apple French Toast that is a lovely addition to a fall brunch menu. I added two fresh plants to my front porch, including a deep yellow/burgundy echinacea, and filled countertop wooden bowls with apples and pears. It doesn’t require a trip to Michael’s or Hobby Lobby to add some autumnal vibes to a home.

My goal for the rest of the month is to reintroduce movement back into my life. Ever since my son had his car accident back in March, I haven’t been able to find my way back to life-giving exercise. Walking feels too hot. The pool feels too messy. Pilates seems exhausting. I am driving my youngest to a new swim team about 20 minutes three afternoons a week. There is a Planet Fitness about 30 seconds away from where he swims, and I think I will join again and walk for 20 minutes on a treadmill while he swims for an hour. Starting small. Air conditioning. Not taking away from my mornings at home.

I am watching older seasons of The Great British Baking Show, which brings me peace and joy, and Mike and I are watching Madam Secretary a few nights a week. Just one episode at a time because I must go to bed early! Football is beginning again, which my home is thrilled about, and down here in the South, we are yearning for the temperature to drop and the humidity to abate. Fall cooking and baking brings such joy, but even more so when it’s not 92! Perusing through cookbooks is an endless source of joy even if I don’t make the ideas in them. Fueling creativity and possibility by what I read is important to me.

My schedule will be getting busier over the next month, and I realize that as usual, I think I can accomplish more than is wise. Margin is very important, and I am starting to see the open spaces close in. In the past, I limp into January very tired and ready to become a secluded Hobbit for two months. I don’t desire that anymore, but sometimes as a matriarch, you realize that mothering, managing, and creating meaningful holidays will push you. Add regular service to others along with a solid sports schedule, and life becomes full.

How is your early fall shaping up? Have you found the routines that serve you and your family well? Where are you noticing beauty and joy? What is delighting you? In light of the Queen’s passing today, I am drinking Earl Grey and pondering what makes a good life as hers was, imperfect but admirable. What kind of women do we want to be if we are granted 96 years? What is our legacy? Her life is one worth pondering.

I usually experience seasonal depression in July. After July 4th, I feel a downward slide of loneliness, unrealized ideals, lack of desire for homeschool planning, and it’s super hot. This year we planned our beach vacation for the last week of July, and so all month I had something to look forward to! The week at the beach revived me emotionally, filled my heart and soul, and was all that I needed it to be. This is the first time I have walked into August feeling joyful in decades.

Part of it is the release of pressure I feel from the choice not to homeschool this year. I feel a tremendous lightness, hope for a new way of living and being, comforted by sharing the educational responsibility with others. I know God has led us down this path, and now I trust that as we are going, His presence is already there.

I have been a bit obsessed this summer with Cape Cod. The ideal of vintage New England Summers. I have read several fictional beach reads that are set on that stretch of Atlantic coast along with a wonderful memoir called The Big House that my niece gave me for my birthday. Reading about both fictional and real-life homes has a way of inspiring me in ways that quick snapshots on Instagram can’t fulfill. There is something romantic in nature about Summer Homes where families leave behind the city and recreate together for months in a large, rambling house. Houseguests come and go, kids run and play tag, grandma daily swims out to a point and back, shrimp and fish and oysters on repeat, an uncle always seems to win the local tennis tournament. The furnishings get worn after decades, memorabilia accumulates, broken appliances are kept from a sense of thrift, paperbacks pile on shelves, the clock gets wound weekly. There is an ease that comes with sand + surf + sandwiches. Pretension is gone. No one cares about the Joneses. Makeup and curated clothes are left behind. It is a space for family to be themselves in their brokenness, addictions, celebrations, and sorrows. A fixed locale that can cultivate loyalty, rootedness, and meaningful traditions. What I love when I read these stories is that it is usually about dysfunctional people, and yet the sense of place is the calm in their storms. It’s the spot that keeps bringing them back to themselves and to each other.

These homes become pictures to me of sanctuaries. Places of refuge for the broken. In some of the books I read, there is a lighthouse nearby. It shines to lead people from crashing onto the rocks and find safe passage to their homes. I begin to dream of what it looks like to create sanctuary and how I easily go off the rails and make the “rules” or expectations too high, too exhausting. Idealism rooted in perfectionism. But then, there is the joy of accepting what actually is, but dreaming of how to serve it better. My heart is drawn to the steady matriarchs in the books, the ones who make the sandwiches for the outings, the ones who get mental health help, the ones who create silly traditions of lemon hunts and bonfire nights. What does it mean to be a female leader in our families? What do we each uniquely bring with our giftings to create joyful sanctuaries?

