This past month has felt heavy in more ways than one. There have been bills to worry about, rising prices to work around, and the constant pressure of trying to stretch everything just a little farther. Among all of that stress, I finally received Camo’s ashes, bringing with them another wave of grief but also a sense of relief that she is finally home.
There was a strange mixture of sadness and relief in bringing her home again. Waiting for her ashes made the loss feel unfinished, as though part of her was still somewhere beyond my reach. Now that she is home, I have finally been able to create a memorial station for her and her brother, Muss.
Their ashes are together surrounded by small objects and memories that remind me of who they were and how much of my life they shared. There is comfort in having a dedicated place for them. It does not erase the grief, and it does not make the house feel the way it did when they were physically here, but it gives that love somewhere to rest.
They were siblings, companions, and pieces of my everyday life for so many years. Their presence became woven into the rhythm of the house, and losing them both has left a silence that still feels unfamiliar. Now they have a peaceful space together, just as I believe they are together somewhere beyond what I can see. Having their memorial side by side brings me comfort and makes it feel as though a small part of them has finally found its way home.
Grief Does Not Always Look Like Grief
Grief is strange because it does not always arrive as tears. Sometimes it appears as exhaustion, irritability, restlessness, or the sudden need to move every object in the house. It can settle into the smallest parts of the day, quietly changing the way everything feels without always making itself obvious.
Lately, I have been spending more time with my plants, rearranging rooms, purging things I no longer need, and slowly reorganizing my home. I think part of me needs the movement. When my thoughts become too loud, working with my hands gives that energy somewhere else to go. Even small tasks can make me feel a little more in control when so much around me feels uncertain.
Caring for my plants has also been grounding. Watering them, checking for new growth, repotting when needed, and simply being surrounded by something alive reminds me that growth can continue quietly, even during difficult seasons. They do not rush, yet they continue reaching toward the light, and I think I am trying to do the same.
Slowly Preparing for Winter
I am not trying to finish the entire house overnight. I have learned that when I put too much pressure on myself, even something meant to feel healing can become another source of stress. Instead, I have been working room by room, drawer by drawer, and corner by corner.
I want the house to feel clean, calm, and cozy before winter settles over northern Maine again. The winters here are long, cold, dark, and sometimes isolating. Creating a warm atmosphere is not only about decorating. It is part of how I care for my mental health during colder months.
Soft blankets, warm lighting, thriving plants, comforting scents, and rooms that feel peaceful can make the difference between simply surviving winter and creating a home that helps carry me through it.
I want my home to feel like a sanctuary when the snow begins piling up outside. I want it to be somewhere I can rest, create, reflect, and feel protected from at least some of the heaviness that comes with the season.
Cleansing the Home With Purpose
Once the cleaning and reorganizing are further along, I plant to spiritually reset the house as well. I want to smudge again, renew wards, and strengthen the protections around our home.
This time, I have been thinking about giving each room its own cleansing based on its purpose rather than treating the entire house as though every space holds the same energy.
The bedroom may need a cleansing centered on rest, safety, intimacy, and peaceful dreams. The kitchen may focus on nourishment, abundance, gratitude, and the energy placed into the food we prepare. The living room may be cleansed for comfort, connection, and welcoming energy.
My creative spaces can be cleared for inspiration, confidence, motivation, and focus. Entryways can be protected from unwanted energy, while bathrooms can be cleansed with release, renewal, and self-care in mind.
Every room serves a different purpose, so it makes sense that every room may need a different intention.
In a way, I think physical cleaning and the spiritual cleansing are connected. I am clearing clutter from the home while also trying to clear some of the noise inside my own mind.
Building the Boutique Slowly
Along with everything happening at home, I have also been trying to slowly gather materials I need to begin building the boutique side of The Karmic Misfit. It is something I have imagined for a long time, and I am excited to finally begin turning those ideas into something real, even if the process is much slower than I originally hoped.
Starting something new takes money, patience, planning, and far more work than people often see from the outside. There are supplies to research, materials to test, packaging to consider, and plenty of small details that add up quickly. With everything being so expensive, I cannot buy every item or material at once, so I have to be thoughtful about what I purchase and when.
For now, I am collecting what I can when I can. One item at a time may not feel like much in the moment, but eventually those small pieces will become something larger. Each purchase brings me one step closer to creating the boutique I have always been picturing.
I have to remind myself that moving slowly does not mean I am standing still. There is still progress happening, even when it is not happening at the speed I imagined. Sometimes building something meaningful requires patience, and right now, I am learning to trust the pace I can realistically manage.
When Stress Became a Story
The stress this month has been difficult, but strangely, it also pushed me toward something creative. I needed a way to get out of my head. I needed somewhere to place my thoughts, emotions, fears, and the pieces of imagination that have always moved around inside me.
That was when I began thinking: maybe I should write a book.
I have started stories in the past. I have written ideas, scenes, characters, and pieces of different words, but never full committed to seeing one through. I would get excited, begin writing, and eventually put it aside.
This time feels different.
The story beginning to take shape is magical, supernatural, and deeply rooted in fantasy, while still carrying pieces inspired by real experiences. It will be fiction, but some of the emotions, struggles, relationships, and lessons beneath all the magic will come from life.
It is also very much an adult story. I do not want to soften every difficult subject or create a world where darkness is easily defeated. I want the characters to be complicated. I want the magic to have weight and consequences. I want the story to explore what happens when trauma, power, intuition, pain, and transformation begin to collide.
Creating Without Expectation
I am excited about the book, but I am also trying not to place too much pressure on what it has to become. I want to give myself room to enjoy the process without constantly wondering whether it will be good enough, finished quickly enough, or worthy of becoming something larger.
