This week I’ve had the powerful reminder to try a little less. Sometimes I have a tendency to go all in when I do something. When I try hard, the results should follow.

This has been true for me most of my life. As a child, this showed up in almost everything I did. And I would see the results in front of me.

I tried hard in school to get good grades. In dance, I tried hard to improve so I could get the coveted part in the recital. In my family life, I tried to be quiet, to not disappoint anyone so I could be loved and wanted.

As I grew, this showed up in college, in relationships, in finding my first job.

It’s a classic behavior-reward system. The more I try, the better the reward.

As an adult, I feel like I have often been trying to UNlearn so much of this behavior.

I don’t need to perform to be liked, loved, appreciated, or the best. I don’t need to be the best. I just need to be myself.

I’ve learned the hard way to try less many times now that I’m getting closer to 40. Two big examples come to mind when I begin to think about this.

The first is from my early 20’s.

When I had my first (and only) corporate job out of college, I tried and tried and tried to prove myself. I did my work, then I’d ask for more. I was pulled into projects that weren’t my job. I was asked to take on tasks that others might not get to during busy periods. It didn’t help that this was during the 2008/2009 recession where there was a hiring freeze and I was the last one to get a job for over two years in my office. I became the ‘everything’ person despite my job title.

It felt nice to be needed in various ways. It was nice to be pulled in and trusted with things that, in reality, were far outside my skills. I love to be a helper, a worker, a striver. Apparently to a point of fault.

In this instance, a few of my coworkers started taking advantage of my helpfulness. I started getting others’ work (in secret) while they went out for three hour “lunches” (actually trying on wedding dresses) on the heels of their promotions. I was punished (yelled at) when a manager went on an overseas trip, and they hadn’t read any of the documents that I had prepared for their sessions, because they didn’t pack their laptop and couldn’t conduct the training. That was somehow my fault and there’s a lot more weird details to this story.

Again, it was a hard lesson to learn. Don’t try so hard to please everyone or you’ll get steamrolled. I colored outside the lines too far and burned myself out.

The second example is from when my son was about three.

I’ll preface this by saying I am and always will be the kind of person who will do anything and everything for my child. Apparently to the point of hurting myself. I nursed my son until he was 3 1/2. Something I’m very proud of. I let him self-wean and while we had our challenges, we formed the most beautiful connection that I’m so grateful for.

The hurt came from nursing with poor posture and giving myself frozen shoulder that took almost three months to heal from. I had to go to physical therapy for weeks while trying to continue to follow my son’s lead. This was a time where it was “the beginning of the end” for us. I remember realizing that if I couldn’t comfortably hold his body up while nursing, perhaps it was time to start the process of seeing if he’d go longer between nursing sessions.

The lesson around trying less came from one session at physical therapy where I was telling the doctor about how I’ve been doing all the exercises he gave me and wasn’t seeing much improvement yet. I was still in pain all the time, still not able to do my normal activities. He laughed at me and said, “You strike me as the type of person who doesn’t give yourself a lot of time to heal.” I laughed in the moment and agreed with him. But his words after that have still stuck with me 8 years later: “You’re doing great, but try less."

The point was that I was going too hard at healing, not allowing myself enough rest and time to actually get better. I wanted to feel better now. After all was said and done, it wasn’t until after I stopped doing anything except the minimum exercises and getting a massage did my shoulder improve significantly enough to get back to my regular daily movements.

Back to now. This week, I’m back with another lesson in trying less.

For a while now, I’ve been on a journey of trying to figure out what I want to do with my days. With my life really.

I’ve shared here that I’ve been trying new crafts and art while staying home and being present as a mom and partner. I have definitely found a new hobby in weaving. I’ve been using my frame loom from a kit that I got on etsy to make about a dozen woven wall hangings. It’s truly lighting me up to create, to combine colors, textures, and create stories for the pieces.

But here’s the thing. Once again, in my own true fashion, I went too hard. My shoulders and neck have been hurting after sitting and weaving for about 2-3 hours when my son is at school. A hurt that I’ve been pushing through so I can keep working and keep creating.

In addition to this, since September, I’ve started lifting weights with my favorite online program Momma Strong. It’s been nice to be consistently active with weights, as before I’d do it once and then not pick them back up for weeks/months. I’m feeling stronger in my body, hurray!

The kicker is that between the repetitive stress I’ve been putting on my neck, shoulders, and back, plus the weights, my body decided it had enough. Apparently, I’m going too hard on pushing through on things I enjoy and my body said “That’s enough, you need to have a time out.”

I injured my shoulder. I think my rotator cuff? So I’m officially putting myself on shoulder hiatus. Time to take a break from the weights, from the weaving, from the crafting. Basically from the few things that are bringing me joy lately. Even now as I’m typing, my arm is propped up on a cushion so I don’t bother it too much.

Look, even now, I can’t stop myself from doing something. I cannot sit still. I cannot rest. I must be busy!