A friend of mine and I ordered the Celebrate with Babs cookbook. We are drawn to these strong women who serve holidays meals with grace and ease. They have learned the tricks, where to invest the energy, and we get the joy of emulating what took them decades to learn. I have also been obsessed with The Lost Kitchen series on Magnolia Network via Prime. I read Erin French’s memoir Finding Freedom last year, and was enamored with her creative concept. I now have her cookbook sitting next to me, and look forward to exploring new, delicious dishes this fall now that I will have more margin in my days. I read cookbooks like novels, and if there happens to be a couple recipes that we end up loving and adding to the rotation, then the price of the book was worth it.

I hope your transition from July to August is peaceful, and that you find inspiration for the days you are about to walk into. There is much beauty in the world offered to us, and most of it isn’t on a screen. I pray you experience your people in eye-to-eye, belly-laughing ways, that you see new parts of your unique city, that you explore a new recipe in the kitchen, that a song on Spotify is so rich you play it on repeat again and again, that you experience Sanctuary and cultivate that for others.

Happy Late Summer, Friends!

Aimee

I walked slowly through the grocery store today. I wanted a rotisserie chicken for some nachos, and those birds weren’t fully cooked yet. I browsed the bakery, landed on a baguette, and found a delicious-looking salad in the deli case for my lunch. From there, I walked the aisles, keeping my eyes open for Publix’s wonderful BOGO deals, recognizing that it would be wise to resurrect some of the frugal shopping practices that I laid down several years ago. I found tea bags and BBQ sauce, some Parmesan crisps, and bacon. I couldn’t remember the last time I allowed myself to move slowly through a grocery store, look at brands, stop and wonder at the beautiful choices. Along with the store being unbusy and quiet, this slowness felt incredibly good.

I began reading Timothy Willard’s new book The Beauty Chasers a few days ago. He calls the reader to ponder, wonder, and marvel over creation + beauty with the admonishment that the only way to do that is to slow down. When my older children were young, slow living was one of my bedrock ideals. As they have grown and our lives have become more outward-focused, it becomes challenging to live slowly. True slow living (when not only the scheduling pace is slow, but my mind + heart are slow) makes space for noticing. It’s in the noticing of details in creation, in the facial expressions of a child telling a story, the new brand of Swedish almond cookies at the store, the way my adorable dog’s paws cross during her nap, the sound of the pop of glass bottle of elderflower lemonade, that brings delight + joy. The mundane becomes spectacular when the mind + heart are soft, engaged, and looking for beauty.

My mind and soul have lived distracted for a while. It doesn’t feel natural to live present in the moment. There is a notification of a text, a chime, an interruption to the flow of mindfulness that leads us to rest in the presence of God and His work around us. I miss delight because I am looking down, looking past, looking blank, disengaged from the right here, right now gifts. I want to be a slowed-down noticer again. More than scheduling shifts, this requires a degree of unplugged living. You can have all the time in the world and yet feel distracted, anxious, and mentally busy if you are checking your phone all day. When our brains are in that state, they don’t stop to stare at the lovely.

I remember when blogs came on the scene, and mothers with their Nikons took beautiful photos of the sky, nature walks, dinner tables, local farms, hikes. They were training their eyes to see, to notice, to model curiousity and wonder. I was enamored by the beauty of women and children leading simple lives, delighting in days of exploration, crafting, picking a perfect strawberry. Our children grew older, most flew the nest, and motherhood + domesticity morphed and changed for us. Strawberries can feel too “light” a topic now as we deal with the heavier themes of young adulthood. But maybe more strawberries is what we need.

There is a lot of summer left. Maybe July could be a month of noticing. I wonder how much better our mental + emotional health would be by staring at the rain puddles in the yard for a few minutes instead of someone else’s feed on our phone. We must begin to believe that the life in front of us is the best one, not the faux version of someone else’s a few thousand miles away. We aren’t missing out when we disconnect, we are receiving the good life given by the Lord in our here and now. We just have to look for it.

I was telling my husband this week that when I am homeschooling, I feel like 78 percent of my emotional capacity is taken up and that I have to very carefully parse out the other 22 percent. School ended a month and a half ago, and I am feeling an emotional expansiveness happen that I haven’t felt for a long time. I can say “yes” to more things that I enjoy, more spontaneity, and more investment in activities that actually give back to my emotional tank.

