Lost and Found – Stories from a Woman Who’s Going Through It

This is the start of a new passion project. I’m blogging.“What does that even mean?” I asked myself. From what I can tell, it means sharing your thoughts and seeing what happens next. So here goes.

Let’s start with the title: Lost and Found.

Honestly, it’s more accurate than I’d like to admit. Here I am, in my fifties, feeling a little lost—not for the first time. I’ve “found myself” more times than I can count. Sometimes I think I might stop looking, but I never do. Because every time I find myself, I like what I see. For a while, anyway. Then—boom—life happens. And I’m back to searching.Maybe you can relate. And if I’m the only one… well… yikes.

For today, I’m keeping it simple so you can get to know me—this version of me, anyway. I’m in my fifties, though my brain still thinks she’s forty-ish. I’ve been called silly, scattered, and a lot—but I call it having joie de vivre. I’ve been through stuff—like we all have—and I’m starting to believe that sharing the stories is less important than understanding the lessons behind them.

I talk a lot. I share. I process things out loud. Luckily, I have kind, thoughtful friends who are endlessly patient. (You know who you are—thank you, again and again.)

Right now, I’m going through a separation. I’m still living in the matrimonial home—the house my kids grew up in. That comes with its own emotional weight. I feel like the keeper of memories, traditions… and dust bunnies. If I’m honest, what I’d like to do is pack up and start fresh somewhere else. But mom guilt has its grip on me. I feel stuck. But am I really?

Technically, I could sell the house. Move on. But emotionally? That’s where the “stuck” lives.

The idea of packing up is one thing. But the conversation with my kids is another. I can already see their puppy dog eyes:“But this is the only home I’ve ever known.”“I don’t want to move.”“Please don’t take my childhood and stuff it in a box.”

And that’s what’s holding me. Not the house. Not the dust bunnies. The emotions.

So here’s my plan: I’ll start small. Decluttering. Quietly. One room at a time. Right under their noses. No big conversations (yet). Just slowly removing things they haven’t touched in ten years. They won’t notice a thing. Mentally, I’ll be moving. They’ll be joyfully living their lives. Win-win… for now. I’ll let you know how it goes.

The takeaway? Sometimes being "stuck" isn't about the logistics—it's about the emotions we attach to them. Moving forward doesn't always require a big leap. Sometimes, it starts with one drawer, one shelf, one quiet decision at a time. If you're in a season of letting go or starting over, you’re not alone. And maybe—just maybe—the version of you you’re looking for is already within reach.