When you think of a "life transition," you probably picture something cinematic... but my reinvention usually happens over cold macaroni in the kitchen.
Finding the Sacred in the Messy Middle
When you think of a "life transition," you probably picture something cinematic. Maybe it’s packing up a car and driving toward a sunset, or standing on a mountaintop feeling completely renewed and at peace.
But if we’re sitting here as friends, drinking our coffee and telling the whole truth, I have to admit my transitions have never looked like that. Right now, I am living in what I call the "soft middle". I am rebuilding my life in the in-between hours—somewhere between school pickups, late-night studying, and second cups of coffee. My oldest twins have moved out to start college, my 25-year-old is building a family of his own, and yet I still have 10-year-old twins filling my living room with absolute chaos. Add a looming divorce and the emotional whiplash of the last two years, and my life feels suspended in a strange space between broken and healing.
The Myth of the Clean Slate
We are taught that starting over requires a blank canvas. We think we have to have it all together before we can begin again. But reinvention usually happens right in the thick of the mess.
There is a moment every mother has when she realizes she is doing something she once swore she'd never do. For me, it was standing barefoot in the kitchen, holding a screaming child with one arm, eating cold macaroni straight from the pot with the other, and whispering to the universe, “This is fine”. Was it fine? Not really. But it was mine. I used to think I needed perfect silence and a clean house to heal. Now I know that survival mode doesn't wait for ideal conditions, and beauty doesn't require a perfectly curated backdrop.
Asking the Quiet Questions
There was a Saturday morning recently when the house was unusually quiet. The boys were asleep, and I stood in my kitchen sipping a protein shake, leaning against the counter. I opened my journal in the dim light and wrote a single question at the top of the page: Who am I now?.
It wasn’t a crisis question; it was an invitation. I wasn't asking who I was before the divorce, or who I was when all the kids lived at home. Just—who am I now, in this body, in this house, in this new life that is still unfolding?. I realized in that stillness that peace isn't the absence of responsibility, but a pause between demands. I didn't have to chase peace; I just had to stop running from myself.
Carving Out the Sacred
Finding beauty in the transition years means reclaiming the tiny pieces of yourself you poured out for everyone else for so long. At first, it feels almost indulgent—but really, it is revolutionary. It’s playing your own music in the car, journaling at night, or finally saying no without feeling the need to over-explain yourself.
My motherhood hasn’t ended, it has just shifted. I am still needed, still on call, and still doing five things at once, most of them involving a spill. But I am also becoming again. I am building a bridge between the woman I used to be and the one rising out of the chaos, and the foundation is made of love, humor, and an offensive amount of goldfish crumbs.
You Are Still Becoming
If you are in the thick of a transition right now—if you are tired, overwhelmed, and doubting if you are doing it right—please hear me. You are not failing. You are not behind.
You are doing the deeply sacred work of shaping your own becoming. You don’t need a clean slate to rebuild. You just need to show up, even if it’s messy, even if it’s loud, and trust that you are blooming right in the middle of it all.
Personal Reflection Angle
Something clicked for me when I stopped running from the pause. For years, I had mastered movement—juggling schedules, crisis calls at the clinic, school pickups, and bedtime routines. But the moments when everything stopped? That’s when the emotions crept in, and I was terrified of standing still.
Then came a rare, open Saturday morning. The twins were still asleep, and I padded into the dim kitchen to make a protein shake. I leaned against the counter and realized that peace wasn't about escaping my responsibilities; it was simply a pause between demands. I opened my journal and wrote, "Who am I now?". It wasn't a desperate plea, but an invitation to meet the woman I was currently becoming. I realized I didn't need to chase my own healing or wait for a perfect, quiet life to arrive. I just had to stop running from myself, right there in the messy, unfolding reality of my kitchen.
Q: How do you find peace when your daily life is still so chaotic and demanding?
Honestly, you have to stop believing that peace only exists in a silent, empty room. Peace isn't the absence of responsibility; it's learning to find the pause between the demands. Sometimes my peace is just five minutes in the breakroom where I remind myself that I matter even when I rest, or standing in the kitchen sipping a protein shake before the house wakes up.
Q: I feel so guilty taking time for myself when my kids still need me so much. How do you balance it?
I know that feeling deeply. But reclaiming the tiny parts of yourself after years of pouring everything out for everyone else isn't selfish—it is deeply sacred. Motherhood doesn't end when you start reinventing yourself; it just shifts. You can still be on call for your family while playing your own music, journaling, and becoming yourself again.
Q: What if I feel like I'm failing because my transition is taking so long and looks so messy?
Please hear me: you are not failing. If you are tired, overwhelmed, and doubting yourself in the thick of a major life shift, you are simply in it. We stop measuring success by clean floors and perfect timelines, and start measuring it by the fact that we keep showing up. You aren't failing—you are doing the powerful work of becoming.
with love, just jessica
— Jessica
