There are versions of myself hidden everywhere: in the back of closets, in drawers, in storage bins I’ve never unpacked because some part of me was unwilling to let go. I’ve kept old clothes that no longer feel like me (and certainly don’t feel good on), photos I should have deleted years ago, and gifts tied to people I’ve long since outgrown, held onto out of nostalgia mixed with a fair amount of guilt. 

Overall, I’ve always been someone willing to purge things that no longer suit me, and I’ve done it regularly over the years. But even now, there are still plenty of things sitting around that I know I no longer need and will never use. Things I’ve kept because they belonged to another chapter of my life. Another version of me. 

This month marks 10 years since I was diagnosed with MS. Ten years. I actually got chills typing that. Maybe because when I look back, I can see how much has shifted during that decade. Not all at once, but slowly, quietly. Those years carried me here: to my life as a mother, as a creative, as someone who deeply values laughter, spirituality, and the grounding force of stoicism. 

And now, at 40 years old, I feel something changing again. 

It feels less like a milestone and more like a quiet shift into ownership of the life I’ve built and the woman I’ve become.  

My version of self-celebration doesn’t look loud these days. It doesn’t look like lavish vacations or a trip to the spa. It looks like a new home. A new canvas for me and my boys. A place where I can intentionally build community, cultivate peace, and create a life that feels fully reflective of who I am now. 

And in order to step into that space, I’ve realized I need to let things go. 

So, as I pack up my house and prepare for our move, I’ve been purging. Unapologetically. 

I’m no longer interested in bringing things into this next chapter that don’t feel aligned with the person I am becoming. I have art from previous lives I’ve lived — items purchased and put on display hoping they would bring joy to someone else or create a version of happiness I was trying so hard to force. But one of the greatest lessons I’ve learned is that you cannot force joy. You cannot build your life around waiting for someone else to create it for you either. 

Joy has to be created, curated from within. 

So maybe this season of self-celebration is less about rewarding myself and more about recognizing myself. Trusting myself. Creating a space, internally and externally, that reflects the life I actually want to live. 

It’s taking pride in the woman I am now. In slow mornings with a cup of coffee. In taking myself on walks. In allowing peace to exist without feeling the need to earn it first. 

Sometimes growth doesn’t arrive by adding more. 

Sometimes it arrives when we finally allow ourselves to let something go.