Day 34:

Today was a detour kind of day.
Not off-track. Just… side quest energy.

My friend from New Zealand flies in tomorrow — someone I haven’t seen in years. She knew me back in Texas, before we moved across the world. We’ve both lived a dozen lives since then. And even though neither of us is the same, we’re carving out space to reconnect.

Josh is actually home this week, which feels rare enough to underline. So we made a last-minute decision to drive out and meet my parents to borrow their camper van — a cherry red Eurovan with a pop-up roof, a mini fridge, and just enough rust to make it charming. They named it Clifford (because of course they did), but I’m already rebelling. Clifford feels like a man who wears khaki cargo shorts and forgets to fill the gas tank. This van?
She’s a Marianne.
Or maybe a Colette.
She has secrets. She’s been places. She listens to French radio and knows how to parallel park in heels.

I rode back with my parents so they could teach me all the buttons and quirks. Then I drove her solo for the first time — highway stretched out in front of me, Chainsmokers blaring like it was 2016 and I didn’t have four kids and a to-do list taped to my brain.

On the hour-plus trip it takes to get from my parents’ place to mine, I knew I’d be passing one of my favorite thrift shops.
I also knew I’d been putting something off for a while… but I guess I wasn’t ready to embrace all of it until now.

See… I’m starting a new series next week about dressing and showing up as the main character.
But I had one problem:
My ass is WAY bigger than all of the clothes in my closet, lol.

I have exactly one pair of pants that fit.
One.

The rest hang there like emotional clutter — taunting me with their zippers and “someday” waistlines. And while I’m working on feeling stronger and healthier again, I’m done waiting to feel like myself until I shrink. That’s not the story anymore.

So I pulled over.

I wasn’t looking for transformation. Just a few pairs of pants that didn’t make me feel like I was failing. Something I could clean in. Thrift in. Build a life in.
Cute enough to feel like I showed up.
Comfortable enough to actually do the showing up.

I found them. Three pairs. Soft denim, wide leg, high-waisted magic.
And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I had to hide from the mirror.

Back into Colette I went and drove off into the sunset…
I mean… drove off into motherhood.

Straight back to mum mode. School papers. Dinner. Dishes.
The van got parked. The playlist stopped.
But the version of me from earlier — windows down, hair a mess, music too loud —
she still counts.

She still gets to matter.

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