This morning, I woke up believing I had a fresh start.
Then yesterday came rushing back.
Before my feet even hit the floor, I knew something wasn’t right. I wasn’t okay.
The loneliness settled in before I could get to my studio. Old abandonment wounds that I thought I’d long ago tucked away quietly began making themselves known again. I felt overwhelmed, emotional, and honestly, I just wanted to crawl back into bed.
I stood there wrestling with myself.
Should I let it all out?
Should I finally cry?
Or should I do what I’ve always done—put my head down, get busy, and pretend everything is fine?
If you know me, you probably know which one I chose.
I got to work.
I threw myself into projects. I stayed busy. I checked things off my list.
From the outside, I probably looked productive.
Inside, I was exhausted.
My mind bounced from one thought to another. I couldn’t concentrate. Every task seemed to take twice as long because I was carrying around emotions I didn’t know what to do with.
Sometimes I wonder how many women live like this.
We’re the strong ones.
The dependable ones.
The ones everyone admires because we always seem to have it together.
Yet beneath the smile is a woman quietly asking herself questions no one else hears.
Did I do something wrong?
Why wasn’t I enough?
Why do I always assume I’m the problem?
Those questions can become loud if we let them.
Part of me wanted to completely surrender to the emotions.
Another part was terrified.
What if I started crying and couldn’t stop?
What if I fell apart and couldn’t find my way back?
Looking back now, I know those fears weren’t entirely rational.
But they were real.
I even told myself I’d take a long shower later and let the tears come there.
Ironically, by the time I got in the shower, I’d forgotten all about crying.
Life had already started moving again.
Maybe that’s what healing sometimes looks like.
Not dramatic breakthroughs.
Just tiny moments that carry us from one hour to the next.
Throughout the day, I intentionally looked for little pockets of joy.
I scheduled some birthday pampering.
I looked forward to my birthday sewing retreat with friends.
Those little distractions weren’t about avoiding my feelings. They gave me enough breathing room to process them without letting them consume me.
My husband is British.
He laughs at how emotional I can be and jokingly thinks all these feelings are a bit silly.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s onto something.
But I also know this:
If we want to experience deep love, deep connection, and real joy, we can’t selectively numb ourselves. We don’t get to feel only the good parts of life.
We have to be willing to feel the hard parts too.
I’ve lived long enough to know something else.
Whenever life sweeps me into one of these dark valleys, there is always light waiting on the other side.
I may not see it today.
But I’ve seen it enough times to trust that it’s there.
One of my biggest struggles has always been believing that when something goes wrong, it must somehow be my fault.
Maybe I didn’t measure up.
Maybe I wasn’t enough.
Maybe I disappointed someone.
It has taken me well into my sixties to realize something that probably should have been obvious all along.
Not everything is about me.
Sometimes other people are living through lessons that have nothing to do with me.
Sometimes I simply play a part in their story.
That realization doesn’t erase the hurt.
But it does set me free from carrying burdens that were never mine to begin with.
So I’ll keep showing up.
I’ll keep creating.
I’ll keep quilting.
I’ll keep writing.
I’ll keep investing my time and energy in the people, places, and moments that bring me joy.
Because that’s where I find purpose.
That’s where I find peace.
That’s where I can make a tiny difference in someone else’s life.
And maybe…
The biggest lesson of Day 3 isn’t about loneliness at all.
Maybe it’s this:
I am learning to be gentle with myself.