“I’ve woken up to the fact that periodic, replenishing soul-Sabbaths will be wise, and that a deep soak in Scriptural passages underscoring the love of Christ is in order this month”. I read that quote in this beautiful blog post, and those words resonate as I continue meandering on my summer path. In past summers, soul-Sabbath looked like quiet, restorative practices to refuel for another year of homeschooling young children. Personal retreats, planning, fiction at poolside. Now that season is coming to an end: my kids are older and will be in full-time school this fall. I don’t feel this deep core need for reordering my house + soul + calendar like I have in the past. I am soaking in another neglected core need for adventure, intuition, people, parties. I feel the release of summer angst to “get ahead and prepare”, and am leaning into the joy of taking off my educator hat and simply being mom.

A friend of mine, along with her mother, owns a local charcuterie business, and I began working part-time for the two of them. It feels rejuvenating to work with my hands, slicing fruits, vegetables, and cheeses, running errands for them, and helping set up graze tables. Just this past week we did a baby shower, a graduation party, a retirement celebration, and a wedding reception! I loved the adventure to going to beautiful homes, a boutique hotel, and an event venue I hadn’t heard of. This little job is becoming another avenue of freedom, joy, creativity, and autonomy that I have been craving.

Soul-sabbath is restorative and can look like a million different things. Sometimes we can look back to who we were before we had lives filled with heavy responsibility to find what brought us joy. The years pile up, and we can become disconnected from what makes us feel most like ourselves. In my twenties, I travelled frequently, went to concerts, made spur-of-the-moment social plans, read piles of books, went to coffee shops, journaled my days, snapped photos, played cards, and went to movies. I was always up for an adventure. These ways-of-being are still me. Some get pushed to the back for years (decades?) because of the constraints of my season of life. But who Aimee is, still is, and sometimes I have to look for her. For me, soul-sabbath is often a search for myself again, the unique desires and quirks that God planted in me, that get buried under duty and obligations.

All of Summer’s stereotypes feel like a metaphor for my truest self, and she, in all of her sticky + spontaneous glory, will always have my heart.

The kids have been out of school for a couple of weeks. We have one sports banquet and graduation party still to go, along with packing up my son to head off to be a camp counselor for the summer. All eight of us are under the same roof again, and mostly, it feels really good, because this may be the last season in our parenting lives that happens. We are figuring out norms, better communication (am I cooking for four or for eight tonight?), and how to function well with shared bathrooms and all that stuff.

I haven’t been able to find my personal rhythm yet. I feel a bit unmoored since school let out. Each day doesn’t have a unique plan as it does during the school year, and I find myself reinventing the wheel each day. I don’t like living like that. Before next week begins, I want to create a loose structure for my days with some definitive boundaries. I also want to visit coffee shops more (for tea!), make it over to Trader Joe’s, and go to places that I don’t make space for while homeschooling. My life has become rather small + insulated, and I would like to invite myself to exploration and curiosity outside my four walls. I am even getting my passport renewed, and am slowly putting together a bag for quick adventures. I feel myself shift now that I am entering my 50th year, desiring a deep connection with family and others while also honoring personal autonomy that makes me feel more like a person.

Did I tell you that I am pausing homeschooling and putting my youngest two children in public school? My rising Junior is already in public school, and now I will have three in the system. This is something I have been praying + pondering for well over a year now. I don’t necessarily think this is a full pivot, but am treating it as a season. I need a two-semester break, and then we will reevaluate. I have been home educating for 18 years and am ready to take the educator hat off. I simply want to be a mother to my children without that extra role. Depending on how the fall goes, they certainly could come back home. We aren’t zoned for great schools. But I feel certain that this is right for them and for me, and I look forward to being more involved in our community and understanding its needs. Again, I feel a bit too insulated! I always feel my best in an advocate/life-coach role instead of an educator role, and I think my gifting will shine well in this situation.

Life continues to throw us many curveballs, but we aren’t that surprised by them anymore. Baffled, yes. The blows are relentless, but we walk on, moment by moment, prayerful, trusting, firm. My prayer life grows. My hands learn to open. I walk, read, cook, tidy. Always seeking to do the next right thing, steady and sure. Our culture needs us to be those people, Spirit-filled eyes in hurricanes. We grieve, question, and pray honest words while holding the hand of Truth, promises, and the inheritance of our faith. These are not mutually exclusive. This is what it means to be human: tender, dependent, and real.

What I am enjoying these days? Watching Around the World in 80 Days (season 1) on PBS Masterpiece through Prime with my family. Resurrecting game nights (I beat my crew at Catan a few nights ago!) Making bruschetta for an easy lunch (diced San Marzano tomatoes, fresh basil, feta, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, salt and pepper over thinly sliced toasted baguette slices that I brush with olive oil and salt before putting under the broiler). Reading good novels. Journaling again. Putting out some red/white/blue summery decor. Finding a light facial lotion with sunscreen that feels good. Affirming my kids’ strengths. Sitting on my back porch. Grilling teriyaki chicken thighs, sweet and spicy pork chops, or marinated pork tenderloins for easy dinners. And always, BBQ chicken nachos.

