Author: msdarkstar

Home Sweet (and Chilly) Home

msdarkstar

As I drove into town, the familiar skyline came into view, and with it, a mix of emotions. The drive itself had been long, stretching across states and seasons, with my mom’s car—now mine—loaded to the brim. It’s bittersweet, this car. On the one hand, it’s a practical solution, a reliable set of wheels. On the other hand, it’s a symbol of transition for both of us. For her, it’s one less piece of independence. For me, it’s a reminder of the passage of time and the responsibilities that come with it.

As I pulled into the driveway, the air was crisp, and the skies hinted at the cold weather looming on the horizon. Winter hadn’t fully arrived yet, but its presence was undeniable.  I’d been bracing myself for this transition during the long drive home, knowing my body was no longer accustomed to the biting chill that would soon dominate daily life.

The Chilling Reality of Winter

I’ll admit it: I’ve gone soft. Once upon a time, I could navigate icy sidewalks and snow-covered driveways without a second thought. Now, even the thought of layering up feels like gearing up for battle. Adjusting to the cold again is going to be humbling. It’s not just the physical discomfort but also the mental shift required to embrace shorter days and the pervasive chill that seems to seep into everything.

Still, there’s something grounding about winter’s demands. It forces you to slow down, to appreciate the warmth of home, and to savor simple pleasures—like wrapping your hands around a steaming mug of coffee or curling up under a heavy blanket with a good book. Winter has a way of making you grateful for the little things, even as it challenges you to adapt.

Wrangling an Elderly Parent

Coming home also means stepping back into caretaking roles that don’t take a vacation. My mom, ever independent and stubborn, lives far away in a much warmer climate, which adds a layer of complexity to everything she’s navigating. The transition of her car to me was no small moment for either of us. It’s practical, sure, but it also symbolizes a shift in our relationship. Now, I’m stepping into the caretaker role, and while she’s appreciative, it’s clear she’s mourning the freedom the car represented.

The physical distance makes everything a little harder. Convincing her to keep up with her physical therapy or stick to a healthy routine often requires phone calls, reminders, and creative problem-solving. Searching for resources, and ensuring she’s staying safe and comfortable in her environment—all while managing my own household—demands a level of planning and persistence that can be draining. Some days, it’s exhausting. Other days, it’s downright frustrating.

This role reversal—parenting a parent—isn’t something anyone can fully prepare for. It’s a delicate balance between honoring their independence and stepping in when needed. And the distance amplifies the difficulty.

The Long Drive Toward the Future

The long drive home wasn’t just a physical journey; it was also a time for reflection. Being on the road, mile after mile, gave me space to think about the bigger picture. Where do I go from here? What does the future look like for me, for my mom, for the life I’m building back home?

Taking on my mom’s car is just one piece of a much larger puzzle. But there are also longer-term plans to consider. How do I create a sustainable support system for her care as she ages? How do I balance her needs with my own dreams and goals? These are the questions that weigh on me as I settle back into this new chapter.

Gratitude Amidst Chaos

Yes, it’s frustrating. Yes, it’s overwhelming. But coming home—to the responsibilities, to the joys and trials of daily life, and to the cold that’s just around the corner—is also a privilege. It’s a chance to reconnect with what matters, to reestablish roots, and to grow into the next version of yourself.

There’s a lot to navigate, from the emotional weight of taking on my mom’s car to the logistical challenge of caregiving from a distance. But for every frustrating moment, there’s a glimmer of joy—a reminder that this season of life, with all its complexities, is worth embracing.

For now, I’ll take it one day (and one layer of clothing) at a time. After all, home is more than a place—it’s where you face life’s challenges and find its greatest rewards.

 

2024: A Year of Goodbyes, Quiet Growth, and Lessons

msdarkstar

“2024 was a year of goodbyes, quiet growth, and lessons that I didn’t ask for—but here I am, breathing, standing, moving forward.” Those words encapsulate the paradox of navigating a year filled with challenges that stretched me in ways I never anticipated. As I reflect on the past twelve months, I’m struck by how life has a way of stripping away the familiar, forcing us into uncharted territory, and yet somehow, amidst it all, we endure. We grow. We move forward.

The Many Forms of Goodbye

Goodbyes came in many forms this year. Some were expected, like the end of a project or chapter that had naturally run its course. Others blindsided me—relationships that unraveled without warning, opportunities that dissolved like mist, and people I held close who moved on to other phases of their lives. But none of these compared to the two most significant losses: saying goodbye to my father and to a long-term living situation.

