the things that can grow (when you make room)

It’s the third day of the new year, and I feel unexpectedly optimistic and deeply grateful with my NYD leftovers…

Yesterday was the first workday of the year, and because I’ve intentionally made Fridays my “easy,” shorter day, I was happy to get home, walk Poptart, and settle her inside with her favorite show, Below Deck (I kid - but she genuinely does better with something going on to keep her ears entertained). Then I fed Reece and let him go outside to do his favorite thing in the world… being a farm-roaming guard pittie.

Between playing with Ellen, lying in the hammock, rolling in the crunchy winter pasture, and barking at anything that dares come down the dirt road, he is living his absolute best life. I’ve had him for almost seven years, and in the last six months, I have never seen him happier.

Our lives look drastically different now than they did after ringing in the new year two years ago.

I’ll be honest, I have written about it here plenty but I think a lot of that was more to convince myself that I was ok. It was difficult to get to where I am now, emotionally - and I admit I faked it til I made it for the most part. It’s hard to let go of dynamics you can’t remember not knowing - like relationships you’ve known over half your life, ones you once couldn’t imagine being without. But there’s truth in the old saying that wisdom comes with age. Some things were never meant to be long-term or forever. I understand that now. Reality is sometimes a hard pill to swallow.

I’ll always genuinely hope the best for my ex. We became grown-ups together. We spanned so much time together. But cutting ties completely has been the best thing for my own clarity and well-being, and I hope for his too. I never imagined we’d end the way we did.

Zero contact.

Forever.

But we were pretty much kids when we got together, and we stayed in something long past its expiration date. We cared, but we didn’t know why anymore. And in the end, we didn’t care in the ways that mattered.

The last three and a half years of our relationship felt eerily similar to the final months of our first dog’s life, Baby.

She had an inoperable brain tumor. Most days were spent trudging along, doped up, fragile, barely surviving. Then there would be one or two truly good days where she seemed like herself again. Those rare sparks kept us hanging on longer than we should have, clinging to hope instead of accepting reality.

Eventually, she had a seizure she never came out of. We rushed her to the vet on a Sunday - chaotic, traumatic, with no option for a peaceful goodbye until she was sedated. It was awful to experience the loss of a being we loved so deeply and to realize, in hindsight, that we may have allowed her to suffer longer than necessary. For our own selfish comfort, we clung to her longer than we should have.

That’s how our relationship ended, too. A few good days. Far more spent just surviving. We clung to the history instead of trusting that letting go might bring relief.

Until it finally seized.

Flatlined.

Done.

There’s nothing left to say now. 

At first, that made me really sad. 

But strangely now, it feels peaceful to me.

All that being said, I think it’s normal to have deep reflections when a new year arrives. I guess this one is mine.

Yesterday, while Reece was outside doing his thing, I decided to be out there doing mine. Things I’d been intentionally putting off in a quiet act of rebellion.

Because of a hay shortage and a last-minute pinch, I had to get two truckloads delivered that I didn’t actually have room for. So they’d been sitting tarped in the yard, waiting for space to open up.

A total eyesore.

And to make matters worse, I hadn’t lifted a finger to manicure the yard since late last summer. Not because I couldn’t - just because I didn’t want to.

Rebellion.

But yesterday, I felt inspired.

I started by clearing the overgrowth around the perimeter of the house. Then I decided to mow - yes, mow - because that’s how long it had been. Even in dormant season, it needed it. I cut down all the dead stuff that never got touched when it was thriving last year.

Isn’t she so pretty in the heavy dreariness of dusk last night?

And once the yard started to look good, something clicked.

I made room in the barn for those two truckloads of hay. 

Room cleared. Pallets laid. Hay stacked. Reorganized. By the end of the day, my little farm looked like someone cared again.

It was me.

I genuinely cared again.

I found myself in absolute love with this little farm again - probably more than I have since the first year I had her. Not out of obligation. Not out of logistics. Not as an avoidant strategy. But real, inspired, full-bodied love.

And to be completely honest, this farm has never been this prepared for winter. I may have even over-prepared, but as my brother says, “If you are always prepared, you never have to get ready.” No frantic hay searches this year. 

I think I’m good.

And maybe that’s what this season is really about - not dramatic transformations or shiny resolutions, but simply making room. Clearing what’s overgrown. Letting go of what’s expired. Choosing to care for what remains with steady hands and a more intentional heart.

I think later today I’ll tackle the front porch, which has become a universal catch-all for tools, yard equipment, half-purged furniture, and dead plants.

Whatever comes next feels promising…

xo

- s