All this to say, sometimes when going too hard, we get thrust into doing less. Into trying less. Right now, I realize I’ve been trying too hard to be good at weaving. To be stronger. And it’s time for me to take a beat on those things and sit still (as hard as that may be).

As much as I’m frustrated by it, maybe it’s a good thing to come back here to write. To take a breath. To slow down and notice. To read instead of create. To absorb rather than tend. To be present rather than reach.

It’s a hard thing to keep learning and I suspect I will continue to learn it as my life goes on.

Try less and rest more.

Did you need to hear that today too?

I wouldn’t say I’m intentionally cynical about the world, but that my general disposition in life has always erred on the side of less optimistic than the average person. I see myself as a realist while I can look at people’s faces when I speak sometimes and realize I’m mostly coming across as a Debbie Downer.

I’m like this year round, but it’s not necessarily from a “I’m clinically depressed” sort of way. I’m not, I’m just generally a “glass half empty” kind of gal. Or at the very least “someone already drank half the amount that was in there before” kind of gal.

Fall seems to hit that Grump button a little harder. Everything feels a little more Eeyore-like once the clouds roll in and the beautiful sunny days of autumn are fleeting. I sometimes joke that with my personal history of loss and grief that I carry around my own personal rain cloud. I try to make light of my reality, because if I don’t? People look at you with too much sadness or judgement.

This fall, I’m in this transition-phase (will I ever get out of this?). My sister and I just finished selling my late grandmother’s home. I’m a stay at home mom with a child who is home basically only home for dinner, but still needs me on school holidays, sick days, and for endless emotional support when he’s home for the evenings.

I’ve been trying to find my purpose outside of being an online business owner. Outside of being a caregiver to an elderly family member. To figure out what’s next for me.

I’ve been leaning hard into creativity. Exploring different art mediums. I’ve been dabbling and learning watercolor for a few years now. I’ve explored goauche a little. In the last month or so, I’ve picked up collage. I added in some mixed media. And just the last couple weeks, I’ve tried out weaving on a frame loom.

To say that I’m looking for “my thing” is an understatement. I’m throwing myself into self-expression as far and as fast as I possibly can. While I’m enjoying each and every one of them in their own ways, I’m constantly stepping back and wondering where that “spark” is. What is it that lights me up? Is it the making of something? Is it the creativity of coming up with a plan and executing it? Is it in the finished result? Is it in the sharing of that thing?

When my Grump shows up, I tell myself I’m not good at any of it. I remind myself of the parts that I don’t like. I see all the imperfections and the decades of years that I will likely need to “put in” in order to “be good” at any of them. Despite the fact that I have absolutely no intentions of putting work being in museums or on display in galleries.

It’s funny what my brain can do to stop me from simply being content. It’s funny how my brain can be one hundred times more mean to me than I’d ever be to someone else.

The truth is that even while I’m deep in my grumpy phase, I am enjoying the exploration of different colors, textures, and mediums. I seem to get to a point (admittedly almost once a week) where I question what it is I’m doing with my life. What it is I’m meant to do.

Is painting on paper then ripping it, collaging it, and creating a landscape my life’s work? Is weaving yarn all day what I’m supposed to do? Is this it? Is this what I’m meant to be spending my time on day in and day out for this season of my life?

It feels like connection is that piece that I’m missing. There’s very few people who are at the same stage of life that I am currently. Having lost many of people and no idea where to go from here.

With all these swirling questions, I realize that I’m somewhat wasting my life asking these questions rather than simply just creating, making, moving forward with the lessons that each medium and each attempt teach me.

I suppose my Grump is telling me that grief is normal. It comes and goes. Being a person is hard. Making things isn’t about even getting better, but just about showing up. Even imperfectly. And not doing it alone.

While some of these little moments make a difference as a larger whole, others are literally just passing moments. Ones I generally forget about the second they pass. And those are the exact reason I’m so glad to have photographic evidence that they ever existed.

I can’t begin to tell you the amount of joy to see and ride one of these cute rainbow Aquabus boats in Vancouver on our family vacation early this month. As simple as it was, I feel like this short ride will forever be locked in as a core memory for me. Small, agile, and perfectly practical for getting around in the city with heavy traffic and waterways.

I did a hard thing this month. I rode the Peak to Peak gondola in Whistler, BC. Ironically, I wasn’t scared of the height (although decided that once I was up there, I was), I was more scared of getting motion sick. Which I did despite having taken medication and wearing a patch behind my ear for it. Either way, I showed up for myself to do something scary - and I survived! It was beautiful even I was counting down the seconds to it being over.

I always find joy in a well-curated and beautiful book store. This one with a rolling ladder felt like one from my dreams, and the shelves are my favorite color! Wandering through this one in Whistler was a moment of quiet happiness.