Losing my father was a goodbye layered with complexity. Our relationship had been estranged for years, shaped by distance and unspoken words that neither of us fully knew how to bridge. His dementia in the later years only deepened that chasm, leaving me grappling with what could never be resolved. Grief is a strange companion—sometimes loud and all-consuming, other times quiet and creeping. While the weight of his absence has been heavy, it’s often accompanied by the bittersweet ache of what could have been.

Memories of him are fragmented—some filled with warmth, others with the tension of our estrangement. Yet, even in the gaps and imperfections, I find myself honoring the parts of him that shaped me and acknowledging the humanity of his struggles. Navigating life without him is less about finding closure and more about accepting the complexity of our bond while continuing to move forward with compassion and grace.

The end of a long-term living situation added another layer to the year’s transitions. In truth, it was a situation that should have ended long ago, but sometimes we hold onto hope—hope that things will change or  improve, or somehow magically become different. That space wasn’t just a physical place; it was a repository of memories, comfort, and identity. Yet, it also carried the weight of unfulfilled expectations and the quiet erosion of what no longer served me.

Packing up and saying goodbye to the walls that held so much history felt bittersweet, like releasing a chapter I had clung to for too long. But in letting go, I found the beginnings of something new—a chance to redefine home and what it truly means to me. Sometimes, the hardest part of moving forward is recognizing when it’s time to let go, and this year taught me that there is freedom in choosing to step into the unknown.

Quiet Growth: The Subtle Transformation

And oh, the quiet growth. Not the loud, triumphant kind that gets celebrated with champagne toasts and social media accolades, but the subtle, almost invisible kind that happens in the stillness. The growth that looks like choosing to get up and try again, even when you’re exhausted. The growth that feels like tiny cracks forming in a seed’s shell, invisible to the eye but monumental to the seed. This year, my growth wasn’t about achieving big milestones or checking off goals. It was about cultivating patience, resilience, and grace—with others and with myself.

Grieving my father and leaving behind my home taught me to sit with discomfort. It taught me that growth often comes not from the moments of triumph but from the quiet perseverance of simply continuing to put one foot in front of the other.

Lessons in Disguise

There were moments when I questioned the purpose of it all. Why does growth often come disguised as pain? Why do lessons arrive in forms we’d never choose for ourselves? I don’t have all the answers, but what I’ve learned is this: life doesn’t owe us comfort or clarity. It owes us the chance to live, to learn, to love, and to try. And maybe the lessons we resist the most are the ones we need the most. They’re the chisels that carve away the parts of us that aren’t truly us.

Losing my father taught me the fragility of time. Leaving my home taught me adaptability and the importance of creating sanctuary wherever I go. Both lessons came uninvited, but their impact has been profound.

Redefining Strength

This year, I learned to redefine strength. It’s not about powering through or putting on a brave face when your heart is breaking.  It’s in saying, “I need help” or “I don’t know what’s next.” It’s in letting people see your cracks and trusting that they’ll still love you. It’s in giving yourself permission to rest, to grieve, to heal. Strength isn’t about being unshakable; it’s about finding your footing again after the ground has shifted beneath you.

Finding Meaning in the In-Between Moments

One of the most unexpected gifts of this year was learning to appreciate the in-between moments. We live in a culture that glorifies productivity and celebrates the destination, but so much of life happens in the spaces between. It’s in the quiet mornings when you sip your coffee and feel the sunlight on your face. It’s in the deep breaths you take after a good cry. It’s in the mundane routines that ground you when everything else feels uncertain. Those moments may not make headlines, but they’re where life’s richness resides.

In the midst of loss, these small moments became lifelines. A laugh shared with a friend, a comforting meal, a sunrise after a sleepless night—they reminded me that even in grief, life offers beauty.

Moving Forward with Gratitude

Looking ahead, I’m carrying the lessons of 2024 with me. I’m reminding myself that every goodbye creates space for something new. That growth, no matter how painful, is a testament to our resilience. That the lessons we didn’t ask for often lead to wisdom we couldn’t have found otherwise. And most importantly, that moving forward doesn’t mean having it all figured out. It means taking the next step, however small, and trusting that the path will reveal itself.

