This week has been an emotional one for me. The mask I’ve worn for a long time feels like it’s starting to crack—so fragile that one honest question might shatter it. Maybe it’s my dad’s death anniversary. Maybe it’s being back in my childhood home. Maybe it’s the homesickness I didn’t realize I was carrying. Whatever it is, it’s made the weight of everything feel impossible to ignore.
As adults, we forget that we're still allowed to choose our lives. We fall into routines and move through our days on autopilot, until one day we realize the magic we once felt doesn’t simply arrive anymore—we have to go looking for it. And we have to, because that magic is what keeps us afloat. It’s what restores us.
This morning, I woke up not wanting to be a mom. And then, as soon as oriaK got picked up, a wave of sadness washed over me. I’ve been trying to find myself outside of motherhood, but sometimes I’m afraid my entire identity is tied to him. I love being his mom—but I also miss being me. The version of myself who existed before routines and responsibilities took over. The one who dreamed easily, laughed freely, and felt light. The one who hadn’t yet learned how heavy adulthood could feel.
I don’t even know exactly what I mean when I say I’m searching for “magic.” Maybe it’s peace. Maybe it’s joy that isn’t tied to what I do for others. Maybe it’s simply the feeling of recognizing myself again.
To keep myself from sinking deeper into that heaviness, I forced myself out of the house today. I knew that if I didn’t, I’d lie in bed and let responsibilities blur quietly into the background. Most days feel the same—wake up, do what needs to be done, go to bed, repeat. Maybe the magic lives in doing something different, even something small, just for me. But why does choosing myself come with so much guilt?
I thought today’s magic would look like getting dressed up and working from a coffee shop, enjoying my own company. Instead, I hesitated too long, overthought where to go, and ended up picking up my nephew—taking him out to dinner and boba. It made me wonder why it’s so easy for me to show up for others, and why I hesitate so much when it comes to choosing myself.
Maybe the magic isn’t something I need to chase all at once. Maybe it lives in the small, quiet moments I slowly give back to myself—without guilt, without second-guessing—until, little by little, I begin to feel like me again.
But for now, that can be tomorrow’s work...