transitions

I’ve never liked change. Not even the good kind.

Especially not the kind that comes without warning, shows up uninvited, and decides to rearrange my entire life.

And lately? That’s been my reality.

Aley just started kindergarten.

New school. New routine. New emotions.

And way more face-to-face time with her dad and his girlfriend than I was prepared for. Their work schedules don’t align with school drop-off or pickup, so now I’m the one taking her to school, picking her up, and then waiting until they’re off work to come grab her from my house every weekday.

It’s not that I don’t love the extra time with Aley. I do. I really, really do.

But I’d only just gotten used to the old schedule. I’d found a rhythm. I’d carved out tiny little corners of time for work, for projects, for me. And now? It’s all been thrown up into the air again. I’m missing out on opportunities, turning down gigs I worked hard to earn, and trying not to spiral at the smallest things.

This morning, Aley had a full meltdown.

Screaming, flailing, overwhelmed beyond words.

And I didn’t just see hers… I saw me.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because how do you hold space for your child’s emotions when you’re still trying to survive your own?

And through all of this…

I find myself missing something I can’t quite name.

Maybe it’s him. Or maybe it’s the version of him that used to ask me, “Are you okay?”

The version that used to mean it.

He asked that today, but not about me.

He was asking about Aley.

And still… something about the way he said it pulled me back in time.

For a second, I forgot we weren’t that version of ourselves anymore.

Transitions have a way of doing that. Stirring up old versions of us. Unhealed parts.

The longing for things that felt safe, even if they weren’t sustainable.

But here’s the thing I keep coming back to, even when I’m falling apart in the bathroom or standing in the kitchen wondering how I’m going to make it all work again:

The hardest transitions in my life have ended up being the best ones.

Maybe not right away. Maybe not even for a long time.

But eventually.

Eventually, the mess makes room for something meaningful.

So I’m choosing, at least for now, to trust that this one will too.

Even though I’m tired.

Even though I’m grieving the version of my life I just got used to.

Even though I’m scared to hope.

Because even when change is hard, it doesn’t mean it’s bad.

And even when it hurts, it doesn’t mean I’m failing.

It just means I’m in the middle of something important.

And if I can’t feel strong right now…

Then maybe I can feel honest.

And let that be enough.