Fear and defensiveness bubble up, leaving me like a treed raccoon, with countless bloodhounds clawing at the bark below. Revisiting mindsets that led me into an unhealthy and chaotic state often trigger those same feelings; my thoughts race, my heart beats faster, and a sense of being under threat rises. Yet, despite being triggered, I also see the value in these revisits. They remind me of how far I’ve come and offer clarity on what I no longer wish to carry forward.
Laptop in one hand, chair in the other, I found a sunny spot to plop my wooden rocking chair down and just be.
The regret from yesterday’s procrastination has motivated me to take action today. I’ve tackled things I’d been avoiding or deprioritizing, from making oatmeal in the Instant Pot to helping Evelyn with her bath, starting to write earlier, cutting my toenails and ordering cushions for the chairs. Each small step feels like lifting my head above water, reclaiming a sense of momentum.
I saw an enormous cricket-like insect—jet black and triple the size of any I’d seen before—barreling through the grass, shoving brown leaves aside. Now, every time a leaf shifts, I find myself scanning the area, half-hoping for another glimpse of my tank-like bug companion.
Procrastination, I’ve realized, is not a healthy tool. Avoiding a task is like turning your back on one of those chasing ghosts from Super Mario Brothers. The further you run, the closer it looms. Facing it doesn’t mean rushing or acting immediately—it’s about acknowledging it and taking thoughtful steps forward.
Now I’ve moved to a fleece Sherpa blanket on the lawn. Evelyn sits beside me, eating cereal as we lie on our stomachs, cozy under the sun. Violin music drifts from the patio speaker, interrupted occasionally by the flutter of birds overhead. Archie, our dog, is sprawled out nearby.
Life here has a slower pace. A car or two rolls by, turkey vultures glide through the sky, and the rhythm feels deliberate, unhurried. My goal is to align myself with this pace—to slow down, to connect with the part of me that feels safe and grounded.
I spot new fronds unfurling on the fern I’d nearly given up on. With consistent watering and care, the plant has rebounded beautifully over these past two months. Its resilience gives me hope for the parts of myself that feel chaotic and unlovable. With patience and attention, I can nurture those parts too. Healing isn’t instantaneous, but this gentle presence I bring to myself feels worthwhile.
I’m proud of the 180-day challenge I’ve set for myself, the gratitude I’ve woven into my days, and my commitment to exploring my blind spots. A video I watched today reminded me that truth is my “why.” And truth doesn’t rush; it’s patient, unfolding in its own time.
This alignment with truth is what gives me hope—for my relationships, my inner peace, and the messy, beautiful process of healing. Each day, I choose to keep showing up, watering what matters, and trusting that even in the waiting, there’s value in the effort.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 