As I close the chapter on this year, I’m filled with gratitude—not for the hardships themselves, but for the strength they revealed in me. I’m grateful for the people who stood by me, the moments of joy that reminded me what I’m moving toward, and the lessons that, though uninvited, shaped me into someone stronger, kinder, and more whole. Here’s to 2025—a year of new beginnings, continued growth, and whatever lessons life has in store. Whatever comes, I’ll be here, breathing, standing, and moving forward.

The Journey from Surviving to Thriving

msdarkstar

Have you ever found yourself on autopilot, just trying to make it through the day? That was my reality for a long time. I was juggling responsibilities, meeting demands, and endlessly pushing through challenges. I didn’t even realize I was in survival mode because it had become my normal. Looking back, I see that I was stuck in a cycle that robbed me of joy, creativity, and connection. What I didn’t know then was that there was another way to live—a way to thrive and to find hope again.

Recognizing Survival Mode

For me, survival mode wasn’t dramatic or obvious. It looked like busyness. I was productive and getting things done: the bills were paid, the pets were cared for, the deadlines were met. On the surface, everything seemed fine. But underneath, I was exhausted, disconnected, and often overwhelmed. I told myself I was doing what needed to be done, but the truth was, I was just trying to stay afloat.

It wasn’t until I started to slow down and really listen to myself that I realized what was happening. I was constantly fatigued, even after a full night’s sleep. I felt disconnected from my own emotions and from the people I cared about most. I had lost my motivation and stopped dreaming about the future. I was living with a “just get through this” mentality that felt like a permanent state of being.

The Power of Hope

Hope didn’t come to me all at once. When you’re stuck in survival mode, hope can feel like an abstract or even unattainable concept. I’d hear people talk about hope and think, “That’s not my reality.” But hope doesn’t demand that you believe everything will magically fix itself overnight. For me, it started with the smallest glimmer—a quiet voice inside that said, “Maybe things can be different.”

It began with imagining small changes: a day where I felt less rushed, a future where I could pursue a dream I had buried long ago. That little spark of hope didn’t change my circumstances immediately, but it changed the way I saw them. It gave me something to hold onto.

My Journey from Surviving to Thriving

Moving out of survival mode wasn’t a single moment or decision; it was a series of small steps and realizations. Each one built on the other, and over time, I began to see the possibility of living a life that felt aligned and fulfilling.

Prioritizing My Well-Being

The first shift for me was recognizing that I couldn’t pour from an empty cup. For years, I had ignored my own needs, thinking it was selfless or necessary. But I learned the hard way that neglecting myself wasn’t sustainable. I started with the basics: getting more sleep, eating foods that nourished me, and connecting with people who weren’t always in a dark, gloomy mood. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t happen overnight, but each small act of self-care reminded me that I mattered.

Reconnecting with My Values

When you’re in survival mode, it’s easy to lose sight of what truly matters. For me, it is taking time to find out what brings me joy and what is most important to me. I began asking myself hard questions: What do I value? What kind of life do I want to create? Slowly, I started aligning my actions with those answers. It gave me a sense of purpose and direction I hadn’t felt in years.

Celebrating Small Wins

I’ve always been my own toughest critic, but part of my journey has been learning to celebrate progress, no matter how small. Did I carve out five minutes to breathe today? That was a win. Did I say no to something that drained me? Another win. Recognizing these moments helped me see that change was happening, even if it felt slow.

Leaning on Support

I’m not someone who likes to ask for help, but I learned that thriving isn’t something you do alone. I started having sessions with a therapist.  I found supportive online communities.  I’m still learning that asking for help isn’t something to feel guilty or ashamed about but I’m working on it.

Discovering Joy

Joy felt like a luxury when I was in survival mode, but I’ve learned it’s essential. I found little ways to bring joy into my life: playing my favorite music while cooking, spending time with people I care about, or revisiting hobbies I had neglected. These moments aren’t extravagant, but they are intentional, and they remind me of what it feels like to truly live.

Setting Intentional Goals

Hope grew when I started setting goals that excited me. They aren’t monumental—just small projects or skills I want to explore. But having something to look forward to reignited my enthusiasm for life and is helping me step out of survival mode.

Practicing Presence

Being PRESENT has been a game-changer for me. It doesn’t erase challenges, but it shifts my focus to what’s abundant and good. Additionally, each day I try to find at least one thing I’m grateful for, no matter how small. This practice has helped me stay grounded and hopeful, even on the hard days.

Thriving as a Lifestyle

This journey hasn’t been linear or easy. There are still days when survival mode tries to creep back in. But I’ve learned that thriving isn’t about perfection; it’s about living with intention and believing in the possibility of a better tomorrow. Hope has become my steady companion—not as a fleeting feeling, but as a way of seeing the world.

