Every July, like clockwork, my body and soul remind me: This is when everything changed.

Back in July 2021, my husband James was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma. I can still see that summer so clearly because it had all the makings of something beautiful. We were knee-deep in adoption paperwork for our son, building a greenhouse, and creating a life that felt solid and soul-aligned. I thought we were entering our blooming season.

But life had other plans. And by "plans," I mean a complete undoing of everything I thought I knew.

The diagnosis came like a sucker punch from the universe. No matter how hard we tried to keep moving forward, that summer became a fork in the road I never wanted to take. And the version of our life we were building? It never got to bloom. And honestly, for a long time, neither did I.

When the Life You Imagined Doesn't Happen

Here's the thing nobody really tells you: sometimes you do everything right, and life still shows up like an emotional support goose; chaotic, hissing, and absolutely not here to help. 🪿

It's not always fair. It's not always a lesson tied up with a pretty little bow. Sometimes, it's just loss. And you're left sitting in the rubble, holding pieces of a life that no longer fits.

And even now, years later, I'll be folding laundry or standing in the garden and BAM 💥 I'm hit with the reality: my old life is really gone. My husband really died. This is really my life now.

Navigating Life's Hidden LEGO Minefield

Lately, I've been navigating what I lovingly call a "personal Hellscape." It's not the dramatic movie trailer kind. It's more like navigating a pitch-black hallway barefoot while stepping on strategically placed LEGOs. 🧱

It's not constant, it's not catastrophic, but wow, when it hits, it HURTS. The kind of pain that makes you pause mid-step, question all your life choices, and mutter, "Really? That's what takes me out today?!"

And then, just like that, you limp forward. Because what else can you do?

Romanticizing the Past Won't Bring It Back (Unfortunately)

It's easy to look back on the "before" and romanticize it until it sparkles. I do it all the time. I miss that life. But here's the tough truth: that version of my life doesn't exist anymore.

What does exist is this moment. Right now. The messy, beautiful, half-blooming chaos that I get to call mine.

And I'm realizing that the lessons I learned from the life that didn't go as planned? They're not wasted. I carry them with me every single day. They're the reason I'm rebuilding; not as the same woman, but as someone who knows what it means to love deeply, lose deeply, and still keep showing up.

To Anyone Who's Feeling Lost Right Now:

Maybe you haven't lost a person. Maybe you've lost a dream, a version of yourself, or the future you thought you'd have. Let me just say: I see you.

It's okay to grieve what was. It's okay to scream internally at the unfairness of it all. And it's okay to start over, even if you don't feel ready.

Life doesn't always bloom on the timeline we expect. But that doesn't mean the growing season is over. Sometimes, it just means you're becoming someone new.

And honestly? That version of you might be more powerful, more grounded, and more you than you ever imagined.

So here's to blooming in unexpected seasons. Even when it hurts. Even when it's messy. Even when the plan completely unravels.

Because maybe, just maybe, the life that's still unfolding is the one that was meant for you all along.

Let's Talk:

If you've ever had a moment where life went completely off script, I'd love to hear about it. Drop a comment below or come hang out with me over on Instagram @onthecreekblog. Let's remind each other that we're not alone, especially on the hard days.

🖤 Tiff

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2. Journal

4. Cozy Blanket

Every summer brings with it a bittersweet reminder of a past life—a life where my late husband, James, and I were on the cusp of realizing all our dreams. It was during these warm months that we received James's devastating cancer diagnosis. As the world around us blossomed, our plans for adopting our son and building our future together seemed to shatter irreparably.

Life has a peculiar way of unfolding. It's been over two and a half years since we lost James, and with each passing day, I've trodden a path of profound personal growth and healing. This journey, although laden with grief, has slowly morphed into a canvas of strength and independence—a version of myself I had never known before.

Recently, I ventured on an overnight hotel stay with my son—our first since James passed. As I watched my son's excitement, a pang of melancholy mixed with a deep sense of accomplishment. These small steps are monumental milestones in our new life, each a testament to our resilience and ability to find joy amidst sorrow.

It's true; I often wonder what life could have been like. Imagining weekends packed with family adventures and spontaneous trips, the laughter-filled air, and the joy of shared experiences. Yet, here I am, learning to navigate this world as a single parent, finding solace in my newfound independence. It's not a path I chose, but one that chose me, compelling me to grow in ways I never anticipated.

I won't say it's easy. There are days when the weight of solo parenting and decision-making feels overwhelming. There are moments when I wish I didn't have to know this life of loss and forced independence. Yet, these challenges have sculpted a resilience in me that I never knew existed. They've taught me that I am capable of venturing into the world on my own, finding joy in solitude, and embracing the spontaneity of life as a single mom.

As I continue to forge this unexpected path, I'm learning to love the life I've been given, not just the life I had planned. Our adventures may look different now, but they are no less significant. Each step forward is a piece of the puzzle in understanding and embracing this new chapter.

To those walking a similar path of loss and rediscovery, know it's okay to mourn the plans that never came to fruition. But also remember, within each of us is a resilient spirit capable of rewriting our story, finding beauty in the ashes, and learning to live—and love—again.

"Don't be afraid to start again. You’re not starting from scratch this time; you’re starting from experience."

Hey there, Besties! 🌟

Guess what? I just celebrated another trip around the sun a couple weekends ago! 🎉 And oh boy, do I have some tales to tell. You know, sometimes I think my spirit guides must've been a bit too generous with the "experience" buffet, cramming a lifetime's worth of lessons into these last few years. It's been a wild ride, filled with ups, downs, and everything in between. But here's the kicker: despite the rollercoaster, I'm still here, still standing, and still grateful for every single moment.

Turning a year older always brings its share of contemplation, doesn't it? This year, more than ever, I found myself wrestling with the idea of aging, not because I fear getting older, but because life, in all its unpredictable glory, has been tossing me a few extra curveballs lately. It's in these moments, amidst the whirlwind of challenges, that I find myself whispering, "This too shall pass."

But here's the heart of what I want to share with you today: Don't be afraid to start again. You see, when life beckons us to begin anew, it's not a sign of failure or regression. Far from it. It's an invitation to lean into the wisdom we've accumulated, the battles we've braved, and the strength we've sculpted from our struggles. We're not starting from scratch, my friends. We're embarking from a place rich with experience, insights, and a resilience that only comes from having weathered a few storms.

So, as I blew out the candles this year, amidst the mixed emotions and reflections, I made a promise to myself—a promise to embrace every fresh start, to view each day as a new opportunity to frame my story through a lens of growth and gratitude. Because, let's face it, life's kinda like our biggest DIY project ever, right? Every hiccup and hurdle are not just random mishaps; they're part of this intricate blueprint designed to help us evolve, adapt, and, ultimately, shine.

Remember, Besties, we're all in this grand 'Earth School' workshop together. And just like my cozy crafting corner, where every project starts with a vision and a bit of faith, our lives are canvases awaiting our creative touch. So, here's to starting over, to painting our days with bold strokes of hope, and to remembering that every moment is a chance to craft something truly beautiful.

Until next time, keep shining, keep loving, and most importantly, keep crafting your masterpiece. 🛠️🌱✨