Even though my life doesn’t feel ordered or routinized, it is filled with good things. Hard shows up as an uninvited guest, but beauty takes up more space in the room. I will water the seeds of goodness despite the evil that swirls around to steal. This pilgrimage of faith takes us down mystifying paths, but we hold hands with Jesus and find delight along the way.

What a whirlwind! I feel like phrase could be the opening sentence to every season I have gone through the last few years. 2021 packed a punch, but 2022 is coming in harder, deeper, and wider. My sisters and I entered the year in the throes of caretaking for my mother and her husband CR of 12 years. They moved here last November from California, both in their 80s, to receive more support. We didn’t know the extent of the help they would require, and the following months were spent trying to get our feet under us. Doctor’s visits, finding support, asking questions, every day a rollercoaster. When one issue would get resolved, a new one popped up immediately. And then we had to make the decision to bring hospice in for CR, and he peacefully passed away on February 23. That sentence makes the whole situation seem neat and tidy, but it wasn’t at all. My mother has dementia accompanied by a loving heart and a strong will which compounded the challenges surrounding the situation. My sisters and I brought our kindness, compassion, service, and care to the table, and although there are some things we wish had gone differently, we did a beautiful job during that leg of the caregiving journey.

One month later on March 23, my oldest son was on his way to work and had a traumatic car accident that decimated his truck, and left him alive with a broken jaw in two places. As my husband took our boys to school, he saw our son’s truck on the back of a tow truck. This was the way we initially found out an accident had happened at all. A flurry of phone calls to bosses and local ERs is how he found our son. The police called about 30 minutes later. There are stories surrounding this accident that are deeply tragic and painful. I don’t feel the freedom to share the greater story, because it isn’t mine, and this whole journey is only at the beginning for us anyway. What I can share are my feelings during the trauma which I know many mothers can relate to, and the lessons that I am receiving along the way.

Mothers suffer silently when their older children make terrifying choices. In the Christian world, there can be much shame felt when the fruit of our children’s lives is messy, complicated, and destructive. We hide, hunker down, protecting ourselves, our reputations, and our children. We know what is probably being said behind closed doors because we have said those same things about other families in the past. We know the current cultural proclivity to diagnose, try to put us in tidy psychological boxes, and point to certain choices that must have led to these results. It’s tough being a mother these days.

I choose not to hide. I choose not to sugarcoat any of it. I choose to let caring, safe people in to help tend my wounds. I would not have always done that. I do it because God has allowed enough pain and suffering in my life to reveal to me how deeply loved I am. And when I rest in that love, I have nothing to prove and nothing to hide. Belovedness changes us from the inside out. My 40s have been the decade of walking into the deeper places of love. It’s been a hard path. Everyone told me how amazing the 40s would be, and I found it to be stripping, an undoing, and in that, a path to knowing profound unconditional love. My children’s choices do not define me or my mothering, but they do hurt me, create curiosity, and cause me to sift the past, the current reality, and wonder about the future. Some days I do that in healthy ways, and other days I need others to call me back to trust, faithfulness, and identity. That’s the beauty of walking out trauma in a community.

I think it’s important to share our stories even if we can’t share the entirety. It feels cliche to say “it helps us to know we aren’t alone”, but that is deeply true. We do need to realize that again and again. Our stories aren’t unique. Sin and suffering are packaged in different ways, but their ramifications hit every single one of us. A tidy life is a myth. Our stories give each other hope, and hope seems to be in short supply these days. Ultimately, our stories are a form of worship. They point others to the love of God, His tender care, faithfulness, and beauty. The stories invite others to praise, marvel and see His goodness. Not necessarily #blessed kind of goodness, but the gritty goodness that sits in the dark and consoles the weeping, upholds the exhausted, and gives courage in the face of evil. The God of the Untidy Ones is dearer than I ever hoped for or dreamed.

I want to write my way through these times. I think that’s important. I want to take regular walks, delight in small daily graces, take road trips, and eat more Mexican. I want to keep hosting small groups of women, deepening my prayer life, cheering loudly at swim meets, and being vulnerable with my children. I want to keep showing up, day after day, year after year until my race is over. I want to share the Gospel, help others grow, and challenge them to go and do the same. I want to be about all the things I have always been about, but with greater humility, kindness, and grace. I want to accept life as it comes, and not as how I demand it to be. I want to be more like Jesus. This is the way.