This month was Raspberry Season in my yard. I’m always endlessly thankful for the previous owners of our home to have planted all these. It’s been my job to be the caregiver to them for nine seasons so far, and this was the least effort I put in to making sure they were tended to. To my surprise and delight, I still had endless raspberries and now a very full freezer full of frozen berries for the rest of the year to make my favorite berry crisp, add to smoothies, and a few batches of jam.

This is one of a number of photos on my camera roll that showed me photographic evidence of how much I helped others this month. This isn’t meant to be a toot-your-own-horn type of statement, but when you’re cleaning out a Depression-era hoarder’s home, you realize that giving away their things and stuff is like freeing the shackles the stuff had on them. It was so nice to see other people in her neighborhood benefit from all these garden supplies.

I’m always working on my watercolor skills. I’m still very much a beginner, but this little scene from my mind came up and out of my hands quickly. I really like how loose and imperfect it is. I think that’s the entire reason I enjoy watercolor, even if I never get to be “great” at it.

This empty room signifies progress for me. After months and months of cleaning, my grandmother’s room was finally empty this month. To say I’m glad it’s done is an understatement. To say I’m a little battered and bruised emotionally and mentally from this project is also very much an understatement.

The photo is a little too zoomed in and blurry, but the hummingbirds have been loving our crocosmia in our yard this month. It’s been so fun to sit on the patio and watch them come and go. They’re truly magical.

The moment that I made fun a priority. Being so tired out from the mental (and physical) gymnastics of working at my grandmother’s house, I almost said no to getting together with friends. What was supposed to be a day of blueberry picking, turned into a years-later deja vu moment for me and two friends. These kids have been growing up together for close to 10 years. It’s sweet and bittersweet all at once.

It had been weeks since I painted last, so I made myself sit down and “just make something.” This is the something I made. No self judgement, no trying to make something specific, just getting color and shapes on paper. I’m happy with how freeing that exercise can be sometimes.

It’s been so helpful for me to look back at these little moments this month. In the midst of what feels like so much transition right now, seeing the tiny things that happened (or almost didn’t), I can relish in the fact that I’m still here in the present moment. Now might not feel perfect, but now is where I am.

Summer has always been a time that I’ve loved and looked forward to.

When I think of summer days, I think of lazy mornings followed by long, slow afternoons and evenings. I think of late nights and sleeping in. Being overly sweaty and relishing in the pause that comes from a necessary break.

So far, my summer has been anything but a respite for me.

It’s been spent being a personal chauffeur to my (almost) 11 year old. A part-time house declutterer of my grandmother’s home that I’m STILL working through. And on a high-energy vacation that my family was excited about but if I’m honest, my soul just did not need right now.

I still don’t feel as though I’ve caught my breath from the whirlwind of the end of the school year that was ramping up in May (or the winter before, or the fall before that…). Volunteering hours, end of school activities, my niece’s graduation festivities (that worked out to be a LOT of festivities), and trying to get some much-needed family time in with family that doesn’t live nearby took up most of our spring.

And I’m still out of breath from it.

Today is the first day in a month that I’ve been in my house by myself for any stretch of time. Summer camp plus a traveling spouse means that the house is actually quiet. And I’d love to refill my introvert cup in some way.

But what’s weird is that I’ve been on this hamster wheel for so long - caregiving for my grandmother, being almost everything to my son, filling in any and all gaps for my family - that I don’t even trust that this quiet time will fill me up anymore.

I’ve been (slowly) reading the book Burnout: Unlocking the Stress Cycle by Emily and Amelia Nagosaki, and it hits the nail on the head. Even though I’ve barely started in on part two of the book, I’ve already learned that I need to actually complete the stress cycle every day in order to feel my best.

That means I’ve been exercising more regularly. Maybe not harder. Maybe not better. But I’ve at least been showing up, because it’s easier for me to show up when I have a reason like my mental state and load rather than to just “be healthy.” Plus, I know I always feel better when I move more. It’s just not always easy to convince my brain to get out of my chair and do it.

So I’ve been adding that as a task list to my to-do list this summer as well.

I also decided that this would be a good summer for us to get one of those 10 foot pools for the backyard. My son still doesn’t know how to swim and doesn’t feel very confident in the water. Between summer camps and vacations, the swim lessons nearby weren’t going to work for us. This was the next best option. But guess what? Acquiring and setting up a pool takes time and effort. And apparently 25 minutes to fill up a floatie toy that we can play on.

All this to say that I thought this summer would be the one where there would be less. In general and overall. With my caregiving role complete with my grandmother, I was left thinking that this summer would be a lot more carefree. But it has been anything but so far.

We’re still trying to finish her house. It’s almost empty and now we need to do some updates in order to get it on the market. Something that I just don’t feel like I have the capacity for. But here we are.

My brain is tired. My body is tired. I’m still in the thick of this time of my life and I’m ready for a true break.

But the thing about breaks is that we always come back from them. And have to face what we’ve put off for a while. The craziness of life, the impromptu needs of others, the filling in the gaps where you didn’t even know there were any, and everything else.