The path to thriving isn’t about grand gestures or overnight transformations. It’s about small, consistent choices that add up over time. It’s about finding hope, even in the smallest moments. And before you know it, you might just find yourself living a life that not only sustains you but lights you up from the inside out.

Getting Through the Holidays with Grace: Personal Reflections on Starting Over

msdarkstar

The holidays always seem to bring everything to the surface. The twinkling lights and cheerful music can sometimes feel like a sharp contrast to what’s going on inside. For me, this time of year has often been a season of reckoning—a chance to take stock of where I am and where I want to go. Some years, it’s felt joyful and full of promise. Other years, like now, it feels like I’m starting over, grappling with questions of purpose and how to move forward.

If you’re also navigating uncharted waters this holiday season, let’s take a moment together to reflect and reset. Here’s what I’ve learned about finding grace in the messy process of starting over.

Acknowledging the Messy Bits

This year has been a mix of heartbreak and hope. And while it’s tempting to try and push the tough emotions aside, I’ve realized the only way to move forward is to sit with them for a while. It’s okay to admit that things aren’t perfect. Sometimes, naming the struggles—out loud or in the quiet pages of a journal—can help lighten the load just a little.

There’s something oddly comforting about knowing that so many of us are facing challenges, especially during the holidays. While our struggles might look different, there’s a shared understanding that life isn’t always wrapped up with a bow. And that’s okay.

Drawing the Line

The holidays are infamous for their endless demands. This year, I’m giving myself permission to step back from the things that don’t serve me. Instead, I’m focusing on the things that bring comfort and peace, even if it means creating new traditions or spending some quiet time alone.

I’ve learned that saying “no” isn’t selfish; it’s an act of self-preservation. And when I show up for myself, I’m better able to show up authentically for others.

Gratitude, Even in the Hard Moments

One thing that has helped me is leaning into gratitude, even when it feels hard. It’s not about pretending everything is fine, but about noticing the little things that anchor me—the warmth of a good cup of coffee, a good book, the way the sun filters through the window on a cold morning.

Gratitude has a way of shifting my perspective, even on the toughest days. It’s a reminder that, while some things feel like they’re falling apart, there are still moments of beauty to hold onto.

Asking the Big Questions

The end of the year always feels like a natural time to pause and reflect. I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions lately: What really matters to me? What brings me joy? What kinds of growth will happen in the year ahead?

Sometimes, the answers come quickly. Other times, they feel elusive. And that’s okay too. Purpose isn’t something we discover overnight. It’s something we uncover gradually, like piecing together a puzzle.

Starting Small

When life feels overwhelming, I’ve found that the best way forward is to start small. Some days, it’s as simple as doing something creative or learning something new.

These small steps remind me that I don’t need to have everything figured out all at once. Sometimes, just showing up and doing the next right thing is enough.

Embracing the Blank Slate

Starting over can feel overwhelming, but it’s also an opportunity. It’s a chance to let go of the things that no longer serve us and imagine a new way forward. I’ve been reminding myself that I don’t have to have all the answers right now. The important thing is to keep moving, to stay curious, and to remain open to what’s ahead.

Trusting the Process

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that grace isn’t about getting everything right. It’s about showing up, even when things feel messy and uncertain. It’s about trusting that this season of change is part of a larger story—one that’s still unfolding.

So this holiday season, I’m choosing to hold space for both the hard and the hopeful. I’m giving myself permission to start fresh, to dream again, and to embrace the journey, wherever it may lead.

If you’re also finding your way, know this: You’re not alone. And while the path might be unclear, there’s beauty in the searching. Together, let’s step into this new chapter with courage, compassion, and grace.

Transitions – Some Thinky Thoughts

msdarkstar

Life is full of transitions—some chosen, some thrust upon us. Moving is one of those transitions that encapsulates both. It’s a physical act, yes, but it’s also an emotional excavation, a reshuffling of memories, a reordering of priorities. Recently, I moved. And in doing so, I realized that moving is not just about boxes and furniture; it’s about what we carry with us—and what we leave behind.

The Ceremony of Sorting

There’s something strangely ceremonial about sorting through your life, piece by piece. Each item becomes a decision: does this come with me, or does it stay? It’s in this sorting that you’re confronted with the weight of the past, the whispers of who you once were, and the life you’ve built since. For me, this process was intertwined with the recent loss of my father, a man who, in many ways, I had already lost years ago to dementia.