Maybe it will grow into a published novel someday. Maybe only a handful of people will ever read it. Maybe the entire story will change as I continue writing it and discovering who the characters are meant to become. I do not know where it will lead yet, and for once, I am trying to be comfortable with not knowing.
What I do know is that even if it never gets very far, I will still be able to say that I tried. I will be able to say that I took something living inside my imagination and give it a place on the page. I allowed myself to follow an idea instead of talking myself out of it before it had the chance to grow.
There is freedom in allowing myself to create without demanding that every creative project become successful, profitable, or perfect. Not everything we make has to prove its worth to the world. Sometimes creating something simply because it gives us comfort, helps us process what we are carrying, or helps us survive a difficult season is meaningful enough.
Writing as a From of Release
Since I began writing, I have noticed that some of my stress has erased. The problems have not disappeared, but my thoughts have somewhere productive to go. Even when life still feels heavy, I can step into another world for a while and focus on creating rather than worrying about everything I cannot immediately fix.
Instead of allowing every fear and frustration to circle endlessly inside my head, I can transform pieces of that energy into characters, scenes, dialogue, strange places, supernatural events, and of course, magic. Some of the emotions may begin with real experiences, but on the page, I have the freedom to reshape them into something entirely new.
Writing gives me somewhere to place emotions that I do not always know how to explain directly. It allows me to take something painful and overwhelming and reshape it into something creative, meaningful, and sometimes even beautiful. It helps me make sense of feelings that might otherwise remain tangled inside me.
Writing has become a form of release, but it has also become a way of returning to myself. It reminds me that even during stressful seasons, there is still imagination, curiosity, and creativity living inside me.
When the Cravings Return
That release has been especially important because cravings for alcohol have also been present recently.
I do not always talk about cravings because there can be an assumption that once enough time has passed, sobriety should become effortless. The truth is that difficult periods can still awaken old urges.
Stress can make the mind remember the temporary escape while constantly forgetting everything alcohol took away. It remembers the moment of numbness, but not the anxiety afterward. It remembers the escape, but not the physical sickness, mental exhaustion, regret, or spiritual disconnection.
It has been hard, but I have been doing it.
When the craving appears, I remind myself that my body cannot handle alcohol anymore. My brain cannot handle it either. Drinking would not solve the bills, remove the grief, build the boutique, clean the house, or write a book.
It would only weaken me and make everything waiting for me feel heavier afterward.
Protecting My Spiritual Connection
I also know that my spiritual connection weakens when I drink. My intuition becomes quieter. My energy becomes clouded. The relationship I have worked so hard to rebuild with myself begins to disappear beneath numbness and regret.
I have fought too hard to find that part of myself again.
My spiritual path does not remove every hardship from my life, but it helps me understand myself, recognize what I need, and continue moving even when life feels uncertain. It reminds me that I am still connected to something larger than the stress of one difficult month.
I do not want to return to a version of my life where I abandon my body, mind, creativity, and spiritual connection for a temporary escape.
Choosing to Keep Moving
So I choose to keep moving forward, even when moving forward looks slow. I am learning that progress does not always have to be dramatic to matter. Sometimes it is quiet, imperfect, and almost impossible to notice until I look back and realize how far I have come.
I choose to care for my plants and animals. I choose to clean one drawer instead of forcing myself to finish the entire house. I choose to save for one boutique supply at a time and trust that small steps still build something meaningful. I choose to sit with the grief of losing Camo, Muss, and my grandmother while honoring the love they left behind, and pieces of themselves they left behind.
I choose to write strange, magical story when the real world feels too heavy. I choose to prepare my home for winter, strengthen its protections, and create a space where I can feel safe, warm, and grounded. I choose to keep building a life that feels more like my own, even when I have to do it slowly.
Most importantly, I choose not to abandon myself. I choose to stay present, keep creating, and continue becoming the person I have fought so hard to find.
The Life I Was Given
Life does not stop becoming difficult just because we begin healing. There will still be grief, financial pressure, uncertainty, cravings, and days when it feels as though everything is happening at once. There will be moments when old wounds ache again, when progress feels painfully slow, and when simply getting through the day requires more strength than anyone else can see.
Healing does not create a life without hardship. It gives us new ways to move through it. It teaches us how to recognize what we are feeling instead of immediately running from it. It helps us find healthier places to put fear, anger, sadness, and restless energy. Sometimes healing looks like setting a boundary, reaching for support, or allowing ourselves to rest. Other times, it looks like watering the plants, cleaning one small corner, writing a few pages, or choosing not to drink even when the craving feels louder than everything else.
I am beginning to understand that progress is not always a dramatic transformation. Sometimes it is simply refusing to abandon myself during a difficult season. It is choosing to keep building a life that feels meaningful, even when I have to build it slowly. It is trusting that the small things I do today can eventually become the foundation of something much bigger.
Right now, I am setting intentions for my home, the boutique, the book, and the person I am continuing to become. I created a memorial for the lives I loved, giving Muss and Camo a peaceful place together while learning how to carry their memory forward. I am preparing my home to become a warm sanctuary for the winter ahead, not only through cleaning and rearranging, but through cleansing, protection, and purpose.
I am slowly gathering the pieces of a dream for the boutique, even when my budget forces me to take one small step at a time. I am allowing a new story to awaken inside me, giving my thoughts and experiences somewhere creative to live. None of these things erase the stress or grief, but they remind me that there is still something ahead of me. There are still ideas to explore, spaces to transform, memories to honor, and new versions of myself waiting to be discovered.
For now, that is enough to keep me moving forward.
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