The breathlessness of summer right now feels like just the breathlessness of life right now. The middle years where there is no true break. It doesn’t exist when you’re in the messiness of it all. There are pockets and windows of time where you can pretend that rest is happening, but you know that the moment you poke your head back in that it will all flood back and you’ll be overwhelmed again.

Saying goodbye can be extremely difficult.

Writing a letter to a friend, telling them you’re done with the relationship. No more chances, no more waiting for things to improve.

It feels almost inconceivable, turning your back on something you’ve put so much effort into.

But the truth is that sometimes the writing's on the wall.

Sometimes you give and you give and there’s not always a return of effort.

Sometimes you care so much for this thing or this person that you don’t realize that you’ve been the only one caring or giving at all in a very long time.

This dance of showing up to share, to give, to inform in a free space started out fun for me.

Then it was exhilarating.

Then it became my obsession.

And now it feels like a failure.

A failure of what? I don’t know.

Over a decade of sharing and writing on a platform under my own name, for heaven’s sake.

It shouldn’t be a failure at all. By any standard.

And yet I’ve somehow grown out of it.

I’ve grown out of the hustle. The attempt at trying to strive for more. The reaching, the seeking, the yearning to make a difference.

The truth is that I did make a difference. For thousands and thousands. Over the course of 10+ years.

But when all is said and done, it feels like saying goodbye is somehow saying goodbye to a part of myself. Under my own name, my work is going to ride off into the sunset. It feels like failing when I walk away.

But it’s okay.

It’s okay.

I’m keeping up this mantra that saying goodbye to one project means allowing and opening up to more potential projects.

It’s okay.

It’s going to be okay.

This unfurling of what’s to come. The potential unveiling of what’s next for me in life isn't what it was all those years ago.

I am deeply saddened, full of grief, to leave behind the work and hours and love and effort I’ve poured into that business and website.

I’ve been desperate to hang onto it, hoping against hope that things could be different.

But the reality is that just as much as the online world has changed, so have I.

I’m no longer infatuated with health and wellness.

Yes, I want to take care of myself.

Yes, I want what’s best for others.

But my goal, my striving, what lights me up inside isn’t in that world anymore.

In fact, I’m actually quite exhausted from it all.

I just want to live and breathe, and be.

Just be alive and living and not worrying about how I show up or what someone expects of me.

I’ll be leaving behind weekly emails about a specific diet that I followed for over a decade. Recipes, strategies, research, sharing.

All of it will live on for as long as it feels like the right thing to do. But I’m turning off paid products, subscriptions, and a weekly way to connect with others.

It feels like a cold shoulder, like I’m turning my back. But the reality is that for me, in order to move forward, I need to close this door.

I need to leave it behind to see what can be possible for me next.

So I wrote the draft.

It’s sitting in my Google Drive account, waiting to go out.

When I get brave enough, I’ll load it up, send it out, then shut it all down.

I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but this grief of losing this business, of walking away, has already taken years.

What’s another few days or weeks before I earnestly put a pin in it?

It’s time.

It’s hard, but it’s time.

I’m walking away.

But I’m hopefully walking towards the future.

To something unknown.

To something else that’s good.

For the next chapter.

For another good chapter.

It’ll be okay.

Hello friend,

Welcome to the very first edition of Bookmarked – a little reading corner I've carved out to share the stories that have kept me company this month. Think of this as that conversation we'd have if we ran into each other at the bookstore, both of us with stacks in our arms, eager to swap recommendations.

It’s taken me far into April to get this out the door - even the first time I’m writing it. Life gets crazy, you know?

I've always been hopelessly mood-driven when it comes to choosing books – reaching for whatever feels right in that exact moment when I finish one story and need another. But it wasn't until I sat down to write this recap that I noticed the invisible thread connecting everything I read in March. Funny how our hearts sometimes know what we need before our minds do, isn't it?

March brought us those perfect reading-weather days here – rain tapping against windows, inviting me to burrow deeper into my corner of the couch with another chapter. My family's "spend less" challenge this month turned out to be a happy accomplice to my reading life, keeping us home and encouraging us to find joy in what we already have – including the unread books waiting patiently on my shelves.

So brew something warm, get comfortable, and let me tell you about the stories that found me exactly when I needed them this month.

This Month's Stack

March Reads at a Glance

• How to Walk Into a Room by Emily P. Freeman - A gentle guide for life's in-between moments

• The Co-Op by Tarah Dewitt - Former friends, forced proximity, and a renovation that changes everything

• Wildfire by Hannah Grace - The swoony hockey romance that made estate paperwork bearable

• The Magic of Lemon Drop Pie by Rachel Linden - A second-chance story that waited nine months for me to be ready

• Funny Story by Emily Henry - The book that stole an entire Saturday and made me regret nothing

Reading By the Numbers

Books completed: 5

Formats: 3 physical, 1 ebook, 1 audiobook

Hours spent listening: 9

Favorite reading drinks: Yogi Kava Stress Relief Tea and homemade Spicy Mocha

The Heart of It: March Reads

How to Walk Into a Room by Emily P. Freeman

This book found me exactly when I needed a gentle hand on my shoulder. In a life that's felt like one long in-between lately, Freeman's words were the deep breath I didn't know I needed to take.

