Things I Don’t Want to Forget From My 38th Year
Last week, I turned 39… literally cannot believe this is the last year of my 30s.
I still feel like a 20-something girlie most days, but I am also so much wiser, stronger, and softer than I ever was in my twenties. My thirties have been the most transformative decade yet…a season of growing more fully into myself than ever before.
Birthdays always offer a moment of reflection for me, but this year feels especially tender.
When I look back on this year, I could have never imagined how stretched, softened, challenged, humbled, and changed I would become.
We never know what lies ahead, and that’s the beautiful thing about life. But a year ago, I had no idea what was waiting for me.
I didn’t know I would become a mother of two.
I didn’t know I would have a son, and how deeply I would fall in love with him.
I didn’t know I would watch my daughter grow from a baby into a little girl, and now a big sister, with so many thoughts, opinions, stories, and a full-on adorable personality.
I didn’t know my family would walk through some of the hardest moments we’ve ever faced as my sister navigated cancer, multiple surgeries, complications, recovery, and all the uncertainty that came with it.
I really didn’t know how much life would ask of me.
And I certainly didn’t know how much beauty would exist alongside the hard.
If there is one thing my 38th year taught me, it’s that life rarely gives us one feeling at a time. I’ve felt joy and grief, fear and hope, exhaustion and gratitude, heartbreak and miracles.
The hard didn’t erase the beautiful, and the beautiful didn’t erase the hard. Both were true.
As I step into a new year, here are some things I don’t want to forget from the last one.
Most things worth having require trust and surrender.
Not the perfect plan.
Not force.
Not controlling the outcome.
Whether it’s giving birth, healing, growing a family, or creating something new, so much of life asks us to loosen our grip and trust the process.
The waiting is uncomfortable, but often that’s where the magic lives.
Presence is always the answer.
There will always be something to do, something to consume, something to worry about.
But none of it matters as much as being where my feet are.
These are the days…the ones happening right now.
I’m still learning to let the house stay messy a little longer, let go of productivity, and simply be with my kids. Singing songs, smelling flowers, reading another book, and putting my phone down long enough to notice the good stuff.
Ordinary days make the best memories.
It’s so easy to feel like I should be doing more.
Making plans.
Going somewhere.
Creating bigger experiences.
But I’m realizing that breakfast on the deck, pool afternoons, morning tea, neighborhood walks, and family dinners are the moments that matter most.
The days that feel ordinary now often become the ones we miss the most.
My heart didn’t divide. It expanded.
During my pregnancy, I felt so much fear around going from one child to two.
I worried that having another baby would somehow take away from Coco.
And while I am certainly stretched in new ways, my heart didn’t divide when Skyler arrived.
It expanded.
There are hard days, overstimulating days, exhausting days…but there is also so much more love than I ever imagined possible.
The invisible load of motherhood is important work.
As a high-achieving career woman for 15 years, I sometimes forget that I am doing deeply important, sacred work, now as a mother.
The planning.
The organizing.
The remembering.
The anticipating.
The worrying.
The countless things mothers carry that no one else sees.
Acknowledging that doesn’t make the load disappear, but it does make it feel lighter.
Hard seasons reveal what matters most.
Family.
Health.
Time.
The people you love.
When life threw the unexpected at us through my sister’s cancer journey, so much of what once felt important became quiet.
Everything has a season.
Some seasons are far harder than others.
And eventually, every season shifts.
Community carries us.
This year reminded me that we were never meant to do life alone.
The meals.
The childcare.
The prayers.
The check-ins.
The helping hands.
The people who simply showed up.
It meant more than I can put into words.
Love is often practical.
Especially after becoming parents, love often looks different than it once did.
It may not always be fancy trips or weekly date nights, but that doesn’t mean the romance is gone.
Love looks like showing up when you’re depleted.
Making dinner.
Taking a shift with the baby.
Making each other coffee or tea in the morning.
Doing the dishes.
Actually saying the thing that needs to be said and really listening.
The older I get, the more I appreciate the quiet kinds of love.
Rest isn’t something we earn.
It’s something we need.
This year taught me that slowing down isn’t falling behind.
Sometimes it’s exactly what brings us back to ourselves.
My body is wiser than I give it credit for.
Pregnancy. Birth. Postpartum. Healing.
I struggled in my pregnancy this time around. I did the body work, the exercises, the appointments…and still found it hard.
I wanted spontaneous labor and felt so much fear around waiting.
But when it was time, Skyler came exactly when he was meant to, and my body did something incredible.
Looking back, I’m in awe of its wisdom.
The most beautiful life is usually the simplest one.
A healthy family.
A loving home.
Meaningful work.
People I love around the table.
Sunshine.
Laughter.
Connection.
That is the dream.
And on the simplest days, when life can feel a little mundane, I look around with deep gratitude because I once prayed for the life I am living now.
God is present in both the miracles and the waiting.
There were moments this year that felt miraculous.
There were others that required deep trust.
There were moments with my sister where I wondered where God was in all of it.
But those were also the moments that strengthened my faith the most.
The moments that invited me to lean into something far greater than myself and my plans.
We are not in control of very much.
And maybe that’s okay.
The waiting taught me patience.
The uncertainty taught me trust.
The surrender taught me peace.
The future doesn’t need all of my attention.
For years, I was building toward something.
The family.
The marriage.
The home.
The life.
And somewhere along the way, I realized something:
The life I’ve been building isn’t somewhere in the future anymore.
It’s here.
Messy and beautiful.
Exhausting and sacred.
Ordinary and extraordinary.
And if my 38th year taught me anything, it’s that I don’t want to miss it while looking ahead to what’s next.
Because the life I’ve been building for years isn’t somewhere in the future anymore.
It’s here.
Ride-or-Die Favorites: Year 38
As I reflected on everything this year held, I realized there were a handful of products that showed up right alongside me. The things I repurchased, relied on, packed in my bag, kept by my bedside, and reached for without thinking.
If you’ve ever wondered what I actually use and love, these are the standouts from my 38th year around the sun.