The Slow Goodbye

Dementia is a cruel thief. It steals in increments, chipping away at the essence of a person until all that’s left is a shell. By the time my father passed, the man who had been my dad had long since faded. His body remained, but his spirit was like a distant echo. When the time came to say goodbye, I found that I had been grieving him for years already.

Letting Go and Moving On

So, as I packed and sorted during this move, I found myself reflecting on what it means to let go—not just of things, but of people, places, and the versions of ourselves tied to them. There were the keepsakes I had saved without really knowing why. And there was the realization that moving on doesn’t mean forgetting; it means finding a way to carry the essence of someone forward, even as you let go of the rest.

Parting Ways

This move also marked the end of a long-term housemate relationship, a bond that had shaped so much of my daily life. Living with someone for years creates its own lore—shared adventures, inside jokes, the rhythm of sharing space that’s both comforting and, at times, challenging. Deciding to part ways wasn’t easy. It felt like packing up not just belongings, but a chapter of shared experiences, and time passing. The decision was necessary, yet it carried the bittersweet weight of endings.

The Deliberate Nature of Moving

Moving—like grief, like life—isn’t linear. It’s messy, emotional, and sometimes overwhelming. There were moments when I sat on the floor surrounded by boxes, paralyzed by the enormity of it all. But there were also moments of clarity, of lightness, when I felt like I was shedding old skin and stepping into something new.

The thing about moving is that it forces you to be deliberate. You can’t take everything. And maybe that’s a good thing. It’s a chance to start fresh, to reimagine what you want your life to look like. As I settle into this new space, I’m trying to hold onto that mindset. It’s not just about where I’m living; it’s about how I’m living.

Lessons from Loss

My dad’s death, like his life, has shaped me in ways I’m still coming to understand. Losing him twice—first to dementia, then to death—has taught me the importance of presence, of savoring the moments we have while we have them. It’s also taught me that letting go doesn’t mean losing; it means making room for something new.

A New Chapter

So here I am, in this new space, with fewer things but a heart full of memories and lessons. I’ve moved, and I’m moving on.

Life is full of transitions. This is mine. And for the first time in a long time, I feel ready.

At the Crossroads of Change: A New Beginning

msdarkstar

When, in the course of human events, we find ourselves standing at the crossroads of who we were and who we are becoming, life beckons us to rise with courage. These moments, often daunting and uncertain, mark the thresholds where transformation begins. It’s not merely about leaving the past behind—it’s about stepping forward with hope, vision, and an unshakable belief in what could be.

Embracing the Unknown

Change is rarely comfortable. It asks us to relinquish the familiar—the routines, identities, and even relationships that have defined us.

But what if this act of letting go isn’t a loss? What if, instead, it’s an act of faith in our capacity to create something better?

To walk away from what no longer serves us requires bravery.

It means trusting that the void left behind will be filled with purpose, growth, and fulfillment.

The ashes of what once was are not remnants of failure but the fertile ground from which new beginnings spring.

A Testament to Resilience

History is filled with stories of individuals and societies who have rebuilt from ruins.

These moments are not marked by despair but by an unyielding determination to rise again.

When we choose to evolve, we are declaring our resilience—not just to survive but to thrive.

Whether it’s starting over in a new career, reimagining a relationship, or redefining personal goals, every decision to pivot is a testament to our strength. It says, “I am willing to become more, even if the path is unclear.”

Building from the Ashes

Rebirth often feels like chaos before it becomes clarity.

There’s a discomfort in dismantling the scaffolding of who we were, but in doing so, we make room for authenticity.

From the ashes, we are free to design a life aligned with our highest values.

It’s not about erasing the past—it’s about honoring it while choosing to grow beyond it.

Every step forward becomes a declaration of hope, a commitment to becoming the best version of ourselves.

Answering the Call

The call to courage is universal. It touches us all, urging us to face our fears, confront our doubts, and step boldly into the unknown.

And while the journey is uniquely ours, we are never truly alone. Others have walked this path before, leaving behind lessons and inspiration to guide us.

As we stand at these crossroads, let us remember: Change is not the end. It is the beginning of everything we are capable of becoming.

If you’ve recently found yourself at a crossroads, know that it’s not by accident. The universe is inviting you to grow. What will you choose to build from the ashes of what once was?

Share your thoughts in the comments below—I’d love to hear how you’re answering your call to courage.