The "rooms" metaphor settled into my bones in a way that explains why it took me so long to finish - I kept pausing between chapters to just sit with my thoughts, letting them unfurl slowly like morning glories. While I'm not religious anymore, the spiritual threads still resonated with that part of me that remembers Sunday mornings and seeking comfort in something bigger than myself.

I borrowed this one through Kindle Unlimited, and honestly, the slow pace at which I read it became part of the experience itself - like a conversation with a friend who doesn't mind comfortable silences.

The Co-Op by Tarah Dewitt

There's something deliciously entertaining about throwing former friends together under one roof with power tools and unresolved tension. This forced proximity romance had me smiling while shredding papers from my grandmother's estate - especially since my sister and I had just been discussing renovations ourselves.

The chemistry between characters sparked nicely, but I'm finding myself struggling to recall specific moments as I write this. It was like a warm chocolate chip cookie right out of the oven - completely enjoyable in the moment, but not necessarily the one you're still thinking about a week later.

Wildfire by Hannah Grace

My secret for surviving the mountain of paperwork from my grandmother's estate? Audiobooks. This one kept me company while hunched over a shredder for hours, making the mundane task almost enjoyable.

The chemistry between these characters felt like the perfect distraction - our female lead with her refreshing confidence (teach me your ways, please) and relatable family drama, minus the fame part of course. And that male lead? I'd been quietly rooting for him since Icebreaker, so watching him finally step into the sunshine of his own story felt like seeing an old friend find happiness.

The Magic of Lemon Drop Pie by Rachel Linden

This book sat on my shelf judging me for nine months because I kept thinking it would be too "light" for my mood. Isn't it funny how wrong we can be? Once I finally cracked it open, I fell into this story about second chances and parallel lives with an unexpected emotional punch.

I found myself in the main character's crossroads moments, that feeling of standing at life's intersections wondering which way leads home. What stuck with me was how each version of her life contained both beauty and unexpected heartache - a reminder that even our dream scenarios would come with their own complications. The ending was sweet enough to require insulin, but somehow it worked. Maybe it was watching her navigate parent loss in different timelines (a club I never wanted to join but somehow find myself a lifetime member of), or maybe it was just the universal truth that the grass isn't greener - it's just different grass.

Pick this one up when you're feeling contemplative but still want to believe good things are possible.

Funny Story by Emily Henry

I let this book intimidate me from my bookshelf for three months before finally diving in - and then proceeded to lose an entire Saturday to it, emerging only for snacks and bathroom breaks until real life rudely demanded attention again. This is the kind of book that makes me wish for selective amnesia so I could experience reading it for the first time all over again.

The chemistry between these characters was electric from page one, and I found myself impatiently turning pages, mentally shouting "just kiss already!" before they finally did - and wow, was it worth the wait. All the feelings, all the love, all the everything for this book.

The Passage That Found Me

From The Magic of Lemon Drop Pie by Rachel Linden:

“Honey, it sounds like whatever you’re holding on to is probably already broken,” she said kindly, “and you’re just holding the pieces together and praying for some glue.” She paused, considering. “Life doesn’t work that way. If you cling so tight to something that’s already broken, to a life and dream that can never come true, you don’t have space in your life for anything else, for the good and real plan Bs.” She looked me in the eye and said firmly, “Sometimes, Lolly, you just have to let it go.”

I have been in this strange in-between feeling in my life for the past few years, between my mom passing in 2021 to caregiving for my grandmother until November of 2024. Now, a few months later, I’m still in this strange phase because we’re still working on her estate and cleaning out her home.

In the midst of that, I think I’ve had other transitions, but this one has been the greatest. Not knowing where I fit in after years of taking care of others, filling in the gaps that need filling. At this point of my life, I’m not sure who or what I’m hanging on to for the sake of just hanging on.

I think I needed to read this book at this time, along with How to Walk Into a Room by Emily P. Freeman, to help me realize that I’ve been hanging on in this limbo for a while. And that it’s safe to move forward and dream new dreams. Even if I don’t know what those dreams are just yet.

My Reading Corner

This is where I spent most of my time reading this month. Curled up in this little corner of the couch with my heated blanket and a cup of tea.

Looking Ahead

Seeing as I’m not getting around to publishing this until we’re well into April, it’s safe to say that I know what kind of books are coming up for this month. Let’s say there’s a few fresh start reads and a swoony audiobook review coming!

I can’t wait to share what I read with you this month!

