Slower, Wealthier, Happier

Hello Beautiful,

Over the last two weeks I have cried more tears than I have in the last two years, and if I am honest, I am not always sure what all of those tears were for. Sometimes they came while I was talking. Sometimes they came in silence. Sometimes they came on the drive to my appointment when I was preparing for surgery and my husband looked over at me concerned because he could not understand what was wrong. The truth was nothing was wrong and everything was happening at the same time. It felt like years of emotion releasing all at once, and for the first time I was not telling myself to suck it up. I was not telling myself to be strong. I was not telling myself that I had this and needed to push through. I simply let the tears come, and I let them flow, and I am learning that this too is part of healing.

Today is Friday, and this blog is hours late. Normally I release these love letters at midnight. I love the rhythm of it. I love the intention behind starting and ending the week together. I love the discipline of showing up consistently. But today I am writing this in the middle of the afternoon, heavily medicated, with a walker in front of me, waiting for an at home nurse to arrive to replace surgical dressings, and doing my best to stay connected to joy while also being very aware of the pain in my body. Two weeks ago I had major surgery. I stayed overnight in the hospital. Since then I have had multiple appointments, limited mobility, and long stretches of being bed bound. We are preparing for surgery number two, and life looks very different than I imagined it would right now.

There is a part of me that wants to stay in the spirit of everything is great and everything is wonderful because in many ways that is still true. My life is still beautiful. I am still supported. I am still loved. But my current situation is not the Friday I would have chosen. I would rather be out doing French Fry Friday with my girlfriends. I would rather be thrift shopping and walking the dollar store and touching things that feel yummy and light. I would rather be taking a long steamy shower and then walking the community with my husband like we normally do. Instead I am asking for help to get to the bathroom. My husband is cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I am grateful for that care, and at the same time I miss my independence. Both things are true at the same time, and I am learning not to rush past either one.

It is challenging to hold onto joy when so much looks different, but I am also realizing that joy does not disappear just because circumstances change. It simply shows up in quieter ways. Joy looks like getting five hours of sleep when I have barely been sleeping. Joy looks like being taken care of. Joy looks like laughing at the walker sitting beside me. Joy looks like noticing that even in pain I am still choosing softness. I am learning that soft luxury is not always about what I am doing. Sometimes it is about how gently I am holding myself in the middle of what I cannot do.

Another thing that caught me off guard was the start of the new month. For the last several months I have been creating a junk journal at the beginning of each month. It is something I look forward to. It marks intention and creativity and a fresh start. April arrived and I did not do it. I felt disappointed. My journal is literally sitting beside me as if it is waiting patiently. I kept thinking it should have already been done. Then I realized maybe this month is simply going to look different. Maybe April is not about the perfect journal pages. Maybe it is about healing pages and slower creativity and uneven starts. Maybe it is about allowing the different instead of resisting it.

So I find myself asking questions I want to ask you too. What do you do when life interrupts your carefully created rhythm. What do you do when you cannot participate in the things that normally bring you joy. What do you do when you have worked so hard to create a soft life and suddenly your softness includes pain medication, mobility aids, and waiting for nurses to come to your home. What do you do when you want to stay positive but you also want to be honest. What do you do when things are still good but also not what you would choose. I am learning that maybe the answer is not to fix it quickly but to sit with it gently and allow the experience to reshape what softness looks like.

Life is still moving forward even when I am not moving at the pace I prefer. Healing is happening even when it feels slow. Joy is still available even when it looks unfamiliar. This Friday was not what I planned, but it is still full of meaning. It is still teaching me patience. It is still showing me how to hold both gratitude and discomfort. It is still reminding me that different does not mean worse. It simply means I am in a new space.

If today looks different for you, if your plans did not unfold the way you expected, if your version of soft living currently includes things you never imagined, you are not doing it wrong. You are simply living. You are adapting. You are allowing life to stretch you into new definitions of joy. Even in the interruption, you are still becoming.

You are still soft.
You are still strong.
You are still allowed to move slowly.
And even here, especially here, you are still magical.

Love,
Your Most Magical Self ✨