Today marks 10 years of homeownership for me, a full decade since we bought this little foreclosure and turned it into a home. Typically, an anniversary like this would feel purely exciting or nostalgic. But if you’ve ever navigated grief, you know that big milestones come with layers.

This post isn’t just about celebrating a homeownership anniversary.

It’s about how grief changes every milestone, even the ones that should feel joyful.

The Day That Was Supposed to Feel Happy… But Didn’t

When we bought this house ten years ago, life looked completely different. My husband, James, and I were renovating side by side, dreaming up the family and future we were building within these walls. We had no idea what was coming.

After losing James to metastatic melanoma, this house became something else.

A reminder. A refuge. A trigger. A timeline all on its own.

And that’s the part people don’t talk about enough:

✨ Grief doesn’t stay in the past. It follows you into every holiday, every celebration, every “should-be-happy” moment, even your homeownership anniversary.

How Grief Changes Your Relationship With Home

Homes hold memories, and mine holds an entire lifetime:

• The days we spent tearing out floors
• The late-night renovation planning
• The laughter
• The stress
• The dreams we were building
• And the life we never got to fully live together

When you lose the person you built your life with, even the good milestones are cast in shadow. It’s not because you’re ungrateful; it’s because the person who should be here to celebrate with you is missing.

I’m proud of everything this house has been for me and my son.

But I’d be lying if I said today didn’t also sting.

Holding Pride and Pain at the Same Time

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned in my widowhood journey is that two things can be true:

✨ I’m grateful for this house.

✨ I’m still grieving the life we imagined inside it.

That is the reality of healing after loss.

It’s not linear, and it doesn’t follow a neat timeline. Even when you’ve rebuilt so much of your life, certain anniversaries will always hit differently.

This House Became the Story of My After

In the ten years I’ve lived here, this house has held:

• My strongest memories of James
• The early days of becoming a foster and adoptive mom
• Nights when grief swallowed the room
• The slow rebuilding of my identity
• New routines, new dreams, new chapters
• And the woman I’m becoming now

This home has seen every version of me: the wife, the widow, the mom, the renovator, the survivor, the one still learning how to move forward.

If You’re Grieving Through a Milestone Too

I want you to know this:

You’re not doing it wrong.

You’re not ungrateful.

You’re not “stuck.”

You’re simply human.

Grief doesn’t ruin milestones. It reshapes them.

It teaches us to feel everything fully, even when feelings contradict each other. It reminds us that love doesn’t end just because life has changed.

Ten Years Later

So yes… today is the 10th anniversary of owning my home.

And yes… It’s both beautiful and heavy.

I’m celebrating what I’ve survived.

I’m honoring the life that was.

This house holds it all: the joy, the loss, the rebuilding, the growth. And maybe that’s the real story of homeownership that no one talks about:

It’s not just about owning a home.

It’s about everything life hands you inside it.

Before my husband died, I was that person.

The one trying to make everyone else happy, showing up to every gathering, baking the cookies no one asked for, saying yes when I was already running on fumes.

I thought the holidays were about doing it all.

Now I know they’re about doing what actually matters.

🎁 The Shift That Changed Everything

After James passed, everything about the holidays felt different.

The traditions we built together suddenly had an empty chair in the middle of them. The lights, the music, even the smell of pine, all hurt.

So one year, I just… stopped.

I opted out.

I didn’t decorate.

I didn’t go to every dinner.

I didn’t force myself to be festive.

I just gave myself permission to not perform joy.

And the world didn’t fall apart.

In fact, it started to make sense again.

🕯️ What “Opting Out” Really Means

Opting out doesn’t mean you hate the holidays.

It means you’re done pretending.

It’s choosing presence over pressure.

It’s saying, “Not this year,” to things that drain you and “Maybe next time,” to traditions that no longer fit.

It’s celebrating in ways that feel authentic — even if that means lighting one candle and calling it a day.

🌙 The Freedom in Letting Go

When I stopped doing things out of obligation, I found something beautiful: peace.

I started noticing small joys again: quiet mornings, a single cup of coffee, the smell of something baking because I wanted to, not because it was expected.

I stopped measuring the holidays by how “merry” they looked and started measuring them by how calm I felt.

And maybe that’s what the holidays were supposed to be all along.

🫶 Give Yourself Permission This Year

If this season feels heavy, skip the party.

If decorating feels like a chore, don’t.

If you’d rather spend the day in pajamas than at a table full of people, do it.

Traditions can be rewritten.

And sometimes, the most healing thing you can do is step away from the noise until it feels safe to come back.

You’re allowed to celebrate softly, quietly, or not at all.

🎄 The Heart of It

This year, I’m choosing peace over perfection.

Presence over pressure.

And meaning over maintenance.

Maybe next year I’ll go all out again.

Or maybe I won’t.

Either way, I’ll be okay.

Because opting out isn’t giving up.

It’s choosing yourself.