Until next time,
Rachael

(This is an audio version of the newsletter below. It’s unedited and raw. If you prefer to listen, I hope you enjoy it, including the real sounds and stutters that come with it)

As I’m writing this, I’m finishing up month three of clearing out my grandmother’s home. Trying to tie up loose ends of a lifetime of memories stored in one house. A lifetime of “I want to try that” and “I can’t get rid of that perfectly good” items all stashed and shoved in every nook and cranny.

It’s a home that has become as much a physical representation of “home” to me as any other. A place that I think of when I think of my childhood.

Playing cards with Grandma. Doing crossword puzzles with Grandpa.

Walking in to the smell of sautéing peppers, onions, and carrots on the stove for homemade soup.

Finding the two of them delicately dancing around the kitchen prepping meals, washing dishes. Carrying on with life; just the two of them.

A home that I was always, always, always welcome in without an invitation.

When I think of the home, I think of the moments I collected. Not the stuff.

The VHS tapes that were in fun pull-out drawers that now seem like relics.

The handheld nutcracker tool and the bowl of nuts out for every holiday.

The tiny baby food jars that they’d pour me a glass of juice in when I came to visit.

It’s all stuff that’s still in that house. Stuff that remained there my entire life. The stuff I can think fondly back on and wish that I could bottle up the moments with my dear grandparents. But all that remains is the stuff. The items conjure up memories.

But in the last three months, I’ve learned that even if the items bring up memories, the stuff still sat there. In fact, too much stuff sat there, in their beloved home… for far too long.

Every sheet set purchased.

Every curling iron tried.

Every piece of silver and teacup and fancy dish set that was passed down.

Every pair of shoes worn.

Every pattern used to make clothes.

Every dress.

Every pair of pants.

Every single gift that ever entered the home.

Every letter that was written.

Every sentimental item from generations past.

It all came to live in this home. And it came to stay.

Peeling back the layers of someone’s life is excruciating, especially when it’s someone you loved so dearly. You see all the wonderful moments in photos, in gift tags, in drawings from their children (one of which was my own mother and the thing I’m cherishing so much that I’m seeing now).

You see the newspaper clippings from your own achievements, because this was the type of people they were.

You saved what was important.

You saved what mattered.

You saved what people made for you or gifted to you, because you loved them.

Along the way, though, as I’m making my way through the sedimentary layers of history of my grandmother, and even farther in my grandfather, I’m finding that they loved others so much that they weren’t even really able to love themselves in their space.

So much stuff buried and lodged into every closet. Closets and shelving built to accommodate the stuff that was worth keeping.

It’s hard to pull out what’s important when it’s all still there.

I find a photo of an important event in a drawer. An obvious moment of pride and joy for them.

Then days later, I found a dress from that same event. The dress housed the memory for my grandmother. She was afraid to let it go. Afraid that if the item was gone, the memory would be too.

But when it’s all important, none of it is.

I’ve found so many incredible things, but in the overwhelm of it all… none of it is.

Things that I’ve brought home that I think “This will be the memory of my grandmother,” only to turn around and donate it myself, because I realize that yes, this is just stuff too.

All the items that she saved, she wound up being buried under.

So much stuff.

Too much stuff for one person to go through.

Three months of two people working multiple hours a week to go through.

It breaks my heart. It hurts me to see someone who I associate much of my childhood with such joy and life having been surrounded by so much stuff. So much of the wrong things.

A life that could have been lived comfortably was wedged out by the physical manifestation of memories past. Of past hurts. Of past loves. Of past achievements. Of past relationships. Of past absolute and overwhelming joy.

As I look around a still full home, I wonder when it’s just too much to care. It’s time to let it all go. To remember instead of retain. To walk away and let history stay in the past.

Because the time I spend digging through my grandmother’s history is time I’m not spending in my own. It’s just too much stuff for one person to find special. When it’s just too much, nothing is.

(This is an audio version of the newsletter below. It’s unedited and raw. If you prefer to listen, I hope you enjoy it, including the real sounds and stutters that come with it)

Hi friends,

I'm sitting here in my favorite oversized sweater, a cup of tea that's already gone a bit cold because I got distracted, and a pile of laundry that's been waiting patiently on the couch for... let's just say long enough to have become an unofficial piece of furniture. And you know what? This feels like the perfect moment to talk about the myth of perfect coziness.

The Staged Life We See Online

Can we just take a minute to acknowledge something? Social media has led us to believe that simply being a human is glamorous, that a fulfilling life must be filled with tables adorned with fresh flowers, freshly laundered sheets (apparently changed daily?), and home-cooked meals every night that look like they belong in a magazine spread.

I'll admit, I love watching cozy content too. One of my favorite YouTube channels—probably the only one I actually watch regularly—features a woman sharing her weekly life. It's usually a 20 to 30 minute video of her doing the most mundane things: homemaking, baking, vacuuming her floors. Every Sunday, like clockwork, I turn it on while folding laundry—my little moment of comfort, even if my husband and son tease me mercilessly for it.

There's something comforting about watching someone else do chores while you do yours. It makes you feel less alone in the mundane tasks that make up so much of our lives.

