Last September, everything changed.
It was my daughter's first year at a new school, with a new bus schedule and location.
Everything was different. The time for waking up, the time for picking up.
All the routines I had worked so hard to put together over the last year suddenly didn’t work anymore.
I didn’t have time for my morning walks after the bus stop. I had to figure out how to pack lunches she’d actually eat, since the new school didn’t offer the same meals.
I was stressed out and upset with myself for not having my shit together.
I thought I needed to be pushing harder in my business, too, but that felt completely overwhelming. And every time I did push harder, something went wrong.
Like coming down with COVID exactly two weeks into the school year.
Something had to give, and clearly, it was me.
I finally got the message.
I slowed down.
I decided it was fine if my morning walks turned into afternoon strolls because the activity itself was great, but the timing had changed. The rhythm had shifted.
I couldn’t hold myself to the old schedule anymore.
I needed to take a break while I recovered. So, I did.
And then, one week later, my brother died.
It was unexpected. Horrible.
The phone call from my dad telling me what happened literally brought me to my knees.
My brother Matt was one of my very best friends. My entire world stopped making sense.
Everything felt wrong now.
How could he be gone - truly gone, forever?
How was he not going to be on our weekly Zoom calls? How wasn’t he ever going to answer my texts again, or come visit for a weekend?
Nothing I believed about life before felt right anymore.
But somehow, life kept going, like it does.
It was disorienting and cruel.
While I was barely able to get through an hour without crying or collapsing on the floor, school was still open. Bills had to be paid. Groceries needed to be bought. Appliances needed repairs.
There was no version of structure or routine that could hold me in that space. I had to let it all go.
There was no bypassing my pain. No way to “make it work.”
I had hit a season of irrevocable change.
Somewhere inside I knew I had to flow with it or drown in the undertow.
When the Old Rhythms No Longer Fit
I realized I couldn’t just “bounce back.” I couldn’t even fake it.
I would never ask that of my clients, or my friends, or anyone else for that matter.
I had to offer myself the same grace.
That meant living through all of it - feeling all of it - even though it hurt.
In the beginning, my days were a blurry string of moments:
- Finding a grief counselor for my daughter and scheduling acupuncture for myself
- Calling my best friend to stay with my daughter while my husband and father and I planned our 4-day trip to sort his affairs
- The horror of buying an urn and feeling frozen, afraid of picking the wrong one and disappointing him or my family with my choice
- The surreal experience of holding memorial services in two different states
- Remembering to eat when I realized I hadn’t wanted to in nearly three weeks
- Letting my business be quiet, because I had nothing performative to offer
The 2% Season
Out of necessity and a deep well of inner wisdom I didn't know I possessed, I gave myself permission to have a 2% season for as long as it took.
Obviously, this wasn't going to be a full-throttle, optimize-every-minute season. Honestly, even 10% felt laughable. I was spending hours of each day lying on my floor crying, peeling myself off it just before picking up my kid at the bus stop.
Just 2% would have to be enough.
Somehow, that tiny act of permission became my anchor.
It gave me room to grieve. To stop expecting myself to move forward faster than was possible for me.
It gave me space to remember what actually mattered.
It gave me time to reconnect to myself, to my family, and to my truth.
Over time, slowly, quietly, that season gave way to something new.
I had known that if I allowed myself to truly be with myself - to cry when I needed to, to stop performing, to reduce my schedule down to the absolute bare minimum - eventually something would shift.
Still, when it happened, it took me by surprise.
About nine months after my brother’s death, something stirred in me:
A desire to allow myself to thrive again, however that might look now.
I began to feel strong enough to rebuild.
To craft new rituals that matched who I was now and not who I used to be. To create space, not just for tasks, but for being.
I had a deep desire to share the life-saving skills that helped me get through this worst season of my life.
Because the world needs this work.
We need to know how to thrive even in pain. Even in grief. Even in change and illness and seasons that challenge us to our core.
I realized that even though I had been in a 2% season for nearly a year, even in my grief, I was thriving.
I was being exactly what I needed to be.
I was learning and shifting with my new reality. I had deepened friendships. I had started new hobbies. I was supporting amazing clients (less of them than I had before, by choice) but in honest and meaningful ways. I was sleeping better, finally. I was able to engage with sadness and anger and pain in purposeful and constructive ways and having conversations with my family about it that were healing and nourishing.
My 2% season gradually became a 50%, then an 80% season.
Eventually, I created Anchored & Alive: a course born not from perfection, but from survival, softness, and deep care.
What If Your Structure Was Sacred?
This fall, I’m not rebuilding from pressure.
I’m rebuilding from truth.
I’m still finding my way, but here’s what I know:
Structure doesn’t have to be rigid.
Rhythm doesn’t have to mean hustle.
Sometimes the most sacred structure is the one that lets you breathe.
If you’re entering a season where everything feels upended, or if you’ve lived through one, please know this:
You’re not broken.
You’re not behind.
You’re simply living through a season of sacred restructuring.
Ask yourself:
✨ What supports the version of me that exists right now?
✨ What can I say no to, that once felt necessary?
✨ What would it mean to honor my rhythm, even if it’s only 2%?
Let that be enough.
You’re not here to perform productivity.
You’re here to build a life that fits the shape of your soul.
With clarity and care,
Blaze
💛 If you’re in a 2% season, or if you're ready to rebuild your rhythms with softness and intention, Anchored & Alive is here when you're ready.
It’s a space for emotional grounding, sacred self-structure, and real-life practices that meet you where you are.
Explore the course here
Comments