But as much as I love this channel, I often look around at her perfectly curated life and think, "Gosh, she put so much effort into making that look picture perfect. I sure hope her real life isn't that complicated." Making every single meal from scratch every night seems like such a stretch to me in this season of life. And while maybe some people genuinely want that, it seems like such a tedious task! I hope this lovely woman takes time off once in a while and phones it in with some easy meals.

Or I at least hope she takes a day off from vacuuming, because based on her videos alone, it seems like one of her favorite hobbies. She appears to spend so much of her life making sure her home is perfectly spotless. I don't know about you, but that feels like too much pressure to keep up with!

The Pressure of Perfection

It's so easy to get wrapped up in the idea of trying hard. At everything. Striving and reaching to be better than we were before, smarter, richer, more beautiful, thinner, cleaner... I could go on and on.

But there's such a deep inner sense of calm when you finally embrace who you are. Being yourself and embracing your own distinct personality traits and quirks allows you to stop working so hard to be someone else.

It opens you up to be fully yourself, offering a sense of self-acceptance that feels like coming home. You can trust that you know who you are, you're happy with who you are, and you belong just as you are.

When you embrace authenticity, what once felt like flaws can become your strengths. Self-acceptance brings a sense of calm and belonging that no picture-perfect Instagram post ever could.

My Version of Cozy

For me, authenticity means acknowledging that I get overwhelmed easily, that I don't enjoy surprises, and I hate to rush. That means in my life, I do my best to plan my schedule, meals, and get-togethers with other people. I plan so that I give myself ample room to move through life at my own pace.

It's not rigid or overly structured, but it's in place so that I have time to react without anxiety taking over. While some might see my approach as too structured and not spontaneous enough, my authentic self just truly doesn't enjoy a whole lot of spontaneity. So I've settled into this cozy life of mine that lets me embrace that about myself, without apology.

For you, authenticity might mean something completely different. Maybe you love experiencing new things, exploring new hobbies or crafts, or having lots of time to catch up with friends. The idea here is that we all embrace what makes us feel good to create a life that works for us and only us, never having to explain ourselves to others.

Finding Real-Life Coziness

When my husband and I were just starting our lives together and we didn't have a lot of money, I would scour catalogs and walk through furniture stores just wishing I had more to spend on gorgeous couches, chairs, and table sets. I'd imagine my "someday" perfect home where everything matched and looked just so.

Over time, we acquired the furniture we have now, and somehow we wound up choosing more classic and timeless pieces. They still have personality, but we chose items that were comfortable above all else. We bought an IKEA couch 10 years ago after moving into a rental, and I promised my husband that when we moved, we didn't have to keep it if it didn't fit. He hated it, but I kept pushing to make it work.

With a few updates over the years like new legs and a different color cover, that couch is still comfortable, fits into our home and season of life well, and feels like us. All these years later, it still works, and I'm glad we didn't hop on a trend that would have gone out of fashion (and our budget) years ago.

Embracing the Beauty of Imperfection

There's something to be said for things that have been loved well. Whether it's a comfortable sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, or marks in your wood floor. Although some might see these things as run down or overly worn, I love to see the life that something has provided.

Things that aren't perfect don't need to be hidden. Things that are well-loved and well-used have a beauty of their own. It's okay if there are stains on your floor. It's okay if the paint has worn away on one part of the wall or there are crayon marks that never fully came up. It's okay that there might be scratches on the side of the car. If something is still serving a purpose for you, you can relish in the fact that you have what you need. You are still creating joy and going about your life with that item.

From my own life right now, I am deeply entrenched in the idea of living without perfectionism. Finding ways to just settle into what feels good in my body and in my life. When life is busy (and when isn't it?), there's no time for perfection. When my life is done and over with, no one will look back and think, "Gosh, I wish her outfits were a little more polished" or "I wish she vacuumed her floors more often."

For me, this means letting go of rigid expectations, finding contentment in the small moments, and remembering that coziness isn't about perfection—it's about feeling at home in my own life.

Right now, with all that I've learned so far, the imperfection of real life is what is most beautiful. It's the messes, the disasters, the oopsie moments that make us all feel human and connected.

My mindset shift is that an aesthetic is fun, but it's not real. Being cozy means being yourself authentically. Being comfortable with yourself means embracing where you are in your life right now.

What about you? What are some ways that you enjoy embracing imperfection in your everyday life? What are you doing to actively seek cozy vibes despite a world that demands perfection from us?

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Until next time,
Rachael

(This is an audio version of the newsletter below. It’s unedited and raw. If you prefer to listen, I hope you enjoy it, including the real sounds and stutters that come with it)

On this March morning as I’m driving back from school drop off, I’m looking around at the fog covering the tree lines with the bite of chill in the air. I’m considering how much spring can often feel like it’s ready, then pull back once more.

Yesterday, we had the most glorious sunshine in the morning, a day that felt full of hope and possibilities for warm weather and being outdoors. Yet, by 2pm, the clouds rolled in and opened up, drenching us in a rain shower that made it hard to believe that just a few hours earlier it had felt like we were on our way to spring.

This morning, it’s another entirely new world where everything in every direction is covered in a low layer of hazy fog, where you can just barely see the trees in the distance. The mountains are completely hidden from view.

The only evidence that it’s morning is that it’s bright enough to see around us, but there are no sun rays and no golden feeling of hope and magic for the day. At least not yet. The rest of the day may unfurl with more showers or some dappled sunshine, making you believe that perhaps we didn’t have a 34 degree bundle-up-with-all-your-layers kind of morning.

False Starts of Life

It’s funny how those false starts show up in our lives too. This past year, I’ve had quite a few of them. In this season of life, I’m a bit out to sea, bobbing along with what comes next, what feels right.

I have this energy to create, to share, to do something with my extra energy. Then I get thrust back into real life, into grief, into the throes of parenthood and managing the estate of my late grandmother. And nothing feels creative when life feels as heavy as it does.

I can’t tell you how many projects I’ve started and left behind. The fits and starts of excitement, then realization that I don’t know what it is that I want to create.

Where I’ve Been

For nearly 11 years, I’ve been a stay-at-home mom. My child and my family are everything to me.

I have run an online business and blog that was enjoyable, fun sometimes, and honestly, exciting when I felt like it was making a difference. When I started getting paid to share, I knew I hit the jackpot. I would work on this while my child was at school, then be present when they weren’t. It was the perfect harmony of “having it all.”

But for various reasons, it’s not a space I come back to with optimism anymore. It’s still all there, it’s still running, but it’s no longer my driver to create.

For 3 years, a time that both began and ended in the month of November, I was a caregiver for my grandmother. A woman who lived a long, full life that was also full of hardships in the last decade of her life on earth. I was grateful to spend extra time with her in her final years, but caregiving was one of the hardest roles I’ve ever taken on. And honestly? I think I’m still recovering.

The Messy Middle

Now, I am in that weird in-between of life.

My child is old enough to not need me all the time.

I am no longer actively caring for my grandma.

I have pulled (though not entirely) back from my blog and business.

I’ve tried out a few other creative pursuits, but none that have felt quite right.

Writing fiction.

Opening an Etsy shop.

Trying another blog on for size.

Truth be told, I know myself better than ever. I know my strengths. And know what I can offer the world.

And yet… I’m stuck in this space of not knowing what to do with myself next.

I am a writer, a creator, a person who likes to share - at least on the internet.

I take a step forward in optimism, then I’m pulled back with the realities of life.

A reminder that I still am working through cleaning out my grandmother’s estate, so while my active caregiving role is over, the journey here isn’t complete.

Grief and transition is a state I’m perpetually hanging out in right now.

While I have extra energy to put towards creativity and creation and sharing, I am often stifled by the time constraints of being a parent… and a person without direction.

I am paralyzed with indecision a lot of times right now and find myself doing things that feel like nothing while my child is at school.

I have thrown myself into new hobbies (watercolor, writing fiction) and enjoying some old ones (reading, cooking, baking, volunteering with my son’s school events). I’m also waiting and planning for the seasonal ones to come back around (gardening, being outside, walking/hiking).

Showing Up in a New Way

All this to say - I’m ready to show up in a new way.

A way that feels more authentic.

A way that feels comfortable in a place that feels like home.

I will continue to write and share, as that’s who I am. And I’m ready to see where this new iteration of creation takes me.

I might be a little like this almost-spring weather.

Hanging on to the chilly temperatures of winter but confusing us all with unexpected daffodils sprouting up everywhere.

I hope you’ll join me here as I figure out what that all means.

Welcome to Cozy After All! I’m so glad you’re here.

Hi, I’m Rachael. I’m a woman wearing many hats in the messy middle of life, raising a family and trying not to lose my sanity or sense of self in the process.

Life isn’t always picture perfect, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be cozy, relatable, and fulfilling. Cozy After All is about embracing the lovely, warm, comforting moments of life - even in the midst of the chaos of laundry piles, to-do lists, and school drop-offs every day.

Here you’ll find a mix of real-life coziness and experience: the kind that comes from a good book, a quiet moment, a delicious meal, lessons learned from grief, parenthood, and just being a person who doesn’t have it all figured out.

Whether through words or photos, I’m sharing thoughts on making life feel a little softer, a little slower, and a lot more you - even in the chaos of the messy middle of life.

In Cozy After All, I’ll share reflections on embracing everyday cozy—through the books you read, the meals you savor, the spaces you create, and the small rituals that bring comfort. It’s about slowing down, finding joy in the messy middle, and making life feel a little softer, no matter the season.

If you love a cozy life and don’t always have it together, you’re in the right place. I’d love for you to subscribe and join me in finding cozy moments in the everyday. Let’s figure it out together - messy, real, and cozy after all.